Dark Lover

She lost her nerve. Touching him was too much, and she took a step back.

He dropped his hand slowly, not looking at all surprised that she'd rejected him.

And still, he stared.

"What are you looking at?" She brought her hands up to the bodice of the gown, covering herself.

A flush ran up his neck and into his cheeks. "Sorry. You're probably sick of men gawking at you."

Marissa shook her head. "No males look at me."

"I find that very hard to believe."

It was true. They were all terrified of what Wrath might do.

God, if those others had only known how little she'd been wanted.

"Because…" The human's voice trailed off. "Man, you are so… totally… beautiful."

And then he cleared his throat, like he wished he could take the words back.

She tilted her head, considering him. There was something she couldn't decipher in his tone. An achy pitch.

He dug his hand into his thick, dark hair. "And I'm going to shut up now. Before I make you feel even more uncomfortable."

His eyes stayed on her face.

They were really nice eyes, she thought. So warm. And they held a lonely yearning as he looked at her. As if he couldn't have something he wanted.

She knew all about that.

The human laughed, a burst of sound that came from deep inside his chest. "And how 'bout I try not to stare? That'd be good." He crammed his hands in the pockets of his pants and focused on the floor. "Look at me. Not staring. Not staring at all. Hey, this is a nice rug. You ever notice it before?"

Marissa smiled in a small way and took a step closer to him. "I think I like the way you look at me."

Those hazel eyes snapped back to her face.

"I'm just not used to it," she explained. Her hand went to her neck, but she dropped it.

"Man, you cannot be real," the human said softly.

"Why not?"

"You just can't."

She laughed a little. "Well, I am."

He cleared his throat again. Offered her a lopsided grin. "Mind if I ask you to prove it?"

"How?"

"Can I touch your hair?"

Her first thought was to back away again. But then, why should she? She was tied to no male. If this human wanted to touch her, why couldn't he?

Especially because she kind of wanted him to.

She dropped her head down so some of her hair fell forward. She thought about holding a section out to him. But no. She would let him come closer.

And the human did.

His hand was big as it reached out, and her breath caught, but he didn't go for the blond wave hanging in front of her. Instead, his fingertips made contact with a lock resting on her shoulder.

She felt a blast of heat through her skin, as though he'd touched her with a lit match. In no time, the sensation traveled throughout her body, as if she'd spiked a fever.

What was this?

The human's finger moved her hair aside, and then his whole hand brushed against her shoulder. His palm was warm. Solid. Strong.

She lifted her eyes to him.

"I can't breathe," she whispered.

Butch nearly fell over. Good God, he thought. She wanted him. And her innocent amazement at his touch was better than the best sex he'd ever had.

His body shot into overdrive, his erection straining his jeans, demanding to get out.

But this couldn't be real, he thought. She had to be playing him. No one looked like she did, and hung out with those boys, without knowing every trick in the book. And pulling a lot of them on her back.

He watched as she took an unsteady breath. And then licked her lips. The tip of her tongue was pink.

Sweet Jesus.

She might only be a fantastic actress. She might only be the best whore anyone had ever come across. But as she looked up at him, she had him in the palm of her hand. He was buying what she was selling in a big fricking way.

He let his finger run up the side of her neck. Her skin was so soft, so pale, he was afraid he'd leave a mark just by touching her.

"Do you live here?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I live with my brother."

He was relieved. "That's good."

He brushed her cheek lightly. Stared at her mouth.

What would she taste like?

His eyes dipped lower, to her breasts. They seemed to have swelled and were pushing against the bodice of her fine gown.

Her voice was tremulous. "You look at me as if you're thirsty."

Oh, God. She had that right. He was parched.

"Except I thought humans didn't feed?" she said.

Butch frowned. She had an odd way with words, but then English was clearly her second language.

His fingers moved over to her mouth. He paused, wondering if she would pull away if he touched her lips. Probably, he thought. Just to keep the game going.

"Your name," she said. "It's Butch?"

He nodded.

"What are you thirsty for, Butch?" she whispered.

His eyes slammed shut as his body swayed.

"Butch?" she said. "Did I hurt you just now?"

Yeah, only if you consider raging lust a kind of pain, he thought.

Chapter Thirty-six

Wrath got out of bed and drew on a fresh set of leathers and a black T-shirt.