Jenai slid from the bed just after dawn, rubbing her
eyes, feeling too tired and sluggish.
Probably came from feeding Steph. She was more used to
taking blood on the spur of the moment, not opening a
vein to give it.
Hunger was an ache in her belly. She needed to hunt, to
feed, but she couldn’t leave Steph alone.
Stretching her arms over her head, she arched her back
and yawned, trying to wake up.
There was a soft, sighing breath and in that instant,
she realized—she wasn’t alone. Feeling his eyes on her,
she turned slowly and saw Ronan. Holy hell. After five
years of dreaming about him, actually seeing him, having
him close enough for her to smell the scent of his skin,
hear his heartbeat, was damn near intoxicating.
Licking her lips, she watched his eyes move up from her
ankles, slide over her legs, her hips, up her torso,
lingering on her breasts for a long second. Her nipples
tightened and puckered under that look and then his eyes
continued up, studying her mouth for a long second, and
then he met her eyes.
She swallowed as the air in the room suddenly seemed too
heavy, too hot, full of ripe need and rising lust.
“You look like an angel while you sleep.”
Her cheeks flushed and something inside her heart
shifted—an odd, soft feeling—at his words. The thought
of him watching her sleep did something to her too, but
she couldn’t quite define it.
Something hot and sweet, like cotton candy in the
summer. At that fanciful thought, she scowled, unaware
of the blush that stained her cheeks.
Lowering her lashes, she said softly, “I’m no angel.”
Ronan smiled, moving toward her, his eyes gleaming
brightly in the dim light of the hotel room. “Hmmm.
Maybe not. An angel probably wouldn’t make me feel the
way you do, the way you’ve always made me feel. Wouldn’t
make me want what you make me want.”
The last words were breathed against her mouth as he
reached out, closing his hands around her arms and
drawing her closer. She was close enough to feel the
heat of his body, like a whispered promise, but they
weren’t actually touching—not yet. Just his hands on her
arms, and then his mouth on hers as his lips came down
and closed over hers, his tongue pushed inside.
Oh, hell.
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