Pure Desire. Denise Tompkins

light a fire under it, Rhyan.”

      “And that would be a bad thing.” The words hung somewhere between a statement and a question.

      Dominic moved closer. “I’d hate like hell to miss such an irresistible opportunity.” He held out a hand, inadvertently brushing her bare thigh with his fingers.

      “Irresistible?” She slid her hand into his.

      His fingers curled around hers, solid, warm and calloused. “Without a doubt.” He backed toward the dance floor without looking behind him, his size a catalyst that encouraged people to move out of the way. The weighted knowledge of his gaze said he knew exactly what he was playing at.

      Well, so did she. And the heavens either smiled down or Hell peered up in the way of music. The opening guitar cords for Saving Abel’s “The Sex is Good” began. She blinked slowly, once, twice—her hips began to swivel—three times. Her arms snaked over her head. Turning away from Dominic, she gave herself over to the music, let it weave through the fiber of her being and turn her body into a sinuous column of perpetual motion.

      Broad hands settled lightly on her hips at the same time that huge, capable body slid in behind her. He pulled her close. The way his hair fell forward over her bare shoulder and traced the upper swell of her breast encouraged her to reach behind her, grasp his head and pull him closer.

      Thoughts ricocheted through her mind with a mental rat-a-tat-tat rhythm. She had a job to do. He smelled crisp and hot and clean. She needed to resist the urge to fall into his arms. He held her in his hands with care. She had to figure out who he’d bargained with to retain his angelic powers. He had no wings. She hungered for his touch. He touched her now, brushing one hand up her bare arm and moving her hair aside to touch his lips to the hollow beneath her ear. She had craved him from the first moment she’d seen him. He wanted her now. She couldn’t go much longer without knowing what he tasted like. His tongue traced a line between neck and shoulder.

      The effect was electrifying. Rhyan let him turn her chin toward him.

      He didn’t lower his lips to hers, despite her silent plea that he take the choice from her. That he make this about following his lead to get where she needed to go instead of choosing her own path. Instead, he let possibility weave an invisible spell around them. Lust’s gossamer threads pulled taught. Proved unbreakable. Panted breaths collided in that finite space between her lips and his. He smelled of rum, expensive cologne and burgeoning sexual appetite.

      Blue eyes blazed, roaming over her in a proprietary way. It was the look a man gave a car he intended to test drive but had no intention of bringing home.

      Understanding blazed through her, burning off her desire while the truth lashed her pride. All she’d wanted was to belong somewhere, to someone, and she’d foolishly let herself believe Dominic could be her heart’s moor. In truth, she didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong to this man. She didn’t belong in the Realm. No matter where she went, she ended up a pawn.

      The Caste thought to use her to bring Dominic down. Dominic thought to use her for a night of pleasure. The League would pounce on her the moment an opportunity presented itself. Wasn’t it about time she took a little something for herself? The Caste would get their precious information, but she’d glean it her way. And Dominic would have his lusts slaked, because she was going to seduce him. The League could kiss her ass. The players needed to learn she wasn’t disposable. Her lovely dance partner would be her first pupil.

      Someone hand me an apple, she thought, because I’m about to take the nephilim to school.