“Ah, Madame has exquisite taste,” Balzac said, giving me an oily smile. He clapped his hands, and a tall, thin woman with a pixie cut and two eyebrow piercings sauntered over, her hands held together as if she was in prayer.

“Master?” she inquired.

Balzac waved to us. “Monsieur Dragon and his mate would like to try out the nipple teasers. Would you see to their comfort and pleasure?” He simpered for a moment, touching one long, pale finger to his mouth. “That is, within the reason. Any other services would have to go through Madame Claude, of course.”

“Of course,” Constantine answered.

“I don’t even—” I started to say, but Constantine, with a hand on my back, hustled me forward and into a small room that contained just one display alcove, and a mossy green fainting couch. There was nothing else in the room, not even a light fixture, the ambient light seeming to come from the ceiling tiles themselves.

“Sir.” The woman placed the turtle-shaped nipple devices in the softly lit alcove, then inclined her head at Constantine. “I hope you and madame enjoy your exploration.”

I counted to seven after the door closed behind her, just to make sure she wasn’t going to pop back in and present us with a restraint system, or paddle, or any of the other myriad sexual devices that I’m sure were common in places like this. When no one entered the door, I turned to face Constantine, who was tapping on his phone, evidently entering in a text message. “That was interesting. Not enough for me to even want to touch one of those things—” I nodded to the alcove. “But still, interesting. Educational, even. I had no idea that such things as artistic sex shops existed.”

Constantine put away his phone with a distressed expression. “You don’t want to try the nipple teasers?”

“No.” I crossed my arms protectively across my chest, and was about to go on when he continued.

He picked up one of the devices and plunged the top button up and down quickly. “But they are shaped like tortoises.”

“Regardless—”

“The suction is most stimulating.”

“I don’t like—”

“They are the highest rated of all the nipple accoutrements. Balzac himself endorses them.”

“I really couldn’t care less who endorses them!”

He started toward me, one of the little turtles in his hand. “You should try it first before you decide.”

“Stop!” I ordered, my hand up, and the meanest look I could manage on my face.

He stopped.

“Don’t you even dare think of coming closer to me with that thing. No, Constantine, I do not want my nipples suctioned. Not by a tortoise-shaped thingie, thank you very much.”

“Is there something else you wish to try, then?” he asked, placing it back on the alcove. “I will call Balzac and ask for whatever fuels your fantasies.”

“Okay, first, I don’t know who made you king of making sure my toy-related fantasies are fulfilled, and second, I don’t have any such fantasies. So just chill, and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Constantine looked horrified. “You don’t have toy fantasies? Did you suffer from some sort of sexual abuse?”

“No, thank the gods.”

“Then you must have had bad lovers who did not fully understand just how enjoyable it can be to add toys into sexual play,” he said with a dismissive gesture at who knows what. “It will be my pleasure to help you overcome such neglect.”

I gawked at him, an outright gawk, but I was sadly aware that the reason behind such a reaction was the surge of joy that rippled through me. I got that under control and asked, “Are you saying you want to have sex?”

He was silent a moment, his eyes narrowing in speculation. “If I said yes, would you consider that a sign that I was inappropriately interested in you, or would it be a welcome revelation?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I would consider it flattering, but not a sign that you were making improper advances, no.”

“Ah, good.” His expression cleared and he smiled, his eyes glowing with an inner heat that made me feel very warm. “Then the answer to your question is yes. It would be my utmost pleasure to introduce you to those objects which can emphasize the delights to be found in sexual congress.”

“You must have been extremely dangerous before you were killed,” I said, shaking my head and unable to keep a little smile from my lips.

He took a couple of steps forward, and I was intensely aware that he might be a physical plane–bound spirit, but the man moved like a jaguar stalking prey. Instantly, my breasts decided that they really wanted an introduction to his hands and mouth, while deeper parts of me suddenly woke up and took interest in the goings-on.

“I am very dangerous,” he said, his voice pitched low, with a roughness that I swore slid along my skin like a caress. “In all ways. Shall we return to your hotel?”

The scent of pine trees touched by the moonlight drifted around us. I breathed it in for a few seconds, so very tempted to just throw all caution to the wind and say yes. He moved even closer until his chest was a hairsbreadth from my breasts, the heat of him making my pulse kick up a few notches. He tipped his head down, his breath brushing my mouth, a strand of his hair moving like silk against my cheek. His eyes were pure molten gold, the little flecks of black and brown swimming in a shimmer that started a fire deep inside, and spread rapidly out to every extremity.

“Bee?” he asked, his fire threatening to burst free and sweep us away.

I tried to remember just why it was I had banned all romantic entanglement with dragons from my life, but failed. Constantine, I told myself, was different. He was a former dragon, a man who had witnessed death and triumphed over it. He was a caring man, one who rescued damsels in distress, and helpless sentient heads. He was sexy as sin, but didn’t seem to be aware of it. He was… perfect.

One golden brown eyebrow rose. “Has the cat got your tongue? Or are you simply so overwhelmed by me that you cannot speak?”

And that did the trick—it broke the spell that had just about claimed me. I put both hands on his chest and shoved him backward. “You are so not overwhelming, except where your ego is concerned. Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your chest when I shoved you. How is it? Is the curse still hurty, or has it disappeared?”