She didn’t linger. Nikolas had made it clear he had his own battles to fight, and this decision was one of them.

By the time she reached the kitchen, she knew he wasn’t going to join her. The burden of his own mission held him back. Disappointment weighted her limbs, and only then did she realize how much she had hoped he would take her up on her invitation.

It only went to show—her asshole curse stayed as true as her technology curse. As soon as she found out the asshole wasn’t quite as much of an asshole as she had at first thought, the magic died and any opportunity they had to be together passed on by. She reached for her wineglass to drain it dry.

A rush of air brushed against the back of her neck. Instinctively she turned as Nikolas came up behind her. His face was set, dark eyes blazing. Before she could react, he picked her up bodily and set her on the counter behind her.

Coming between her legs, he held her, one arm braced low around her hips while he gripped her by the back of the neck. The whole maneuver was so swift, so decisive she had barely enough time to gasp.

He said into her face, “I want you.”

The words rippled through her body, banishing the leaden disappointment and replacing it with incredulity. Desire for him roared back to life so powerfully she began to shake.

Touching his taut face, she whispered back, “I want you.”

A muscle leaped beside that beautiful mouth. “We take tonight.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

It was as if she had set him on fire. He kissed her so fiercely it vaporized the memory of every other kiss she had ever shared. There was only this one, this moment with this man. She made a noise at the back of her throat. It sounded needy and vulnerable and quite unlike any other noise she had ever made.

Still kissing her, he picked her up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, utterly shaken by how much emotion came roaring up in response.

The effortless strength with which he held her, the broad curve of his shoulders, the ferocity of his kiss as his hardened lips slanted over and over hers—it all spoke to her in a language she hadn’t realized she knew, and she had never known she’d needed to hear.

She drank it all down, while dimly she realized he was striding through the cottage, carrying her to the bedroom. They couldn’t get there fast enough for her. He held her weight effortlessly enough; she trusted in his grip and loosened her hold around his neck long enough to drag her shirt over her head.

She let it fall to the floor as he climbed onto the bed and laid her on her back, and together they removed his shirt too. The sight of him, his scent, his expression, each piece of sensory input was like a spike driving into her, splintering preconceived notions, barriers, expectations, stripping her bare emotionally as physically he removed all her clothing.

She was not just nude; she felt exposed in a way that baffled her. She was no stranger to good sex, but this felt…

This felt raw, powerful, and unique.

There was no time to analyze why. As soon as he had helped her remove her clothes, he pulled back up to strip off his pants. He took all his clothes off and stood naked at the side of the bed.

He was naked.

For the first time, she saw the seamless beauty of his body without obstruction, the feline grace of his bone structure flowing from long, muscular legs up slim hips to the widening flare of his chest and shoulders. He was a dusky gold all over, with a sprinkle of dark hair across his chest that arrowed down the long muscles of his abdomen to a large, erect cock jutting over the tight, round sac underneath.

Staring at him, she forgot how exposed she felt, how odd and raw and powerful this moment felt, and lost herself in wonder. Looking up at his hard, beautiful face, the face that couldn’t help but be ferocious because ferocity was an inherent part of his nature, with those dark, glittering eyes focused solely on her, she knew somehow that she stood poised on the threshold of a new reality.

He began to crawl onto the bed, and he had no clothes on to mask the flawless, inhuman fluidity with which he moved. She could stare at him for years and never get tired of it.

Pausing, he met her gaze. “Everything okay?”

Hell no, nothing was okay. He was taking her apart and remaking her, and he hadn’t even touched her again yet.

But he waited for her reply, and she wasn’t about to deny herself a moment of this singular experience, no matter what it did to her or who she became when she reached the other side of it.

Opening her arms to him, she said, “Everything is perfect.”

* * *

Nikolas was hard put to describe to himself or understand exactly why Sophie affected him so powerfully.

All he truly knew was that she did. Her insane courage, the way she thought, the way she laughed, the way her incredible eyes sparkled with so much lively humor or outrage, and how either emotion could change in an instant.

Her clever use of her magic and her fierce defense of her own boundaries—stitched together, all those characteristics created a person of such wholeness and appeal that in the course of a single day, she had moved effortlessly to take center stage in his thoughts.

He loved her curves. Loved them. They were so alien to his own body, so compelling. He touched her lips, the tips of her breasts, and ran his fingers lightly over the swell of her hips and felt her shiver underneath his touch.

Aside from the three ragged scars at shoulder, abdomen, and thigh, her creamy skin was flawless. She might disagree, but he thought those scars were beautiful. Each one was a badge honoring her courage and strength.

She had said she had lost muscle tone, but he didn’t see it. Her body was sleek and toned. Only the concave hollows at her stomach, under her collarbones and cheekbones gave any hint at the weight she had lost. Her breasts were generously rounded, the plump dusky nipples erect and inviting.