But with every cursed cell in his body, Brigan wanted the little lamb to voluntarily stay.
He registered that he wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone sincebefore, when his human body had ached for connection and touch and relief, not merely sustenance. Sex had lost its meaning, becoming synonymous with feeding, but now the word whispered through him, sibilant and seductive, turning his muscles taut.
Everything about this human—the inquisitive tilt of her head, the angle of her wary smile, the clarity in her eyes—suggested to him that sex with her could be different. That it wouldn’t only be pleasure rolling off her in waves for him to consume, it might be pleasure uncorked for him too.
“What’s your name, little lamb?”
She chewed her lip, and then said, “Catalina.”
The rational part of Cat’s mind wondered what the hell she was doing, why she hadn’t bolted the second he admitted he’d followed her in here, the second he’d opened the door, stepping aside for her to escape. All of this was something out of a podcast, a newspaper article, a story where everyone already knows the ending, that has the audience yelling at her to leave,immediately.
But even though Brigan was clearlyotherand she didn’t know exactly what that meant quite yet, her pulse wasn’t a panicky staccato. She felt curiosity, not fear.
He was tall—enormous, really; she could only guess he was well over six feet, towering over her even from where he stood on the other side of the bed. She wished she’d seen him enter the room to know whether he’d had to angle his body to get through without his astounding costume wings colliding with the doorframe. She’d caught a glimpse of his hands before he’d tucked them into the pockets of his expensive pants, and they’d been huge. By any measure of logic, Cat should have been afraid of him.
But somehow, she wasn’t. Not even when she’d surfaced from the thrall she’d felt when she first saw his face, not even when he spoke in that low, hypnotic voice.
It was his eyes, maybe, how they sparkled with light even in the shadows, or how they held a mischievous smile even when his mouth straightened. Maybe it was the mix of innocence and wisdom in his face, the hunger and sadness, his gaze somehow both young and old, although he couldn’t have been much older than she was. Or maybe it was the boyish way his thick, dark hair fell over his forehead and how right now he seemed to be sweetly looking up at her, even from above.
Strangely, Cat felt like she knew him. There was something sofamiliarabout Brigan, so much so that when he’d told her his name, she’d almost answered, “Right, I forgot.”
Maybe she did know him. In a past life, or in dreams, or in something else that seemed impossible but true at the same time. Cat had always been fascinated by the paranormal. She was never afraid of the dark, never worried about monsters under her bed. She happily took a dare to spend the night ina haunted house in high school and knew the most dangerous things for her were other humans. And even though the thought rang in her head like a bell—Brigan is different, Cat, pay attention—she’d never felt such a disorienting mix of lust and curiosity and attraction and protectiveness before.
Her instincts solidified like a steel frame inside her, and so she stayed put, her back to the window, and said softly, “Close the door again.” For a beat, he looked surprised, and she clarified, “I don’t feel like dealing with them if Jake or Harry were to walk by right now.”
With a small smile, Brigan obliged, turning to softly shut them in the room together.
The words rose up and out of her: “Come closer.”
He pushed off the wall, walking slowly to her and stopping barely a foot away. Cat didn’t know how it was possible that he smelled like fresh air winding through a forest, but she had to resist leaning forward and taking a deep, greedy breath. He stared gently down at her, those eyes bright even in the shadows. He really did dwarf her; her gaze was level with the solid expanse of his chest.
“And now?” he asked.
She felt the way a silent, seductive tether kept tugging at her mind, beguiling her, and her awareness of it hovered to the side, as if observing. Cat reached forward, setting her hand on his stomach. It jerked under her touch, his breath sucking in sharply, and when she glanced up at his face, an expression of disoriented wonder widened his eyes. Her fingertips felt the solid lines of his body, wandering up over his pectorals, his sternum, and she traced a single finger up the length of his throat, over his chin, and drew the shape of his mouth as it turned up into a smile.
“Are you seducingme, little lamb?”
“Shh,” she whispered, smiling, enchanted again, but this time she didn’t try to shake the tether off. She knew where this was going: She wanted him, and he wanted her to want him, and it didn’t matter where her desire ended and his invisible persuasion began. Wanting him didn’t scare her, didn’t feel impulsive or shameful or dangerous. It simply felt inevitable.
Chapter Three
Brigan didn’t know how much of this was his powerful allure and how much was Catalina’s actual desire, and he couldn’t slow his mind long enough to parse it out. It didn’t matter. Thrill haloed her skin, a honeyed, golden glow that felt like euphoria and tasted and smelled like spun sugar on his tongue, in his nostrils. Her hands were hot and brazen, fingers tracing his features, running through his hair, sliding back along his neck and across his collarbones, down to measure the length of his arms, lifting his hand to examine it with her fingertips.
When was the last time he’d been touched like this? With patient mapping and fascinated caresses? His skin felt too tight; his body was ravenous for her, but he hadn’t so much as kissed her yet and would never in a thousand years rush it. Her touch—the intention there, her patient fascination, the way she glowed brighter to him the more her hands roamed—was a balm to the tattered ruin of his heart. Brigan couldn’t remember a lover who hadn’t mindlessly devoured whatever he gave them and then greedily demanded more.
He reeled in understanding when it hit him, for it had been so long: This was what real desire looked like.
Her hand came up to the back of his neck then, coaxing him down, and he finally lifted his arms, sending them aroundher back and pulling her body into his. Catalina melted against him, letting out a sweetly petulant growl of hunger as he withheld the kiss, his mouth hovering only a breath away. “We might not have time to do everything I’d like to do to you,” he said.
“Then just do the most important things,” she teased, and as she spoke, her breath brushed over his lips. Brigan felt the spiraling dizziness of desire invade his limbs.
“Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes.”
He bent, exhaling into her neck, doing everything he could to force the allure down, desperate, for once, to know the truth: “Answer honestly, Catalina. Do you want this?”
She pushed back to meet his eyes, frowning up at him in confusion. “I was being honest.”
