J. Geissinger - Shadow’s Edge

She knew he was exactly like the rest of them. All he wanted was her cooperation, her submission, her obedience . There was no way in hell she was going to be obedient to a single one of them.

Especially him .

“I thought I’d find you in here with a pair of scissors, shredding up my entire wardrobe,” an amused voice said, low and silky soft, from a few feet away. “Not trying it on.”

Jenna’s head snapped up. He was right there, his outline barely visible in the middle of the darkened room. She smothered an angry gasp.

How had she not heard him? How had she not heard his heart?

“I was hoping you wouldn’t find me at all,” she retorted hotly, moving one step back into the row of coats, her hands clenched around the wool collar, drawing it closer. Another step and her back hit the closet wall.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re one floor up from the drawing room. I can easily hear your heartbeat from there.”

Through the murk she saw the sheen of Leander’s teeth as he smiled. Then his scent hit her, spice and smoke and virile man. His heartbeat pumped to life in her ears, an echo of her own. She realized with a start she hadn’t heard it before because he had entered the room as vapor and Shifted back to man.

Which now meant he was standing there nude. As nude as she was under this coat.

“And just for the record, I’m not trying it on,” Jenna snapped. “I’m...” She floundered, hating herself for letting him get under her skin. “I’m just trying to stay warm!”

He stepped forward, put a hand out to push away a dove-gray cashmere overcoat that was partially blocking her face. The skin of his sculpted chest was swathed in shadows, but she saw its polished gleam as he moved. A ripple of dusky light fell over the muscles in his abdomen; ambers and charcoals and deepest grays outlined the planes and angles of his flesh. She pulled her gaze away before it drifted farther down.

“I can think of better ways to keep you warm,” he murmured.

“I’m sure you can,” she said acidly, unnerved. Did he have to be so masculine? So muscular? So damn good looking?

Jenna blew out a little breath between her teeth, not realizing they’d been clenched together. “Like throwing me into a pot of boiling water. Or staking me to the ground in the desert. Or pouring honey all over my body and dumping a beehive over my head. Or—”

He tsked. “You have my intentions entirely wrong, love. Except possibly the honey part.”

She caught the phosphorous glow in his eye as he smiled, slow and languid. “Minus the bees.”

She swallowed and tightened her fingers around the coat. Her heart began to hammer in her chest. “Well, then you’re the only one. The rest of your friends are hell-bent on doing something nasty to me because I won’t—”

“But you did,” he interrupted, still with that same silken, caressing tone that sent tremors over her skin. “And now they’ve got their proof. You’re no longer in any imminent danger.”

“From them ,” Jenna peeped as he moved another step closer.

He dropped his hand and curled his long fingers around the collar of the wool coat. His other hand came up and grasped the lapel. He pulled her closer until their bodies, separated by only a fine layer of wool, grazed.

She looked up at him and time slowed to a crawl.

He was a head taller than she, radiating heat from his unclad skin, his face hidden in shadow and locks of thick ebony hair that fell over his forehead and cheekbones. The hard and substantial muscles of his shoulders and arms were folded in darkness, outlined black against the meager light.

But his eyes were clearly visible, wide and unblinking and glowing fiercely green.

“You could never be in any danger from me,” he whispered. “You know that. Tell me you know that.”

“Only in danger of losing my ability to think ,” she murmured, then bit her tongue. She dropped her gaze to his mouth, to the pleasing full arc of his lips, then merely squeezed her eyes shut, realizing there was nowhere left to look that would dull the ache that was eating her inside.

“And why would that be?” he asked, husky, amused. “If you hate me so much?”

She should run. She should push him away and turn to vapor and get the hell out of—

“Jenna.”

His thumbs were on her jaw, tilting her head up. Her eyes fluttered open. She peeked up at him through her lashes, then bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She felt panicked. She felt frozen. She could not look away.

He said her name again, barely audibly, bent his head, and now the amusement was gone. “ Do you hate me?”

She hesitated, then shook her head once, quickly. “But I should , after what you did to me downstairs.”

He laughed, a low, relieved exhalation. “I’m sorry I made you Shift, but you are the most stubborn creature I have ever met. You’ll put yourself in mortal danger just for the sake of making a point. I couldn’t stand for that.”

She felt his warm breath on her neck as he whispered into her ear. The skin on her arms rose in gooseflesh. Over her pounding pulse, she heard herself say, “How did you know...how did you know that would work? That you could make me Shift like that?”

“I gambled.” He stroked a finger lightly over the soft spot under her earlobe. “Unlike any other half-Blood, your trigger seems to be linked to your emotions, especially the strong ones. Including murderous rage.” He chuckled, then nudged her hair aside with his nose and breathed deeply against her neck.

Jenna held perfectly still as the tip of his nose trailed down her throat. His unshaven jaw was a surprising rough scrape against her bare skin. She willed her hands to stay where they were and not wind up around his shoulders, willed her shaking knees to support her weight.

“That wasn’t fair,” she said, her voice cracking. “And I hate being forced to do anything. I hate bullies.”

“I know,” he murmured. He stroked one thumb across her jawbone, back and forth, light as a feather. “Which is why I’d like to ask your permission to do something.”

Jenna knew he heard her heart beating wildly in her chest, just as he heard her uneven breathing, felt the way her body was primed tight as a bowstring under his touch. The knowledge that he could, in all likelihood, almost taste the depth of her arousal filled her with an exquisite flush of shame.

“You promised,” she said, stiff and breathless, knowing what was coming.

“Yes,” he agreed, unmoving. “I did. So this time I’m asking your permission.”

The sound of his breathing seemed suddenly deafening in her ears.

“I want to kiss you again,” he said quietly. “Will you let me?”

She didn’t answer because she could not speak.

She breathed steadily through her nose, willing herself to say no and mean it. She clamped her eyes shut, fighting her desire, fighting her fear, fighting the knowledge that her entire future might hinge on whatever she did next.

He bent his head to hers and whispered against her cheek. “Will you?”

She meant to shake her head back and forth, but found herself nodding instead.

He didn’t move for a moment, and she nearly bolted. But then his thumb lingering on her jaw moved up to trace the outline of her lower lip, the corner of her mouth.

The urge to flee grew stronger. She began to turn her head away, but he spread his hand around the back of her neck and brought his lips to hers.

This time it wasn’t forceful, it wasn’t demanding. It was the slightest brush of skin over skin, a caress so light it was merely a breath of air. His tongue traced the curve of her lower lip. She shivered, frozen to the ground. He sucked on her lip and gently drew it into his mouth.