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He shifted to his true shape, had mortals scooting out of his way as he followed her inside, still grappling with unease.
He’d almost gotten her killed. What if further contact with him finished the job, and it—?
The thought sputtered as his senses dragged to her like iron filings to a magnet. She was sitting in the same booth, looking nervous, looking around.
Was she waiting for someone? The same person she might have been waiting for when he’d caught her eye last week? The person who’d have a lust-crazed Lokian on his case if he showed up?
Though he shouldn’t be worrying about a contender for her favors or what that unfortunate bastard might be in danger of, anyway. She’d probably run away screaming when she saw him this time. That would put an end to this insanity.
Fine. Time to put an end to it.
He started heading for her, and long before she should have noticed him, her eyes snapped around and caught him in their bull’s-eye. Her gaze hit him even harder than it had the first time. The heat of it evaporated every intention of letting things end here.
With his every step closer, her eyes widened, her lips trembled. He couldn’t bear it if it was with fear and revulsion.
She made a move to rise when he stopped above her.
His hand on her shoulder kept her in place. “Don’t run again. I’m not a threat to you.”
His conscience barked at him. Liar.
He might not be a direct threat, but the indirect threats associating with him could bring her were as, or more, dangerous.
Her lips trembled harder. “I know that.”
“Sure.” He touched a finger to her pulse, felt her life strong and intoxicating under his touch. “That’s why your pulse feels like a trapped bird.”
She wet her lips, swallowed. “It’s not fear.”
His erection jerked. He pressed his finger harder into her flesh, almost groaned with the arousal that sheared through him. “You don’t need to placate me.”
“I’m not.”
His fingers stilled on her frantic pulse. “Then why did you run? If I didn’t scare you?”
“Why did I come back, if you did?”
Good question. But when it came to her, the answer might not be the obvious.
He tested her claim. He swept his finger down her neck, the intention not to stop until he claimed the first intimacy clear in his touch, his gaze. He barely managed not to swoop down and catch her gasp on his tongue, drive inside her until he’d drained her of moans for him not to stop, to do anything at all to her.
Her hand came up, covered his.
He raised one eyebrow at her. Too intrusive? Or too creepy, when she’d seen what he could do with that hand, what it could turn into? Mortal in boundaries, after all, eh?
He started to remove his hand.
She caught it, pressed it to her neck.
Feeling his hand sandwiched between the hot silk of her flesh jolted electricity through him, singeing his loins and brain. His erection lurched harder when she pressed her neck into the curve of his palm.
She was showing him that she wasn’t afraid of him. More, that she trusted him.
She wouldn’t be so trusting if she knew that everything that made him able to pretend to be a civilized, modern man was slipping away, stripping him into the barbarian whose life revolved around plundering and pillaging. And he’d never wanted anything like he wanted her.
Then her earlier counterquestion crackled through his lust-hazed mind.
He blinked. “You mean you’re here looking for me?”
