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It was all she could do not to run her fingertips over that smooth skin and nuzzle the masculine scent of him into her lungs.
"I woke up early—had somewhere I wanted to be." He smiled at her, slow and persuasive. "Are you going to invite me in?" Raising a hand, he showed her a brown paper bag bearing the logo of a nearby bakery. "I brought breakfast."
She knew she shouldn't let him get his own way so very easily, but stepped aside in welcome. "What did you bring?"
"Come and see." He waited for her to close the door, then followed as she led the way into the kitchen through the living room of her apartment. "You like to read."
She saw him glance at the paperbacks on the shelves, stacked on the coffee table, placed face down on the arm of her sofa. "Yes."
"Me, too." He put the bag on the counter and slid onto a stool. "Why are you standing over there?"
She looked at him from the other side of the counter. "I thought I'd make coffee."
"Okay." He kept the bag closed. "But you're not seeing what's in here until you come around to this side."
He was definitely flirting. And she was definitely playing with fire by allowing it to go on. Because if there was one thing she knew about predatory changeling men, it was that they were quite ferally possessive—and belonging to anyone was simply not on her agenda. Of course, she was also getting way ahead of herself. He was only flirting. It wasn't as if he planned to drag her off to the chapel. "What do you read?" she asked, telling herself it was okay to try to flirt back, that this pull she felt toward him was nothing more than sexual attraction.
"Thrillers, some nonfiction." He looked around her open-plan kitchen and living room. "It's a small place."
"For you, maybe." He was so big, so unashamedly male, he took over the space . . . threatened to take her over, too.
He glanced at her, expression shifting to something darker and infinitely more dangerous. "Hmm, you're right. You're a bit smaller than me."
She tried to control her erratic breathing as she finished putting on the coffee. He just sat there and watched her with a feline patience that had her nerves sparking in reaction.
"How long have you lived here?"
"Last five years. I moved in after I got the teaching job."
"Did you live at home before that?"
She laughed through the thudding beat of her pulse. "Lord, no. I was outta there at eighteen."
"You ever get lonely, Annie?" he asked, his tone liquid heat over her skin.
"I like living alone. I intend to keep it that way." She thought she'd surprised him with that, but instead of replying, he lifted up the bag and raised an eyebrow. It was a dare. Annie had never considered herself particularly courageous, but she walked around the counter. He nodded at her to take the stool beside his.
Knowing it would be silly to refuse, she got up, rubbing her thigh with one hand. He noticed. "It hurt today?"
"What?" She looked down. "Oh, no, not really. It's habit." It was always a little achy in the mornings. "So, breakfast?"
His eyes went cat on her between one instant and the next. She sucked in a breath at the intensity of that green-gold gaze. "Wow."
He smiled. "Let's play a game."
She had a feeling that playing with this big kitty cat was a very bad idea, but since she'd already given in to her insanity, she said, "What're the rules?"
"Close your eyes. Eat what I give you, and tell me what it is."
The notion of having him feed her had her heart racing at the speed of light. "What do I get if I guess correctly?"
"Mystery prize." His lashes lowered, and she thought she caught a glimpse of something edgy, something that blazed with raw male heat, but when he looked back up, there was nothing but amusement in those leopard eyes. "Yes?"
"Yes." She watched mesmerized as he opened the paper bag with those hands she wanted to have all over her.
"Close your eyes, sweetheart."
She swallowed hunger of a far different sort and let her lashes flutter down. It made her even more aware of the scent of him, the warmth of him, the sheer presence of him. When he shifted position to put one of his feet on the outside of her stool, effectively trapping her, she opened her mouth to tell him . . . something.
