There was a vulnerability to a craving like this. His anger didn’t get provoked from snide comments and well-orchestrated contempt. But she’d impressed him with what she’d built, and she was endangering it with her stubborn need to save every sex demon that stumbled out of her swamp. She was endangering herself. That mattered to him. Maybe that in itself was unusual, but not as much as the fact that what she thought of him mattered.

It was the most absurd feeling he’d had in quite a while. Maybe he needed reconditioning from the Underworld. An oil change or something.

She was clever with words, but a snake-oil salesman or politician had that. She backed her words with herself, with action. He’d walked her property this morning. Her power signature was like her: a bold pen stroke, unflinching, a warning not to mess with what was hers. But the Craft of it was remarkably complex, delicate and exponentially strong, like a spiderweb. She wasn’t about brute power; she studied, she learned, she adapted, to the point there were minor modifications of the protection on different terrains, new compilations of spellwork he hadn’t seen used before.

In short, she was a damn good witch. Last night, she’d stood toe-to-toe with him on a battlefield and hadn’t flinched. In fact, he’d pissed her off, sparking those tempting green-gold eyes to full-out flame. Her courage had faltered, not because of his attack upon her as a Dark Guardian, but later, in the face of his desire to dominate her as a lover, something she craved but feared, because of the shadows in her soul.

She obviously had a history similar to those she protected. Someone had hurt her, used her, inflicted pain on her. As he’d made clear, he knew every story of brutality and cruelty there was. It was good that there was always somewhere in the world that needed rain, because the Goddess wept daily at what Her creations did to one another. The shape and color might be different, but it was the same substance. The devil was in those details.

For the first time in a while, he wanted to know the shape and color of that devil, and not because it was an assignment to do so. He told himself it was because he liked a challenge, and her emotional shields were a challenge. Like her perimeter, it would take both a delicate and powerful touch to get through them. That wasn’t going to happen unless he could get to the bottom of her soul. But he had an unsettling sense that to learn the shape of her soul, he might have to let her see his. Or that hers might change the shape of his.

He knew the moment she entered the garden. Of course. She didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. It was a wonder she was still alive, but of course, in his world, she was quite young, midthirties. He didn’t like the idea of that, her physical fragility, the fact she could be extinguished far more easily than he could. Then he remembered her defense of her home, both with her sharp tongue and her spellwork. He was being typically male. With the clever tongue alone, she could slice most enemies to ribbons.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with grace. And sincerity.

It was the last thing he expected her to say. Turning toward her, he found her face pale but serious. “You’re right. I made you into a symbol of all the things that have harmed my kind, and bludgeoned you with it, rather than seeing you as you are.”

“And what am I?”

As she cocked her head, his eyes followed the fall of her hair along her shoulder. The sweet line of collarbone. “I don’t know if I like you or hate you. I don’t know enough about you to be sure, so any feeling I have about you is transient.”

“Fair enough.” He wanted to touch her. He didn’t usually deny himself such compulsions, but things felt a little…delicate between them. Sitting down on the bench, he stretched out his legs. Glanced at the spot next to him, an invitation.

With a smile that was tired, not practiced, which made it more appealing, she came to him. Looking pointedly at the small space left on the bench due to his much larger frame, she moved between his feet and sat down on his thigh, her fingers settling on his shoulder to hold herself there.

Pleased with her decision, he slid an arm around her waist, molding his palm along the line of her hip. Then she put her arms around his neck, drew him to her. Bemused, he capitulated to the pressure, the distinct pleasure of her breasts against his face as she…hugged him.

He hadn’t been hugged since…Perhaps he’d never been hugged? That couldn’t be right. He was searching his brain for that scrap of information when she drew back, looked at him.

“So if you know the world sucks, why don’t you try to change anything?” she demanded.

It damn near made him smile, which he never did. She recovered fast from anger, didn’t sulk. At least not in this instance. She could likely do a damn good pout when it suited her purposes.

“Try to change the nature of living beings, their continual struggle between the good and evil in themselves? Try to impact the choices they make to reach the next level of spiritual evolution?” He shook his head. “That’s a higher pay grade than me. Sorry.”

HE INTRIGUED HER, DAMN IT. AFFECTION WAS EASY FOR her kind, and the moment had called for a hug, but the shock on his face…She guessed not a lot of people went around hugging Dark Guardians. He’d recovered, though. That hand on her hip was strong and steady, the idle stroke of his fingers awakening every nerve ending within range.

He was more than she’d expected him to be, but he’d picked up that there was more to her as well. It was an emotional aphrodisiac for any woman, a man’s genuine interest in her.

With the male attention span being what it was, the effect would wear off when the next pair of breasts bounced into his field of vision. Of course, the only breasts in his field of vision right now were hers, and they were big enough to take up the full screen. She could enjoy whatever this was, as long as it lasted. Life was short, after all. Well, her life was short, compared to his.

“What are you doing today?” When he drew his attention from those breasts, the amused suggestion in his eyes made her smile. “You’re not doing me right now,” she said decisively. “That’s still under negotiation. What’s your schedule today?”

“Something you want me to pencil in?”

“You’re avoiding the question.” She stroked her fingers along the column of his throat. Then trailed down the opening of the shirt, glad he’d buttoned only two buttons.

He closed his hand on hers, his eyes kindled to flame. “You keep doing that, I’ll close that negotiation.”

“What do you do when you’re not doing your job? Parasailing, Zumba…chess?”

“I do what I did last night. I can do that for a long time. Hours, even.”

Well, that certainly gave her toes a curl. He’d kept her hand and his between them, curved around one another. “If I had a clear schedule today, that would be more than tempting. But what I was thinking was—”

“It’s here, it’s here!” Gina rushed down the garden path, her thick red hair sparkling. “Raina, it came!”

“What came?” Raina rose from Mikhael’s knee, moving her hand to his shoulder, still stroking, following his collarbone beneath the shirt’s loose hold. What made it even more provocative was it wasn’t a deliberate tease. Mikhael could tell she was merely enjoying touching him, like any other visually stimulating thing in her garden. He was going to send Gina away, bend her mistress over that bench, and—

“The box,” Gina said, as if talking about the Ark of the Covenant. “The box, the box, the box.” As the girl chanted it, she caught Raina’s hand and pulled her away to spin with her, so wildly she lost her grip and bumped into Mikhael, falling onto his other knee. He steadied her, but Gina was off his leg in a flash, her eyes wide and pulse pounding, like a bird who’d narrowly escaped being caught by a cat. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“As far as I know, a woman sitting in a Guardian’s lap isn’t a capital offense in the Underworld,” Mikhael commented. “But I can double-check the codex.”

Gina’s eyes widened farther, her gaze darting to Raina. “You know,” the witch said dryly, “it would help if you smiled when you made a joke, Mikhael.”

“Oh.” Gina blinked; then a tentative smile crossed her face. “Wow. Okay. Raina, the box is here.”

“I gathered that.”

“The box?” Mikhael asked.

Raina drew Gina to her side and pressed a kiss to her temple, adding to the reassurance. The young woman giggled and wrapped her arms around Raina, squeezing her and giving Mikhael some very pleasant fantasies as she laid her red head on the witch’s ample bosom, brushing her cleavage with soft lips.

“Behave,” Raina murmured. “About every six months, we order new stuff. Toys, role-playing costumes, jewelry. Supplies.”

“It causes a lot of excitement,” he noted.

“Well, the staff gets to play with it first. That’s the rule. Their own little passion party.”

Mikhael lifted a brow. “It’s not even lunchtime.”

“People have been known to enjoy sex toys before lunchtime. People born in this century.”

When Gina tittered, Mikhael gave Raina a look that promised retribution. Like being pulled over his lap right then and there. She gave a little shiver that tightened her nipples more prominently against the satin of that robe. Fuck, he was going to take her right here.

Gina didn’t help in the slightest. “You like him,” she cooed, her hand caressing the full curve outside the satin, teasing across one taut peak. Raina tugged her hair, tsked at her.

“Stop that. Go on in now. We’ll come join you in a minute. What is this in your hair?”

As Gina straightened, she fluffed the red locks, sending out a cloud of sparkles. Raina put her hands on her hips. “We had a rule about glitter dust. No more. It takes forever to get out of the carpet, and clients don’t like taking it back into the real world on their hair and skin.”

“It wasn’t my fault; it was Ana’s. There was some in the top of the box, complimentary, and she sprinkled it on everyone, even Isaac.” Gina backpedaled up the path, giving a brilliant, unrepentant smile. “He looked so perplexed by it. Come in soon. This is going to be fun.”