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  He stripped off his boxers in one swift, impatient move.

  Giada caught her breath. God, he was beautiful as he rose to his full height, naked and brawny in the cool, pale light flooding through the window. His shoulders looked impossibly broad compared to his narrow waist and the powerful legs that were all chiseled muscle and bone. His cock jutted from a nest of fine, dark curls, curving slightly upward, its head fat as a plum, shaft so thick and hard she caught her breath.

  She reached for her panties and stripped them off, then sent them sailing across the room. He grinned in an oddly boyish flash of teeth, and covered her in warm, velvet strength. She purred.

  He kissed her. Lazy, sweet, and deep, stroking tongue and lip, brushing back and forth, teasing, nibbling teeth finding her chin, the tender lobe of her ear. Blowing to make her smile at the tickle.

  The maddening hunger retreated even as he caressed her, becoming a bit more gentle, a bit more tender with every touch. Less like a possession than natural need. She gasped in relief, able to think again. I should stop this.

  But his fingers feathered over her breasts, spinning sensations she’d never felt before. Impossibly intriguing. Incredibly hot. She caught her breath and let her eyes slip closed.

  Sex had never been all that satisfying for her. Her first college lover had been a virgin himself. When he’d penetrated her, she’d been too dry, and it hurt. She’d cried, and he’d stormed out in a huff.

  Renaldo, the vampire who’d given her Merlin’s Gift, had been far more skilled. He’d made sure she was aroused, and all three times had been satisfying—though the Gift itself had felt a lot like taking a direct lightning strike to the back of the skull. Yet he’d never made her feel like this.

  Luscious curls of pleasure trailed in the wake of Logan’s fingers, delicate as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. His lips felt so soft, some magical blend of silk and satin, heated and tender.

  He touches me like I mean something to him.

  Renaldo had made love like a French chef preparing a meal—with skill and pride in his craft—but she hadn’t meant anything to him. He hadn’t known her. Hadn’t wanted to.

  Logan cradled her with every touch and kiss, silently assuring her how important she was to him. Each glittering sensation struck her starving soul like rain on parched earth.

  That was what she couldn’t resist. She might have found the strength to tear herself away had he offered her nothing more than desire. She could not say no to this exquisite tenderness.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Logan breathed. There was absorbed wonder in his eyes as he looked at her, tracing the curves of her body with delicate fingertips.

  Giada shivered. Caught her breath as he lowered his head. The tip of his tongue found the point of her nipple, sending hot jolts of sensation flicking along her nerves, piercingly sweet. She moaned and slid a hand into the raw silk of his hair.

  He licked her, slow circles and figure eights drawn in wet heat on aching skin. The desire that had calmed began to surge again, sweeter now, a warm purring thrum building in her bones.

  Slowly, deliberately, Logan worked his way across her breasts, paying lavish attention to first one nipple, then the other, until he had her head rolling on the pillow in a delirium of pleasure.

  Giada was floating in honeyed arousal by the time he started stringing tiny, stinging little bites down the rise of her rib cage. He paused to tongue her navel until she squirmed in ticklish protest. Then he just kept going, kissing his way down to her pelvic bone.

  She caught her breath in helpless anticipation as he stirred the fine, soft hair over her mound with a fingertip. Spread her lower lips, oh-so-delicately, like a man parting the petals of a rose.

  Lick.

  Sensation zinged its way up her spine. Sparks flared behind her lids. “Logan!” She twisted, digging her nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders.

  He made a low rumbling sound like the purr of a tiger. And covered her with his mouth, tongue swirling a hypnotic dance over wet and swollen flesh. Her hips jerked and rolled in helpless delight.

  He licked, he suckled and teased. Drew back for a moment and slid a finger deep into tight, creaming depths. Made a deep, satisfied sound. “You do want me.”

  “God, yes!” She squeezed her eyes shut and dug one bare heel into the small of his back. “You’re driving me insane!”

  “Good. You’ve been driving me insane for days.” A second finger joined the first, pumping, twisting. She rolled her hips, pleading.

  “Now . . .” she panted.

  “Hmmm.” Logan tilted his head, eyeing her folds as they caressed his fingers with wet, swollen heat. “Not quite.”

  “Logan!”

  He laughed and took her with his mouth again, licking her clit in tormenting little strokes that made her quiver.

  She began to beg, rolling her hips against his face, so maddeningly close to her climax, but not . . . quite . . . there. “Logan, dammit!” she gasped, her voice strangled.

  He laughed, a wicked rumble, and sat up. She was about to protest when he grabbed her thighs, spread her wide—

  And drove to the balls in one hard lunge.

  Her eyes flared wide, meeting his narrowed gaze as he froze, there, impaling her. “God!” His voice sounded strangled. “You feel . . .” A muscle flexed in his cheek, and his eyes closed as he began to pull out, slowly, slowly, a raking, delicious glide.

  Only to fill her again the next moment, his pelvis pressing deliciously against her clit.

  Thick, so damn thick, so damn long, all the way . . .

  So damned wrong. She really wished she cared.

  SEVEN

  Giada clenched around him, a cream-slicked silken vise, so impossibly tight he wondered if she was a virgin.

  But no virgin would feel like a heated peach, all juice and yielding flesh. Her exquisite runner’s legs were wrapped around his waist, heels riding his ass, urging him on. Her slender arms gripped his shoulders with surprising strength until every sweet satin inch of her was pressed to every hairy male inch of him. She met his thrusts with rolling, eager hips as she moaned, gasped, cried out in reaction each time he drove deep.

  Logan felt the orgasm gathering in his balls like a hot fist going tight. And tighter, and tighter, until he thought the pressure would . . .

  “Logan!” She screamed his name in a high-pitched cry of delight. Her tiny inner muscles clamped down on his sawing cock with astonishing strength, pulsing as she climaxed.

  He bellowed and came in a roaring explosion of a climax that tore through him like a convulsion, so hard that for a moment he wondered if it was the Gift. Throwing back his head, Logan watched light explode behind his lids in searing shades of gold and green. Dimly, he felt Giada’s slim body twisting in his arms.

  Their eyes tightly closed, neither of them saw the emerald around her neck spit a final satisfied green spark.

  Gasping, they collapsed together in a sweat-damp heap, unable to move for a long moment, hearts pumping in desperate lunges, lungs heaving.

  With a groan, Logan finally rolled off her and drew her over across his chest. Giada lay there, boneless as a wet sponge, listening to his thundering heartbeat slow. Her own heart still pounded, and her muscles quivered like a hard-run horse’s. Her entire body felt stunned with a kind of bewildered delight.

  She’d never even known sex could be like that. No wonder everyone made such a big deal about it. She couldn’t wait to do it again.

  The memory of Arthur Pendragon’s cold black gaze flashed through her consciousness. “Do not sleep with my son.”

  Giada winced. I am so screwed.

  She’d broken a promise to King Arthur. He was going to kill her. Logan was going to kill her.

  What had she done?

  She had to tell Logan the truth.

  Yes, Arthur had told her not to, but then, Arthur had told her not to sleep with his son, too, and look what had happened.

  She was a weasel. She had a
ll the willpower of a roll of wet toilet paper. He was going to hate her.

  Gathering her courage, Giada lifted her head, bracing herself for his reaction. “Logan . . .”

  “Oh, man,” he moaned. The smile that played around his beautiful mouth was both sated and oddly sweet, tinged in an astonished wonder. “That was . . . amazing.”

  Diverted, Giada stared at him. “Really?” The word was such an obvious plea for reassurance that she winced. Idiot. He probably says that to every girl he screws stupid.

  Logan brushed a tangled blond curl off her cheekbone and gave her a tender smile. “Yeah. Really.”

  Good grief, he means it. That look in his eyes . . . Something told her Arthur’s son wasn’t the type for facile sexual lies. She swallowed and licked her dry lips. “I have something to tell you.”

  He stroked the curl he still held between thumb and forefinger. His gaze was warm, indulgent. Almost . . . loving? “Yeah?”

  Imagining the rage that would soon fill those dark eyes, the disillusion and betrayal, Giada cringed.

  “I’ve never felt like this.” The words burst from her, utter truth—but not the truth she needed to tell. Which was when she realized she couldn’t stand to see those beautiful eyes chill into hate and anger.

  Oh, God.

  I won’t touch him again, she told herself firmly. It takes three times. Maybe more. I’ll just stay away from him from now on. If we don’t make love again, everything will be fi ne.

  He lifted his head from the pillow and took her mouth, the kiss tender, so deliciously seductive, her sated body quivered in response.

  I am so screwed.

  Giada felt delicious as she lay across his body, sweat-damp and breathing hard, warm and female and lovely. Her hair tumbled across his skin, cool curls tickling every time either of them breathed. Her breath puffed across his left nipple, which drew into a bead in response.

  I think I’m in trouble.

  The thought zipped in out of nowhere, and Logan frowned. Shut up, he told that little warning mutter. He did not want this lovely mood ruined.

  But the mental mutter only got louder. I am defi nitely in trouble.

  Logan was nobody’s idea of a virgin. He’d been fourteen when he’d had his first lover, a pretty sixteen-year-old Latent with a yen to seduce the son of King Arthur.

  There’d been a lot of Latents like that.

  Since becoming an adult, he’d learned his way around a woman’s body well enough that he no longer expected to be surprised. Giada had surprised him anyway.

  Logan had no idea what had made this time so different. He suspected it was Giada herself. Giada, with her oddly innocent reactions to his touch, her beautifully responsive body.

  Giada, who was mortal. Who could never become immortal because she wasn’t a Latent.

  The thought brought its own kind of grief.

  Though Logan was in no hurry to become a vampire—and in fact meant to put it off as long as possible—he’d always known he had a duty to join the Magekind. Never mind that the thought made his stomach knot and sweat break out on his palms.

  Avalon needed him, especially now. Over the past two years, the Magekind had fought a series of wars with some seriously nasty magical enemies. Arthur had lost far too many warriors in those battles—so many, in fact, he’d been forced to recruit a group of likely Latents en masse back in December. It had been an unprecedented move, because the Magekind usually recruited one Latent at a time. To bring in so many at once showed just how desperate they really were.

  Arthur had asked Logan to take up Merlin’s Gift with the new group, but he’d refused. He still wasn’t sure he was ready.

  Sooner or later, though, he’d have to accept the Gift. That meant leaving behind his mortal career, his fellow cops and coworkers. He would probably never see those friends again. They would grow old and die, while he continued on, immortal, un-aging, fighting at his father’s side. He’d have no room for mortals in his life anymore.

  Not even a mortal like Giada.

  Brooding now, Logan stared at the ceiling, his hand absently stroking the cool gold silk of her hair.

  If he hadn’t been his father’s son, what would he have done?

  The answer was obvious. After tonight, he would have pursued Giada with all the skill at his command. Wined her, dined her.

  And proposed.

  Giada Shepherd was everything he’d ever wanted. Brilliant, lovely, and courageous. The woman of his dreams.

  Oh, he could still court her—but only if he was willing to turn his back on his duty to his father. And he couldn’t.

  It was one thing to put the Gift off. He had, after all, a perfectly legitimate reason to wait. He wanted to be sure of his strength before he attempted the transformation. The price of failure would be entirely too high, not only for himself, but for his parents. So he’d wait until he was sure.

  But he could not wait forever.

  And that meant he and Giada had no future. Like it or not, he was going to have to keep his distance.

  The spy prowled the bomb squad’s equipment room, cell phone in hand. Pausing in front of the whiteboard hanging on the wall, she studied the duty schedule the squad members had filled in.

  “According to my contact,” she murmured, “Logan MacRoy will be on call with the arson squad Friday night.”

  “And you want me to make sure he’s got something to investigate.” Terrence John Anderson sounded, as usual, faintly bored.

  She bared her teeth at the whiteboard. “And that it’s the last investigation he ever conducts.”

  “I can arrange that.”

  Restlessly, the spy turned to pace again, striding back and forth across the room. “I think you’d be wise to make sure there’s at least one backup . . . device. That woman he has with him may be able to deactivate one of them.”

  “The tall blonde.”

  “Yes.” She ground her teeth at the rise of impotent rage. Her failed attempt to shoot the little bitch grated on her. “The blonde. I think she’s the reason your first attempt on Logan failed.”

  “I wouldn’t think so. According to my research, she’s just a chemist. I don’t see how somebody like that would be able to disable one of my devices.”

  How dare he question her? With the skill of long practice, the spy kept the rage from her voice. “Trust me, she did.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll make sure she goes down with him.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Feel free to make the incident as spectacular as possible.”

  He paused a moment, surprise in his silence. “I thought you wanted this low-key.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” It would take something big to get her father’s attention—and win his respect. “I have someone I want to impress.”

  Terrence laughed softly. “Oh, believe me—I can deliver impressive.”

  “See that you do.” She clicked the cell phone closed and tucked it away. Blowing out a breath, she gazed around at the rolls of det cord and boxes of bursting charges. There were enough explosives in this room to turn the entire department into a crater.

  It would be so easy to get Terrence in here and turn him loose. If she timed the bombing for shift change, he could take out three-quarters of the deputies and all of the department’s administration, up to and including the sheriff.

  It was definitely something to think about.

  She let herself imagine it: the roiling smoke, the screams of the dying, the blood and missing limbs, men turned to hamburger in the blink of an eye.

  God, she was so tempted.

  But no. It was much better to try a surgical strike first. Otherwise, it might not be clear to Arthur that their true objective among all those dead cops had been his precious son.

  And she wanted him to know.

  Terrence put his cell back on its belt clip, a smile of anticipation on his face. Finally! He’d been going out of his mind with boredom stuck in this ho
tel room, waiting for the client to let him know when she wanted him to make another attempt.

  Generally, he did not allow those who hired him to dictate how he did his job. But this one was paying him a great deal extra to indulge her.

  Now she’d given him permission to carry out the kind of deadly artistry that was his forte.

  Better yet, this one would be a challenge. He’d never tried to combine an arson with not just one but a series of bombs. Bombs designed specifically to take out first responders.

  Dead cops. Dead firemen. A sense of power rolled over him, exhilarating and arousing. Terrence hardened behind his zipper in a rush of heat and swelling lust.

  His mind raced as he started considering the possibilities. First, though, he’d need to find a house he could burn to provide the setup he needed.

  He contemplated whether to arrange civilian fire victims. It was a tempting idea, but perhaps a little too ambitious. If he tried to plant devices while the victims were at home, the chances of getting caught were just too great. Armed homeowners, someone calling 911—

  Definitely too dangerous.

  So he’d look for a place whose occupants were on vacation. Somewhere there were no neighbors, or the other residents were gone during the day. It would take time to find a place like that, and still more time to design and plant his devices.

  He’d have to work like a dog to get everything ready, but he should be able to finish his preparations by Friday.

  A cold smile playing around his lips, Terrence picked up his notebook and digital camera and headed for the door.

  Smoke dozed, eyes half-closed, under his favorite azalea. He’d walked his usual warding spell around the yard, so it was safe enough. The ward would wake him if anyone tried to cross its boundary.