“That’s not magic.”

Stephen shrugged, and the muscles in his shoulders flexed a little with the motion. “As above, so below. The rules arena’ that different, in the end.”

“So—” Mina caught her breath.

No, she wasn’t going to ask. Questions that began with “So you and I” would not lead anywhere remotely productive or good or wise. The phrase “you and I” was a very bad one, particularly when Stephen was looking down at her, only a few inches away, and he smelled rather like wood smoke, which she didn’t want to notice, either. It should have reminded her that he was a dragon and she should be afraid.

Instead, she wanted to step closer and rest her face against his neck.

Bad idea. Bad idea. The whole thing called for a lighter topic.

Unfortunately, she’d started speaking before she realized the only thing that came to mind: “Why were you wearing a new shirt, then? If you knew that.”

“The maids don’t know it,” Stephen said, “and Baldwin doesna’, exactly. It was never truly a problem. Not—”

“Not until I came along,” Mina said, quirking a smile.

“Something of the sort, aye. In this particular case, though, I’ve no objections to your presence. My awareness isn’t quite the same when I’m transformed, and they could easily have seen too much if you hadn’t been there.”

Now Stephen did move his hand, but he didn’t drop it. Rather, he slid it up her arm and along the line of her shoulder, then her neck. Finally he traced his fingertips down the side of her jaw before cupping her cheek in his hand.

She should move now, Mina thought, or push his hand away, or at least say something. There wasn’t an etiquette guide in the world that would say this situation was proper, especially not with what had come before. She felt frozen in place, though. The world seemed to have stopped; she definitely didn’t think she was breathing.

She didn’t particularly want to start again.

“Cerberus,” said Stephen, and this time Mina didn’t mind the name as much. Stephen’s voice mocked himself this time, and praised her. “Guarding my doorstep this time. I should ha’ known.”

“Oh,” she said, light and breathless and a long way away from her actual mind, “this is all a bit pleasant for the underworld, you know.”

“I’m no’ much judge of that,” he said, “but I’m glad to hear you say it.” His fingers moved slightly against her face, stroking the skin behind her ear. “You’re certainly a much less terrifying defender. And a much more appealing one.”

Stephen’s voice fell on the last sentence, and for a moment, the quiet, husky tone of it overcame the last of Mina’s restraint. She took one small step forward, put her own hands on his shoulders, and lifted her lips to his.

Even caught up in the moment, she was a little uncertain at first. It had been a long time since she’d kissed a man, and she usually hadn’t initiated the process back then. Besides that, Stephen was tall enough to make Mina worry that she’d judge the angle wrong and end up kissing his chin or his nose. The first brush of her lips against his mouth was light, tentative.

The fire it ignited was enough to drive her past any uncertainty.

All the same, the kiss was gentle this time too. Mina heard Stephen catch his breath as she leaned against him. The hand that had cupped her face was at the back of her neck now, fingers stroking down her spine, but he let her take the lead, responding to the pressure of her lips and the light touch of her tongue.

Beneath her hands, the muscles in his arms were bunched and tense. There was as much power in him as there had been when he’d pulled her to him in the study. He was simply containing it now. Leashing it.

The realization was as heady as the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers.

She took a step forward. That brought her breasts against Stephen’s bare chest, sending a delightful sort of ache through them and turning her nipples instantly hard—and her knees weak. Stephen slipped his other arm around her waist then, so it was a very simple matter just to lean into him, to trust him to take her weight while she melted against his body.

Kissing a man, apparently, was one of those things that came back quickly. If the sensations were far stronger, the skills at least had stayed.

Realizing as much gave Mina more mental satisfaction. She wouldn’t come off as a complete novice in this area. A nice girl probably wouldn’t have been glad about that. A nice girl wouldn’t be standing in a deserted house and kissing a man she barely knew.

Nice girls missed a great deal.

She broke the kiss, but not to pull away. Rather, she indulged her impulse of a few moments before and turned her face to rest against Stephen’s neck. The wood-smoke smell was stronger there, mixed with a very human masculine aroma, and when she ran her tongue experimentally up to Stephen’s ear, he made a rough and inarticulate noise.

Also, the hand at her waist was now cupping her backside. Very nicely, too. Then there was pressure, so she followed it, letting Stephen draw her right up against him.

Now her breasts were crushed against his chest so that she could feel its warmth right through the layers of her clothing. Lower down, a long, thick shaft pressed against her, even hotter and harder than the rest of Stephen’s body.

Mina’s practical knowledge of male organs was a little hazy. It was still good enough to produce several unclear but extremely tempting images and to make her squirm in Stephen’s arms, rubbing herself against him.

That didn’t quite work. Rather, it felt wonderful but was not quite what she wanted.

Stephen was too damn tall. Or she was too short. It would all be much better if they were lying down. The thought crossed her mind just as Stephen trailed his other hand down, his fingers maddeningly light as they grazed over her bodice, and gently cupped one of her breasts.

“Ohh.”

The sound rushed out of Mina on a breath that seemed to empty her lungs. She felt Stephen tense, felt the flex of his muscles beneath her palms, and drew her own hands downward, feeling crisp hair and smooth skin beneath her fingertips. Touching his chest meant putting a little more space between it and her breasts, but that was all right—especially when Stephen started stroking his thumb over her nipple.

Then it was more than all right: it was enthralling. The place between her legs was hot and wet and aching. It ached more with every motion of Stephen’s hands, with every inch of his skin Mina touched, but she desperately wanted to keep going.

And then, from the window nearby: thump.

Mina didn’t even see Stephen move. She barely felt it. One second she was in his arms, her whole being centered on desire; the next, she was facing the window from behind him. Her shoulders were a little sore, and when she had a second to breathe, she processed the whirl of movement. He’d grabbed her and spun her out of the way.

Contrary to all reason, the thought did nothing to diminish her lust.

A pair of green eyes, staring out of the darkness, did. Mina glimpsed them when she peered around Stephen, gasped—and then relaxed when the shape around them moved and she saw more of it.

“Just the cat,” she said.

“The cat?” he grumbled. “I wasna’ aware we had one.”

“Well—a cat, then.” Although it was more like the. Emily had started putting food out for the creature, and Mina had caught Owens with a saucer of milk at least once. Mina couldn’t read Stephen’s tone, though, and she wasn’t inclined to tattle on the scullery maid who sometimes smiled and asked how her day had gone. “I’ve seen it round the back a few times. Strays, you know. You get them in the city.”

“Probably harmless enough, then,” Stephen said, and turned away from the window. His gaze fastened on Mina’s face, and his eyes darkened, but he made no move to approach her.

Mina understood. Harmless as the cat was, its sudden presence outside had been an effective slap in the face for her. Now she was all too aware that she’d been standing in a deserted and dimly lit house, ready to do all sorts of unwise things with a man she’d known for all of three weeks—a gentleman, at that, and one who wasn’t even human. She couldn’t blame him this time, either.

Whatever he was going to say—scandalized lecture or gentlemanly apology—Mina didn’t want to hear it. “People will be getting back soon,” she said. “You should probably go and see to your room before one of the maids gets there.”

“Oh. Aye.” Stephen cleared his throat. “No, it wouldn’t do to have them upset,” he agreed and started up the stairs. Halfway up, as Mina was beginning to walk away, he stopped and turned. “Are—will you be all right?”

“Oh, well enough,” said Mina, turning back with a smile she didn’t really feel. “I’ll just…I’ll make myself a cup of tea.”

“Because that,” she added to the dark hall, once she was alone there, “is sure to solve everything.”

Fourteen

In the morning, the wind spat rain against the window glass. Stephen looked up from his tea and made a sound that sounded unusually dragonish even to him. He should have known. He’d come to London in the spring—if one could call it that.

Oh, the sky was as gray at home and the weather as bad, or worse. He had to admit that. But he’d never minded there. In the city, the rain felt greasy, and the low, bleak sky was an imprisoning wall. There were walls everywhere here. Some of them granted at least a little safety—though last night had shown their limits—but all of them kept him trapped, even the ones that were only words.