“Just watching,” I said, not bothering to hide my appreciation. “What are you making?”
“A bookshelf,” he replied, setting down his tools. “For your graphic novels. I noticed you have them stacked on the floor in the guest room.”
I blinked, surprised and touched by the gesture. “You’re building me a bookshelf?”
He shrugged, suddenly looking almost shy. “It’s nothing elaborate. Just something functional.”
I moved closer, examining the partially assembled piece. It was beautiful work—clean lines, perfect joints, the wood already sanded to a silky smoothness.
“This is hardly ‘nothing,’” I said, running my fingers over the surface. “Thank you.”
Malphas watched my hand move across the wood, his eyes darkening slightly. “You’re welcome.”
The air between us suddenly felt charged. I looked up at him, at those mesmerizing eyes now shifting from hazel to red, at the strong line of his jaw, at the subtle quirk of his mouth.
“You know,” I said, stepping closer, “there’s something incredibly sexy about watching you work with your hands.”
A low rumble emanated from his chest. “Is that so?”
I nodded, reaching out to brush some sawdust from his forearm. “Very sexy. All that power, all that precision.” My fingers trailed up to his bicep. “It makes me wonder what else those hands can do.”
In one fluid motion, Malphas had me pressed against the workbench, his body caging mine. “Would you like a demonstration?” he growled, his voice pure demon now.
“God, yes,” I breathed.
“Don’t bring Him into this,” Malphas murmured against my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. “This is between you and me.”
His mouth captured mine in a hungry kiss that tasted of coffee and something darker, something otherworldly. His hands—those incredible hands—gripped my hips, lifting me effortlessly onto the workbench. Tools and screws scattered as I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
“Careful,” he warned, breaking the kiss. “Some of those are expensive.”
I laughed breathlessly. “Only you would worry about your tools while we’re making out.”
His answering smile was wickedly predatory. “I wasn’t talking about the hardware.” His hand cupped me through my jeans, making me gasp. “This is much more valuable.”
“Smooth,” I managed, arching into his touch. “Very smooth.”
“I have my moments,” he said, then proceeded to demonstrate just how skilled those hands could be.
He undid my jeans with practiced ease, sliding them down along with my boxers. The cool air of the garage made me shiver, or maybe it was the heat in Malphas’s gaze as he looked at me, exposed and wanting.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, running his hands up my thighs. “So fucking beautiful.”
I reached for the hem of his t-shirt, eager to feel his skin against mine. “Off,” I demanded. “I want to see you.”
He complied, pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. No matter how many times I saw his bare torso, it neverfailed to take my breath away—all that sculpted crimson muscle, the subtle patterns in his skin that weren’t quite human.
“Like what you see?” he asked, a knowing smirk on his lips.
“You know I do,” I replied, reaching out to trace the defined lines of his abdomen. “You’re like a walking wet dream.”
His eyes flared red at the compliment. “And you,” he said, leaning in to kiss me again, “are a temptation I can’t resist.”
His hands made quick work of removing my shirt, and then we were skin to skin, his supernatural heat warming me everywhere we touched. His mouth trailed down my neck, across my collarbone, down to my chest. When his tongue flicked over my nipple, I gasped, tangling my fingers in his hair, careful to avoid his horns.
“Malphas,” I groaned as he continued his downward journey, kissing and nipping at my stomach. “Please.”
He looked up at me, eyes glowing. “Please what?”
