“No,” I lied, then sighed at his knowing look. “Maybe a little. I just didn’t like watching her touch you.”
His eyes flashed red briefly, his grip on my waist tightening. “I didn’t like it either. And for the record—” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine, “—I have no interest in Ashley or anyone else. Only you.”
The simple declaration hit me with unexpected force. Before I could overthink it, I pulled his head down and kissed him, not caring that we were at a neighborhood barbecue or that anyone could see us.
Malphas responded immediately, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. The kiss quickly escalated, his tongue sweeping into my mouth as he backed me against the tree trunk, caging me with his body.
“Sam,” he groaned against my lips, “we should stop. We have guests.”
“Let them watch,” I murmured, nipping at his lower lip.
A growl rumbled through his chest, and for a moment I thought he might take me right there against the tree. Then, with visible effort, he pulled back slightly.
“Later,” he promised, his eyes glowing red. “I’m going to show you exactly who I belong to.”
The possessive statement should have bothered me. Instead, it sent heat pooling in my stomach. “Is that right? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I need to remind you whoyoubelong to.”
Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, followed by a heat that had nothing to do with his demonic nature. Before he could respond, however, Dave’s voice called from the grill:
“Malphas! These skewers need your expert attention!”
Malphas closed his eyes briefly, visibly collecting himself. When he opened them again, the red glow had dimmed, though the promise in them remained.
“To be continued,” he said, pressing one more quick kiss to my lips before stepping back.
I watched him return to the grill, his movements controlled but tension evident in the set of his shoulders. The rest of the barbecue passed in a haze of anticipation, every shared glance between us charged with the promise of what would come later.
Chapter 11
By the time the last guest left—Alice Deleon, who winked at me and whispered “Enjoy your evening” with far too much innuendo—the sun had set and the backyard was illuminated only by the string lights Malphas had hung from the trees.
We cleaned up in silence, the air between us heavy with expectation. I was hyperaware of his every movement, the deliberate way he avoided touching me as we gathered plates and stacked chairs.
When the last trash bag was tied and the kitchen restored to its immaculate state, Malphas finally turned to me, leaning against the counter.
“So,” he said, his voice deceptively casual, “boyfriend?”
I felt heat rise to my face. “I got carried away. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”
“It didn’t,” he said simply. “I liked it.”
“Oh.” I shifted, suddenly unsure where to put my hands. “Good.”
“What I don’t like,” he continued, pushing away from the counter to approach me, “is seeing someone else touch what’s mine.”
There was that possessiveness again, sending an inappropriate thrill through me. “Yours, huh? That’s presumptuous.”
He stopped directly in front of me, so close I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “Is it? After what we’ve shared this past month?”
I swallowed hard, torn between the urge to surrender to whatever this was between us and the fear of admitting how deeply he affected me.
“I don’t know what we’re doing here, Malphas,” I admitted. “This started as temporary housing and turned into… something else. Something I wasn’t expecting.”
“Does it need a label?” he asked, one hand coming up to cup my face. “Does it matter what we call it, as long as we both want it?”
Put like that, it seemed simple. But nothing about our situation was simple.
“What happens when my apartment is fixed?” I asked, the question that had been hovering between us for days. “Do we just… go back to how things were before?”
