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“That's not an answer.”

“It is tonight.”

She laughs, and the sound hits me somewhere dangerously close to my heart.

Fuck.

I kiss her again. The front door slams behind us without either of us touching it.

Her fingers slide into my hair.

My wings spread instinctively, and Belinda pulls back just enough to look at them.

Something shifts in her expression.

Not fear.

Never fucking fear.

It’s something like wonder. Which might be worse than her fear.

Christ, this woman is going to kill me.

Her fingertips skim the edge of one wing. My entire body locks.

“Belinda.”

“What?”

“Careful.”

Her brown eyes sparkle.

“Are they sensitive?”

I'm not answering that. Her smile widens.

Little menace.

I tighten my hold on her and take the stairs two at a time.

“Damian!”

“You asked for it.”

“I asked a question!”

“Same thing.”

“It absolutely is not.”

I kiss her again, hiding my grin against her mouth. She's still arguing when we reach the top floor.

My house is minimalist because I don't like clutter. Never have.

Everything has a purpose. The furniture is good, solid and built to last. Heavy mahogany. Wrought iron. Black marble. Dark leather.

My bedroom is no different.