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“This want is not a little thing. It’s not an itch, it’s an ache, and it’s become so pervasive I can’t think straight. I want you, you particularly, and I’ve never wanted anyone or anything like this before. I need you to tell me you don’t want me, because I’m hanging onto my last thread of control, and if you tell me you don’t want me, it might keep that thread from breaking.”

Her eyes were enigmatic when she finally said, “I don’t want you,” in the softest whisper. Aside from the volume level, it was indistinguishable from her usual sarcasm, but I took it anyway.

“Thank you,” I said on an expelled breath and walked away.

“You’re not welcome.”

“Hellion.” I turned off the light, laid down on the couch, and shut my eyes.

“Reprobate.”

“Virgin.”

“Ho.”

“Marry me.”

“You don’t believe in love, remember?”

“What’s that got to do with marriage?”

“Jackass.”

“Prude.”

“Hedonist.”

“Killjoy.”

Our voices were quiet but full of amusement as we tossed the words back and forth between the sofa and my wicked, wicked bed.

“Libertine.”

“Puritan.”

“Rake.”

“Are you finished?” I asked her. “Get all that out of your system?”

“I could do this all night.”

“I could do a lot of things all night.” My voice was velvety smooth and full of all of the sins of the dark. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Degenerate.”

“Old maid.”

“Slut.”

“Tease.”

“How am I teasing you?” The little minx sounded genuinely baffled.

“By existing.”

“Brazen tramp.”

“Selfish prig.”