She told herself she was too tired to fight him, but she knew that she was lying to herself.
Roke only had to be in the same room for her to melt with longing.
Dammit.
“You’re not going to try to convince me you were ever a Boy Scout?” she asked, trying for a distraction, but the words came out as a breathless invitation.
He moved in close, lowering his head to speak directly in her ear.
“No, and before you ask, I never ate one for breakfast.” His lips brushed the curve of her ear. “I prefer peaches.”
Her hands lifted, somehow slipping beneath his leather jacket to explore the wide chest covered by nothing more than the thin tee.
“Roke.”
He growled in satisfaction as his seeking lips found the pulse that beat at her temple.
“This isn’t the mating.”
Her fingers grasped his shirt, her brow furrowed in confusion as tingles of excitement raced down her spine.
She could barely breathe; how was she supposed to think?
“What?”
“This heat that burns between us.” He pulled back, the candlelight reflected in his pale eyes. “It has nothing to do with the mating.”
She shook her head, refusing to admit that she’d been in lust with this man since she caught sight of him.
She needed to cling to the pretense that there was nothing but the spell between them.
Otherwise . . .
She slammed the door before the dangerous fear could form.
“Of course it does.”
There was a hint of fang as he trailed his mouth over her flushed cheek, his fingers sliding down to circle her throat.
“You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me,” he growled. “This desire ignited the moment we met.”
The denial died on her lips.
He was right.
The scent of her stirring arousal had to be blatantly obvious to Roke. Her short time in captivity had taught her there was no hiding anything from a damn vampire.
Just one of the countless reasons they were such pains in the ass.
Instead she did what every witch trained in the dark arts did when backed into a corner.
She went on the attack.
“You mean the same moment I was locked in a cell and you told me how much you hated witches?”
He stiffened, unable to deny her accusation. “I didn’t claim our first meeting was particularly romantic.”
“You wouldn’t know romantic if it smacked you in the face.”