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Her cheeks turn pink.

“You’re very direct.”

“I have wasted three thousand years. I see little reason to waste another moment pretending.”

She swallows.

“And what exactly do you want?”

I lean forward.

“To discover whether your lips are as soft as your hands.”

Her breath catches.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then she pushes back her chair.

My heart sinks.

I have frightened her.

Of course I have.

I am a creature of violence, and she has spent years learning to fear powerful men.

I begin to apologize.

But Wren walks around the table and stops directly in front of me.

“You’re awfully confident for a man who’s never been kissed.”

I look up at her.

“Would you prefer uncertainty?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Then I confess I have no idea what I am doing.”

Her smile turns wicked.

“Now that’s more like it.”

She places her hands on my shoulders.

I go still.

Her fingers are warm.

Gentle.

I have endured the strike of enchanted blades without flinching, yet the weight of her hands makes my entire body tremble.

“Relax,” she whispers.

“I am relaxed.”