Kellach grasped two cups of coffee, his bare feet padding the floor toward the bedroom. Dawn streaked outside in pretty patterns of pink and gold. He’d yanked on an old pair of jeans just in case Simone reappeared.
His woman slept soundlessly in his big bed, her face in a pillow, her arm flung across the mattress. She looked fragile in one of his T-shirts. The blankets had been shoved down, revealing the top of her exquisite ass. If he moved just right, he could make out the Celtic Knot on her hip. His brand.
Satisfaction rumbled through him.
Even so, unease had him drawing in a deep breath. The sex, along with their fire, had been fucking amazing, but they hadn’t solved a damn thing. “Alexandra.”
She turned around, her eyes already open. “Why do you always use my full name?” Her gaze landed on the coffee cups, and he could swear, she purred. She pushed herself up to sit.
He handed her a cup, enjoying her soft murmur of appreciation when she scented the brew. A pretty pink climbed into her face from the steam. “I like you on my tongue. All of you.”
She blinked and then took a big swallow. “The things you say.”
“All true.” She took another drink and then stopped cold, her eyes widening. “Oh, God. Did I do that?”
He glanced down at the perfect burn marks of her hands on his chest. “Aye.”
She gasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”
He grinned. “Don’t worry. Fire takes time to learn to control, and it’s amazing you can create so much already.” Her hangdog expression hit him hard, so he quickly sent healing cells to the burns. “I liked wearing your mark, but I’ll heal the skin.”
She sat back and watched, her eyes widening as the burns slowly disappeared. “That’s quite a talent.”
“You’ll have it at some point.” But there was no need to rush fire. “While I enjoyed teaching you about fire”—and as to his strength—“we failed to reach an agreement last night.”
She sipped her coffee, watching over the rim. “Well, I do concede that perhaps I don’t have the control over fire that you do. That other witches may have.”
He loved, fucking loved, her sense of fairness.
Why the hell hadn’t he taken that approach with her? Oh yeah. He’d been pissed off about her attitude and hurting Simone’s feelings. He had to admit, the little lesson in fire had been well worth the anger.
He raised an eyebrow. “And?”
She shrugged. “I guess I can deal with the human scumbags, and you can handle the immortal scumbags.”
He smiled, the pressure in his chest finally releasing.
“That is, until I’m immortal. Then all scumbags are free game.” She took another drink of coffee.
He didn’t exactly agree, but since he had time to deal with that situation, he took the out and nodded. “For now, let’s just keep to our own species. Once you’re immortal, we’ll fight about it.” Well, it was fair to give her warning.
She grinned, all imp. “I do like how you fight.”
He shook his head. “Fire can keep you from orgasm as easily as licking you to it.”
Her eyelids flipped all the way open. “Oh, you wouldn’t.”
“I certainly would.” He set a knee on the bed and sat. “Fair warning.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “At some point, I’ll be able to control fire as well as you do. So fair warning right back.”
Perhaps. Perhaps not. “I’m sure you’ll give it your best shot.” As she did everything else. Pride filled him, and he let her see it. “I’m pleased with you, Alexandra.”
She sipped again. “Does that mean you like me, like me?” Her grin was all sauce.
“Yes.” He leaned over and tasted the coffee off her lips. Much better than from his cup. “And you?”
She inhaled, her eyes darkening in a vulnerability that compressed his lungs. “I like you, too.” She blew out air. “I trust you, Kellach Dunne.” Then she wiggled, a frown marring her perfect lips.
Her trust, probably never given before, cut right into his chest and burrowed deep. “I’m keeping you.” The other words, the ones she wasn’t quite ready to hear, those would come later. For now, all he could do was show her trust and love . . . and she’d learn to accept both.
His phone buzzed, and he glanced around the room. A quick search found it beneath some socks on the dresser, and he answered the call. “Simone.”
Alexandra winced.
Simone cleared her throat over the line. “I’d come talk to you in person, but you sent out enough vibrations last night, I fear your apartment is one big scorched disaster.”
He chuckled. “I think the apartment is fine. You may come over.”
“No thanks. I’ve been researching all night, and I think your mate may be on to something.”
His mate. Just the words, the acknowledgment of Alexandra as his, shot a masculine satisfaction through him. “Simone, forget about Demidov. The guy was a jackass, and he’s dead. Gone and buried.”
“He had so many women through the years, the fucking prick, and I think one bore him a kid.”