When Wicked Craves by J. K. Beck Page B

were at Division. The wall of flame. The way you almost burned through that guard’s uniform.”
    She lifted a brow. “And you’re still willing to get close to me?”
    He took a step toward her, knowing damn well she was avoiding the question. “I am,” he said, then traced his fingertip just below the neckline of her shirt, the cotton soft against his skin.
    “Oh.” She swallowed, and he bit back a curse. He was flirting, and he damn well knew it. It was so easy to fall into the pattern with women. So easy to turn it on. And so damned unfair to turn it on with her, when there could be no follow-through.
    God, he was an ass.
    He turned to look around the room, wanting to shift the subject and take her mind off what she didn’t and couldn’t have. Feeling damned protective, but that was the role he’d thrust himself into. She was his responsibility now, and he took care of what was his.
    “What?” She was following the direction of his gaze, looking amused.
    “I was just wondering if this is where you bring the human clients.”
    She laughed, the sound relieving some of the pressure on his chest. “No, we converted the entire front of the house to a reception area for the human clients. I spent a month decorating. It’s all flowers and pastels. Not a deck of tarot cards or one ceremonial candle to be found.”
    “Sounds charming.”
    “It’s an explosion of floral insanity,” she said, cricking her finger and leading him toward the front. She opened the door, then stepped aside so he had a view that made the term
floral insanity
seem like an understatement.
    “You did this?” he asked, looking at the vases of silk flowers, the huge prints on the walls, the chair and loveseat upholstered in floral material. There was a warmth to it—a vulnerability that seemed in contrast to the strong woman he knew Petra to be. “Just for the humans?”
    She shrugged. “Maybe I like it a little, too. I have a thing for flowers.” She pulled the door shut, then headed for the stairs. “You want jewelry and the Bible, right?”
    “Anything left to you from your mother,” he said,following. “Anything and everything that might reflect your family history.”
    Everything …
    She kept her face forward so that he couldn’t see it, then led him up the stairs. She’d share her mom’s bracelet—why not?—but the story about how she got it? That, she couldn’t share. Not the whole story, anyway.
    “Petra?”
    She realized she’d stopped on the stairs. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
    “About your mother?”
    “No.”
    “The jewelry?”
    “No,” she snapped. She didn’t want to talk about it.
    “Dammit, Petra. We agreed to everything.”
    “Fine. Shit. Whatever.” She glared at him. “I was thinking about the first time I turned somebody. Satisfied?”
    She saw him cringe. “Your father, you mean?”
    “No. You’re right. That was the first.” She met his eyes, determined to just tell it straight out. He wanted the story, he’d get the story. “I was thinking about the second time.”
    “What happened?”
    “There was this guy, and he snuck up on me.”
    “Tell me.”
    “I was fifteen,” she said. “And I didn’t get out much.”
    “I can’t imagine why,” he said. She laughed, appreciating the way he was deliberately trying to lighten the moment.
    “Yeah, well, even so I managed to catch the eye of this man. No,” she corrected. “Not a man. This bastard was a monster even before I touched him.”
    “What did he do?” Nicholas asked, his voice as tight as his face. “Did he harm you?”
    She raised a brow. “That’s not an easy thing for a man to do to a girl like me.”
    “But he tried.”
    “I’d been sunbathing in our backyard. Could you see it? Through the mist?”
    “I saw. The garden. The fence.”
    “A high fence,” she agreed. “We always kept it locked. And I was out there. You know, in a bathing suit.” She felt her cheeks warm. “A bikini.” She’d been all