Her scent drifted toward him and he closed his eyes and drank in the light smell of the patisserie.

He was not surprised when she called out to him, “Something particular on your mind, Warrior?”

His chest swelled. He loved her melodic voice, in the lower timbres. He loved that she referred so quickly to the scent he must be giving off. He loved that she called him Warrior.

He rinsed his fingers and dried them on the towel he had sitting on the sink.

He rounded the striated beige granite island and crossed to her. She stood very still, not far from the fireplace, her eyes wide, her lips parted as she took in his hair caught loosely behind, many of the strands now in disarray and curling around his face. Her gaze drifted lower, taking in his bare chest, his abs.

“You’re wearing jeans,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “It’s such a good look for you.”

He rounded the lounge part of the couch and took her hand. He drew her toward the knitted throw. “Please, sit down. I have prepared a meal for you, not too heavy. I have brought you champagne as well because I know you enjoy it.”

Her eyes lit up as she sat on the throw and stretched her legs out. “Yes, I do.”

He nodded several times. Her chestnut hair wasn’t completely dry, but even wet, just as he suspected, the light from the fire caught the red and gold glints. “Bon,” he murmured, but he couldn’t seem to let go of her hand.

She wore jeans as well and a red silk halter, cut low, which showed beautiful cleavage. Almost, he could not move.

Then he thought of the strawberries and champagne and he headed back to the kitchen, even though his mind felt full of clouds. He could hardly think. He could only draw air into his nose and savor her sweet dangerous scent.

Fiona tracked Jean-Pierre’s movements like a woman who hadn’t eaten for days and was now presented with a nine-course meal. She felt starved, but not for food. She hadn’t wanted to release his hand and felt desolate when he let go and moved quickly back to the kitchen.

She wanted to tell him to forget about the food and stretch out beside her so that she could put her hands on his thick, muscled pecs, then put her lips in the same places, maybe spend the next hour just exploring what was so beautifully built because her man was a warrior.

He moved to the fridge and for the next minute or so wrestled oh-so-carefully with the bottle of champagne. He poured the sparkling wine into a pair of fluted goblets, thin glass, very simple—fitting, she thought, for his glass-and-wood house.

He brought the glasses with him, holding each by the stem. He rounded the lounge so that as he sat down beside her, his knees faced the fire. He handed her the glass and she held it up.

He raised his glass to her. “To my beautiful Fiona, who brought Rith to justice. But more than that, who laid his sins so eloquently at his feet. You were magnificent today.”

He tapped her glass.

She sipped and watched the rim of his glass touch his perfect lips, the lower full portion and the upper that formed such exquisite peaks. He held her gaze as he drank.

When he drew the glass away, he leaned over her and planted his free hand on the couch to his left. He kissed her, his lips wet from the champagne. She kissed him back, reaching up. He dipped down again and pushed his tongue into her mouth. She moaned because it always took so little.

But he withdrew and smiled down at her. He still held his champagne glass in his right hand. “Let me feed you,” he said, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

“Yes, you should definitely feed me.”

He chuckled, kissed her once more, then rose from the lounge. He turned and headed back to the kitchen, but slow enough that she had a wonderful view of his back rippling as he walked, the broad expanse of shoulders tapering in beautiful lines to his lean waist, his long hair hanging down the center and barely held in place by a loose piece of light green brocade.

Then there was the sight of his buttocks moving beneath the jeans. She knew what he looked like without anything on and it was so not difficult to picture him out of his jeans. Besides, if he ran true to form, he’d probably gone commando. In some ways Jean-Pierre, with all his sophisticated French accent and speech patterns, was remarkably basic and down to earth, hence the house made by his hands, that he was barefoot, and that he probably wore nothing under his jeans.

She sipped her champagne and loved that for just this moment, the wine relaxed her, let her breathe. That Rith was in custody in Prague sent her spirits flying toward the ceiling. Despite the abduction, this was one of the best days of her life.

When he returned to her, he placed a platter on the end table by the lounge. She leaned to look at the platter and stared at the prettiest arrangement of … strawberries.

He had prepared her a meal of champagne and strawberries.

She felt dizzy, as though her body was making sense of this before her mind could articulate the meaning.

“I found these in an organic roadside stand not far from Medichi’s villa. I was hoping to find some that were very ripe, sweet, and juicy, but you must judge for yourself.”

He sat down as he had before but this time he scrutinized the platter and picked up a small strawberry, one free of the leaves.

He turned to her and held the strawberry for her to see. “May I feed you, Fiona? Will you permit me this intimacy?”

She met his gaze and for just this moment, time seemed to stop. As she looked into the kindest eyes she had ever known in her life, she realized that she loved Jean-Pierre. She really loved him, who he was, all his many kindnesses toward her, that with his smiles and charm he eased her heart, that he asked for permission when in many ways it wasn’t necessary. She loved him.

There could be no other explanation for the warmth that moved through her, flowing in a beautiful circle around and around her heart. She loved that he asked permission and that even now he waited for her answer.

“I would like nothing more than for you to feed me.” She parted her lips. He moved in slowly and as the strawberry touched her lips, he didn’t just let it hang there but he held it while she took a bite.

The strawberry was just as he had described, succulent and sweet. She moaned as she chewed so he smiled, showing her all those big teeth and that wonderful smile. She lifted her arm and put her hand low on his shoulder. She leaned into him and kissed him on his left nipple, just a kiss.

An answering swell of his exotic male-and-coffee scent returned to her. She loved that they exchanged scents, that the breh-hedden had given her this clue to his desire and response to her actions.

“More?” he asked.

She nodded. Definitely more. He held the rest of the berry for her to take in her mouth. She chewed, savored, and swallowed.

“Jean-Pierre, I must ask you something very important.”

“Anything, chérie,” and again he smiled as though he knew she was being absurd and not at all serious.

She traced a series of circles on his jeans just above his knee. “Wouldn’t you be much more comfortable without these?”

“I must ponder this idea.” He paused. “I think my answer must be that I would only be comfortable if you were undressed in the exact same manner.”

She released a sigh and sank back a little more into the leather cushions. “I think that would only be fair.”

“And if nothing more, this should be fair tonight.”

“Very mutual, yes.” She leaned forward and unbuttoned the single button that held the shimmery halter top together in the back. Another button at the neck and the silky fabric slid down her front to rest on the swell of her breasts. She didn’t try to move it herself since Jean-Pierre’s gaze had fallen to the rumpled line of the red silk. He now leaned down to her, down and down until his lips brushed her breasts just above the fabric and in a wet line across her chest.

Your beautiful scent is flooding my nostrils, Fiona. So beautiful.

She loved telepathy, that while his lips were otherwise engaged, he could share his thoughts with her. She arched her back and with her left hand tugged at the fabric, lower and lower. His lips followed until he suckled the nipple of her right breast. Then, to be fair, he moved to the left. Yes, tonight would be fair, very fair.

She wanted him to continue but he drew back.

“You have exquisite breasts. I have been meaning to say that to you, beautiful large nipples, full round areolas.” He slid his hand beneath her right breast. “And all this weight. This is the meal that will satisfy me tonight.” Once more he dipped low and again suckled.

She closed her eyes and savored the feel of his mouth working her breasts, and working her up, so that again her back arched and she leaned into him, pressing her breast harder into his mouth.

But once more he drew back and held her breast in a light touch. He lifted his eyes to her and pulled back his lips just a little. His fangs emerged.

She gasped. Low, so very low, her muscles tightened in a series of hard tugs that almost brought her. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

Once more he lowered his head and she closed her eyes. He struck and released the potion. There was nothing like it on Mortal Earth. This was one of the surest ways she knew she had entered the world of the vampire: that he could pierce her skin and release a potion into her. The pleasure seeped and burned and felt wonderful.

“Open your eyes, chérie.”

She found it difficult. Already she felt lethargic and all he’d done was kiss, suckle, and strike with his fangs. Then she saw the strawberry, this one cut in half.

“I’m hungry,” he said. Then he lowered the berry to her nipple. The strawberry was cold and the sensation drew more little ripples down deep inside her. He rubbed the strawberry well over her nipple then outward to let the juice cover her.

Then he put the strawberry to her lips. He pushed it inside.

She struggled to draw air as he lowered his head and licked at her breast in long sweeps of his soft wet tongue working from an outer perimeter to an inside one until once more he suckled.

The combination of the potion now teasing the inside of her breast, and his tongue and mouth stimulating the outside, bowed her back once more. She cried out, “I’m close.”