As we race along, I know this is one competition I should win easily: I have an extra appendage, after all. But I keep holding back, angling for a better view of Lincoln’s firm thighs and muscled back as he scales higher. Bands of heat writhe within my core. Finally, I stop moving altogether and admit the obvious truth. My inner Furor demon is wrath and lust. For some reason, Lincoln’s the guy who brings them both to life.

Man, am I in trouble.

Voices sound from the countryside. “Prince Lincoln!” I look out the greenhouse window. Torch-light appears on the horizon.

There’s a search party out for Lincoln. Yipes.

Lincoln slides down the trunk, landing at the base of the tree. He turns to me and reaches upwards. “Do you need a hand, Myla?”

Honestly, I’m perfectly capable of jumping off this tree all by my lonesome. I stare at Lincoln’s ropy arms and firm chest, my lust demon roaring ever louder inside me. Suddenly, I want to touch him so badly, I’d use any excuse at all.

“Sure.” I scale down for a bit, then step off the trunk and into Lincoln’s arms. My body slowly slides down his. Each contour of his chest brushes against my breast and belly. Desire ricochets through me, heating my core.

Hellooooo, lust demon.

I lick my lips slowly. “Thanks, Lincoln.”

“You’re welcome.” Up close he smells earthy, all forest pine and leather. He winds his hands around my waist. “I meant what I said today, Myla.”

My face flushes with surprise and heat. He’s not talking about that again, is he? Our almost kiss? “You mean when we were talking about beating?”

His hand slides up my back; a shiver of desire runs through me. “About beating as challenging. My subjects complain, but no one pushes me to be better. You did that, even when you hated me.” He smiles. “Especially when you hated me.” His fingers weave through the hair at the base of my neck. “Does that make sense?”

I meet his mismatched eyes and realize yes, I know exactly what he means. I’ve spent my life hoping the way my world runs would be tolerated, not looking for someone to race me. Who knew anyone like Lincoln was possible? I want to say all this, but my throat tightens. I only manage five words: “Yes, it does. Very much.”

His eyes almost glow with intensity. “I like this. Feeling like I have a peer, a partner.” He cups my face in his hands. “I like you, Myla.” My knees turn watery beneath me. I like you, too.

He pulls my mouth onto his and damn, it feels good. His lips are soft and the touch of his tongue along mine is electric. My heart starts thudding like crazy. I grip his t-shirt and ball the fabric in my fists. Our kiss deepens. Off on the horizon, a bolt of lightning strikes the earth, followed by a low roll of thunder. The flash of light snaps us out of the moment. We step apart.