Lincoln nudges me with his elbow. “You’re trouble, Myla Lewis.” He leans forward, his mouth curling into a snarky grin that turns my insides into goo.

My eyes narrow. I’m not gooey enough to let that comment slide, however.

Stepping back, I fold my arms across my chest and slap on a look of righteous indignation. “I am not trouble. We’re here on a mission of mercy.”

“Really now?”

I point to a white sign nailed to the center of the trunk. “See? This poor thing has a huge ‘do not climb me’ sign, and that’s just not right. If anything ever screamed ‘climb me now,’ it’s this particular tree.”

Lincoln leans back on his heel. “You have a point.”

“Of course, I do.” I grip the knobby trunk and start to climb. Lincoln scales the opposite side.

I swing myself so I balance standing on a horizontal branch. “First one to touch the ceiling wins.”

Lincoln finds a new toehold in the bark and scales upwards. “You’re on.”

A jolt of excitement runs through me. He’s not telling me to leave and be safe, he’s not chickening out; he’s actually racing me to the top. I’m so distracted and happy, I almost tumble off the branch, catching myself at the last second. I return my attention to the trunk and begin to climb.

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.”