“But maybe you want this instead,” he said with her gray silk voice, and sweat started at the small of my back. Her long straight hair brushed my cheek, the silky whisper pulling an unstoppable shiver from my skin. Feeling it where our bodies touched, he leaned close until I recoiled.

“Don’t pull away,” he said with her voice, and my resolve grew. He was slime. He was a bastard. I’d kill him for this. “I’m sorry, Rachel….” he breathed, long fingers burning into tingles where they touched, tracing a line from my shoulder to my hip. “I’m not angry. I understand you’re afraid. But the things I could teach you—if you knew the heights of passion we could find.” His breath shuddered. Ivy’s arms were around me cool and light—gentling me to him against my will. I could smell her rich scent of dark incense and ash. He had her perfectly.

“Let me show you?” the vision of Ivy whispered, and I closed my eyes. “Just a taste…I know I can change your mind.”

It was pleading, heavy with her vulnerable desires. It was everything she hadn’t said, everything she wouldn’t. My eyes opened as my scar flashed to life. God, no. Fire raced to my groin. Knees buckling, I tried to push away. Demon-red eyes shifted to a liquid brown, and his grip grew firmer, pulling me closer until his breath came and went on my neck. “Gently, Rachel,” her voice whispered. “I could be so gentle. I could be everything a man can’t be. Everything you want. Just one little word, Rachel. Tell me you will?”

I couldn’t…I couldn’t deal with this right now. “Didn’t you have something for me to do?” I said. “The sun will be up soon and I need to get to bed.”

“Slowly,” he crooned, Ivy’s breath smelling of oranges. “There’s only one first time.”

“Let go of me,” I said tightly. “You aren’t Ivy and I’m not interested.”

Ivy’s passion-filled black eyes narrowed, but Al’s attention was over my shoulder and I didn’t think it was anything I had said. He let go of me, and I stumbled to catch my balance. A shimmer of ever-after cascaded over him, melting his features back to his usual vision of a young British lord of the eighteenth century. The glasses were back to hide his eyes, and he adjusted them on his thin-bridged nose. “How grand,” he said, his accent shifting as well. “Ceri.”

There was the distant boom of the front door crashing open. “Rachel!” came her voice, high and frightened. “He’s this side of the lines!”