Ezra grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Oh, I will. And Jem … I stocked your bedside drawer with condoms.”

I sucked in air so fast I choked as Ezra chuckled and backed away. “Have fun … be safe. Love you.”

I managed a faint, “Love you, too,” and then he disappeared. A moment later, there was the quiet rumbling of them chatting, the rustling of shopping bags, and the scrape and clunk of the apartment door closing.

“What the flipping hell am I doing?” I mumbled faintly. The sultry stranger in the mirror, with the smoky eyes, the thick, dark lashes, and the shiny, kiss-me lips, had no answer for me.

And there was no time for an answer anyway, because the apartment flashed with heat, and suddenly Luci was dooking like crazy.

Oh God, I was about to hyperventilate. I stared at my pale, wide-eyed reflection and took three deep, calming breaths. And then three more. And another three … because it wasn’t a proper freak-out otherwise.

“Get a grip, Bliss! You want your soul back, you have to play him at his own little game,” I told myself firmly once I’d taken what felt like fifty more breaths. If I didn’t go out there, he was going to come looking for me. Which would be worse, I thought, than me having to make my legs work to go out there and face him.

So I made my silly, trembling legs move. Out of the bathroom, down the hall. I stopped in the laundry to find Luci climbing the bars of her cage, eyes wild and excited. Like she was anticipating a visit from her two new besties.

“Oh, Lulu, I don’t think they’re coming tonight.” I reached a finger through the bars, stroking her soft little nose, while I rummaged in the treat bin and grabbed one out for her. “I know this is a pretty crappy consolation, but it’s all I’ve got.”

She took the treat from me, but the death stare she gave me as she crunched on it was honestly terrifying enough that I felt like facing down SJ was the lesser of two evils.

I got up, heading back into the hallway. I’d left him to his own devices long enough. And how much mischief could the Prince of Hell get into in my living room with no supervision?

Quite a lot, as it turned out.

* * *

He took up the entirety of our two-and-a-half seater lounge, his legs sprawled out, one arm casually flung along the backrest. He was dressed—immaculately as always—in dark pants, shiny black shoes, and a grey buttoned shirt, the top buttons undone to hint at the muscular planes of his chest.

His hair was a gorgeous, pale quiff, artfully tousled. His angular jaw seemed tenser than normal, and his lips were pursed in a small (but annoyingly sexy) frown.