‘‘I get closer and closer each time,’’ he added as he hoisted himself back onto the couch, grimacing slightly as he rearranged the obvious bulge in his pants. ‘‘Why don’t you make it easier on both of us and give in to the inevitable?’’

‘‘I told you the first time you tried to seduce me that I wasn’t interested in that sort of a relationship with you,’’ I said after I’d pulled myself together. I picked up my bag and sat down again, more shaken than I wanted to admit. I had a horrible feeling he was right, and sooner or later, he’d complete his conquest of me.

‘‘Would that be so very bad?’’ he asked, leaning back.

‘‘Stop reading my mind,’’ I said, ignoring the question.

‘‘I can’t read minds, my sweet one. But I am very, very good at reading expressions, and yours displays so much delicious righteousness, I cannot wait for the moment when you realize your fall is inevitable,’’ he said with another smile.

I couldn’t help myself—I knew that what I was about to do was tantamount to baiting a bull, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking. ‘‘Why me?’’ I made a vague gesture. ‘‘Why do you want me so badly when there are so many others whom you could have?’’

To my surprise, he didn’t brush the question off with a slick answer and a leer. He looked thoughtful for a moment, snapping his fingers. A demon appeared, bowing low to him, its gaze lowered as it offered a silver box. Magoth selected a slim brown Russian cigarette from the box, allowed the demon to light it, and then dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘‘I asked myself the very same question after your twin first brought you to me. As you know, I’ve sampled her particular wares.’’

My gaze slid off of him. He knew the rules as well as I did—I didn’t discuss Cyrene.

‘‘Thus it would be perfectly reasonable to assume that as I’d had her, I had no reason to taste the pleasures you have to offer . . . and yet, there is something about you, something . . . unique . . . that calls to me. It is as if you alone can quench a particular thirst. I find myself intrigued by you.’’

Uncomfortable, I shifted in my seat, looking just beyond his ear in an attempt to not be caught and held by that knowing gaze. ‘‘I’m Cyrene’s twin. You know as well as I do that doppelgangers are identical copies of their twins. There is no difference between Cyrene and me—with the exception of the fact that she’s a naiad and I’m not, we’re absolutely identical.’’

‘‘No,’’ he said slowly, taking a long drag on the cigarette as his eyes caressed me. ‘‘That you are not. And that fascinates me even more. . . .’’