Zayne’s breath danced along my cheek, and all I would need to do was turn my head just the slightest bit to the left and our mouths would be lined up. He wasn’t letting me go or putting distance between us, and he knew the rules. Maybe he was thinking the same thing I was?

What harm could a kiss bring?

Just one?

I turned my head. Zayne’s lips grazed the line of my cheek, coming within an inch of the corner of my mouth. Every nerve in my body seemed to fire at once, and something heavier, spicier, invaded my senses, slipping from that warm ball of light in my chest.

Zayne.

He was the thick heaviness in my chest, next to my heart, and it was mixing with the same feeling that had settled low in my stomach.

God, it really was coming from him. He was feeling what I was feeling. There was something between us, more than just a bond between Protector and Trueborn, and whatever it was made me feel hot and dizzy, like I’d been sitting in the sun all day.

I didn’t see him move, but I didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed my cheek, his thumb on my jaw. He tilted my head back even farther. Anticipation danced along my skin. In that moment, I wanted a kiss as badly as I needed the air I breathed. Every part of me was in agreement. I wanted to feel his lips against mine once again. I wanted to taste his breath on the tip of my tongue. I wanted so very much.

There was a wicked little voice in the back of my head that dared me to provoke the frustration and need I felt swirling inside him, to push the line between us as far as I could.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” Zayne’s voice sounded like it was full of gravel.

“Back off, then.”

He didn’t back off.

And I didn’t stop thinking about how kissing him felt like lightning or how it felt to be in his embrace, skin against skin. My muscles turned to liquid in a way that was as pleasant as it was painful.

Zayne’s forehead dropped to mine and I felt his chest expand with his next ragged breath. “Behave.”

The corners of my lips tugged up. “I’m trying to.”

“You’re not trying hard enough.”

My eyes drifted shut as my hips arched off the wall and then my breath hitched when his other hand curved around one hip. “You’re not trying, either.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m not trying, and I should be. We should be smarter than this.”

“Being smart is overrated,” I muttered.

He chuckled. “We’re supposed to be patrolling. Hunting the Harbinger. Not this.”

This.

Whatever this was.

“Agreed,” I admitted. “But you started this. Not me.”

“I don’t know about that.”