“Hook knife,” I said. “Sorcerer tried to filet me at the Field Museum.”

Her touch trailed down my bare arms, lingering on my forearms, near my wrists, avoiding the red, scalded skin around my left wrist.

“Thorn manacles,” I said. “From when Madrigal Raith tried to sell me on eBay.”

She lifted my scarred left hand between hers, fingers stroking over the maimed flesh. These days I could move it pretty well, most of the time, and it didn’t look like some kind of hideous, half-melted wax image of a hand anymore, but it still wasn’t pretty. “A scourge of Black Court vampires had a Renfield that got creative. Had a homemade flamethrower.”

She shook her head. “I know men centuries older than you who have not collected so many scars.”

“Maybe they lived that long because they were smart enough not to get them,” I said.

She flashed me that grin again. At close range it was devastating, and her eyes looked even darker.

“Anastasia,” I said quietly, “in a few minutes we’re going to go do something that might get us killed.”

“Yes, Harry. We are,” she said.

I nodded. “But that’s not until a few minutes from now.”

Her eyes smoldered. “No. No, it isn’t.”

I lifted my still-tingling right hand to gently cup the line of her jaw, and leaned down to press my mouth to hers.

She let out a quiet, satisfied little moan and melted against me, her body pressing full-length to mine, returning the kiss with slow, sensuous intensity. I felt her slide the fingers of one hand into my hair, while the nails of the other wandered randomly over my chest and arm, barely touching. It left a trail of fire in my flesh, and I found myself sinking the fingers of my right hand into the soft curls of her hair, drawing her more deeply into the kiss.

I don’t know how long that went on, but it wound down deliciously. By the time she drew her mouth away from mine, both of us were breathing harder, and my heart was pounding out a rapid beat against my chest. And against my jeans.

She didn’t open her eyes for five or ten seconds, and when she did, they were absolutely huge and molten with desire. Anastasia leaned her head back and arched in a slow stretch, letting out a long, low, pleased sigh.

“You don’t mind?” I asked her.

“Not at all.”

“Good. I just…wanted to see what that was like. It’s been a long time since I kissed anyone. Almost forgot what it was like.”

“You have no idea,” she murmured, “how long it has been since I’ve kissed a man. I wasn’t sure I remembered how.”

I let out a quiet laugh.

Her dimples returned. “Good,” she said, satisfaction in her tone. She looked me up and down, taking in the sights again. This time it didn’t make me feel self-conscious. “You have a good smile. You should show it more often.”