Being narrow of shoulders and somewhat spare, Nick didn’t exactly fit the white-knight-on-a-horse mold. But he had saved my life by binding an attacking demon, leading me to think a brainy man could be as sexy as a muscular one. It was a thought that solidified to fact the first time Nick had gallantly asked if he could kiss me, then left me breathless and pleasantly shocked after I’d said yes.

But by saying he wasn’t muscle-bound, I didn’t mean Nick was a weakling. His lanky build was surprisingly strong, as I learned the time we wrestled over the last spoon of Chunky Monkey and broke Ivy’s lamp. And he was athletic in a lean sort of way, his long legs able to keep up with me whenever I coerced him into driving me out to the zoo for their early open hours for runners only; those hills were killers on the calves.

Nick’s strongest appeal, though, was that his relaxed, flow-with-the-punches exterior hid a wickedly quick, almost frightening mind. His thoughts jumped faster than mine, taking them places I’d never think to go. Threat brought quick, decisive action with little regard to future consequences. And he wasn’t afraid of anything. It was the last that I both admired and worried about. He was a magic-using human. He should be afraid. Of a lot. And he wasn’t.

But best of all, I thought as I eased myself against him, he didn’t care one whit that I wasn’t human.

His lips were soft against mine, with a comfortable familiarity. Not a hint of a beard ruined our kiss. My hands linked behind his waist and I tugged him suggestively into me. Off balance, we shifted until my back hit the wall. Our kiss broke as I felt his lips curl against mine in a smile at my forwardness.

“You are a wicked, wicked witch,” he whispered. “You know that, don’t you? I came over here to give you the tickets, and here you are, getting me all bothered.”

His bangs were a soft whisper against my fingertips. “Yeah? You probably ought to do something about that.”

“I will.” His grip on me loosened. “But you’re just going to have to wait.” His hand ran a deliciously light path across my backside as he stepped away. “Is that a new perfume?”

Playful mood faltering, I turned away. “Yes.” I had thrown my cinnamon scent out that morning. Ivy hadn’t said a word upon finding the thirty-dollar-an-ounce bottle making our trash smell like Christmas. It had failed me; I hadn’t the stomach to wear it again.

“Rachel …”

It was the beginning of a familiar argument, and I stiffened. Being in the unusual circumstances of having been raised in the Hollows, Nick knew more about vamps and their scent-triggered hungers than I did. “I’m not moving out,” I said flatly.

“Could you just …” He hesitated, his long pianist hands moving in short, jerky motions to show his frustration as he saw my jaw clench.