“Oh, please,” I simpered, not believing he was stooping this low.

Grinning, Kisten turned himself into a spoiled rich boy. “If you enjoy yourself, then you admit to me that Nick was nothing special.”

I crouched to get the flour. “No,” I said when I rose to set it thumping on top of the counter.

A hurt look creased his stubbled face, put-on but still effective. “Why not?”

I glanced behind me at Ivy, silently watching. “You have money,” I said. “Anyone can show a girl a good time with enough money.”

Ivy made another tally mark. “That’s two,” she said, and he frowned.

“Nick was a cheap ass, huh,” Kisten offered, trying to hide his ire.

“Watch your mouth,” I shot back.

“Yes, Ms. Morgan.”

The sultry submissiveness in his voice yanked my thoughts back to the elevator. Ivy once told me Kisten got off on playing the submissive. What I had found out was that a submissive vampire was still more aggressive than most people could handle. But I wasn’t most people. I was a witch.

I put my eyes on his, seeing that they were a nice steady blue. Unlike Ivy, Kisten freely indulged his blood lust until it wasn’t the overriding factor governing his life. “One hundred seventy-five dollars?” he offered, and I bent to get the sugar.

The man thought a cheap date was almost two hundred dollars?

“One hundred?” he said, and I looked at him, reading his genuine surprise.

“Our average date was sixty,” I said.

“Damn!” he swore, then hesitated. “I can say damn, can’t I?”

“Hell, yes.”

From her perch on the counter, Ivy snickered. Kisten’s brow pinched in what looked like real worry. “Okay,” he said, deep in thought. “A sixty-dollar date.”

I gave him a telling look. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

He inhaled long and slow, tasting my mood on the air. “You haven’t said no, either.”

“No.”

He slumped dramatically, pulling a smile from me despite myself. “I won’t bite you,” he protested, his blue eyes roguishly innocent.

From under the island counter I pulled out my largest copper spell pot to use as a mixing bowl. It wasn’t reliable any longer for spelling, as it had a dent from hitting Ivy’s head. The palm-sized paint ball gun I stored in it made a comforting sound against the metal as I took it out to put back under the counter at ankle height. “And I should believe you because …”

Kisten’s eyes flicked to Ivy. “She’ll kill me twice if I do.”

I went to get the eggs, milk, and butter out of the fridge, hoping neither of them sensed my pulse quickening. But I knew my temptation didn’t stem from the subliminal pheromones they were unconsciously emitting. I missed feeling desired, needed. And Kisten had a Ph.D. in wooing women, even if his motives were one-sided and false. From the looks of it, he indulged in casual blood taking like some men indulged in casual sex. And I didn’t want to become one of his shadows that he strung along, caught by the binding saliva in his bite to crave his touch, to feel his teeth sinking into me to fill me with euphoria. Crap, I was doing it again.