“Throw it away. But keep the pants. You’re wearing them tonight.”

“I am not!” I protested. “Kisten, I am fully capable of picking out my own clothes!”

Silently he raised his eyebrows, then went right back in to get a black long-sleeve shirt, from my don’t-go-there section, that my mother bought for me three years ago. I hadn’t the heart to give it away as it was silk, even though it was so long it hung mid-thigh on me. The neckline was too low, and it made my small chest look even flatter.

“This too,” he said, and I shook my head.

“No,” I said firmly. “It’s too long, and it’s something my mother would wear.”

“Then your mother has better taste than you,” he said in good humor. “Wear a camisole under it, and for God’s sake, don’t tuck it in.”

“Kisten, get out of my closet!”

But he reached back in, bowing his head over something small in his hands as he rocked back. I thought it might be that ugly purse with the sequins I wished I had never bought, but I went mortified when he turned with an innocuous looking book. It had no title and was bound with a soft brown leather. The glint in Kisten’s eyes told me he knew what it was.

“Give me that,” I said, reaching out for it.

A wicked grin on him, Kisten held it up over his head. I could probably still get it, but I’d have to climb him. “Well, well, well …” he drawled. “Ms. Morgan. You have shocked and delighted me. Where did you get a copy of Rynn Cormel’s guide to dating the undead?”

I pressed my lips together and fumed, stymied. Hip cocked, I could do nothing as he took a distancing step back and flipped through it.

“Have you read it?” he asked, then made a surprised Mmmm sound as he paused at a page. “I forgot about that one. I wonder if I can still do that.”

“Yes, I’ve read it.” I extended my hand. “Give it here.”

Kisten pulled his attention from the pages, his long masculine hands cradling the book open. His eyes had gone black just a wee bit, and I cursed myself as a thrill of excitement went through me. Damn vamp pheromones.

“Ooooh, it’s important to you,” Kisten said, glancing out the door when Ivy banged something in the kitchen. “Rachel …” he said, his voice softer as he moved a step closer. “You know all my secrets.” Without looking, his fingers dog-eared a page. “What drives me crazy. What instinctively tips me over—the—edge …”

He said the last word carefully, and I stifled a delicious shudder.

“You know how to … manipulate me,” he murmured, the book dangling from an inattentive hand. “Do witches have a manual?”

He had somehow gotten within two feet of me, and I didn’t remember him moving. The smell of his wool coat was strong, and under that was the heady scent of leather. Flustered, I snatched the book away, and Kisten dropped back a step. “Don’t you wish,” I muttered. “Ivy gave it to me so I would stop pushing her buttons. That’s all it is.” I shoved it under my pillow, and his smile widened. Damn it, if he touched me, I was going to slug him.