“I don’t believe you.” But I didn’t press and continued eating, wondering how this would work. Did I merely say thank you and then leave? Was I supposed to wait until he next disappeared so it wasn’t awkward for either of us?

Before I could build the courage to suggest it was time I returned home, Scythe rose and traipsed to the bathing room. “I’ve drawn you a bath.”

The fork shook, clattering against my teeth as I delivered my next mouthful. I shoveled it in, chewing slowly as I listened to him open a cupboard and unscrew something.

Shit.

Swallowing, I reached for more water and emptied what remained of the glass. “You really don’t need to do that or any of this,” I said, proud of the polite strength in my tone. “I appreciate your kindness, but it’s unnecessary.” Lifting the napkin to my lips, I stood and dabbed at my mouth. “There’s no need to worry or fuss. I know it’s certainly past time I took my leave.”

Scythe turned to lean against the chipped doorframe of the bathing room, holding a small towel in his large hands. He twisted it, eyeing me with a curl to his lips. “You’ve never done this before.”

The way he’d stated that truth rather than asked grated a little. I pulled my shoulders up and opened my mouth.

His smirk bloomed into a word-stealing smile. “If I wanted you to leave, you would know, and you would’ve done so last night.” A slight lift of his shoulder. “Or in the early hours of this morning.”

I blinked, then scowled. “And do you treat most females in such a way?”

“Most don’t care,” he said absently. “I’m a fun time, a wild ride, the untamable.” He half-rolled his eye. “I don’t encourage anything more, so”—he shrugged again—“it works fine. Despite what Fang said, they just…” He scratched at his stubble-coated cheek. “Well, they see themselves out, really.”

Anger shocked me where I stood trapped between the seat and the table.

I didn’t know why. I didn’t even know him. But what I did know, I wanted more of, and that shamed me. Though not enough to do what I knew I should have already done and walk away.

“But you,” he said while I grappled with thin scraps of resolve. “You’re different.” He erased the space between us. The towel dropped to the table, and his head lowered to mine. “I already suspect that I’ll be the one doing the taming here.”

“Scythe,” I whispered, my eyelids fluttering when his hands molded perfectly to the flare of my hips. “I really should go.”

“Why?” He dragged his lips over my cheekbone and inhaled deep. “You’re afraid.” He paused, those keen senses mercifully unable to read my thoughts. “Of what?”

“You,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie.