“Baby, you should never play poker,” Elijah cautioned.

She twisted her fingers together. “You’re a good man, Elijah. What were you doing with my grandfather?”

She watched his face shut down. All that emotion swept away in an instant, and he was once again handsome, hard, scary and dangerous, giving absolutely nothing away.

“I’m not a good man, Siena. You tie yourself to me, you’ll never have that. You’ll never be free of the reputation and the rumors. The whispers. Cops will harass you. People will stare or look away fast. You’re with me, that’s what you can expect. I’ll shield you always from the worst of it, but you have to know it will be there.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“It tells you what to expect, and the rest of it, I swear, I’ll lay out to you, just give me a little time.”

“A little time for what?” she persisted.

“I’m asking for this, mi amor. A little time. Can you give me that?”

She studied his face. He was so beautiful, and maybe he was just as lost as she was, but he was a good man. She felt it. She knew it. She took a deep breath and nodded. She could do that, but they would have the conversation.

Elijah bent his head and kissed her. Gently. Turning her heart over. He moved then, up off the bed, back to the master bath to deal with the washcloth. Her gaze followed him, the fluid, easy way he moved. He was leopard. A shifter. She didn’t—yet—know much about them, but she did know they shared the traits of the large cats that were so much a part of them. Leopards were jealous, temperamental creatures, with snarling bad tempers and the ability to strike hard and fast. All leopards were lethal, even those that were raised from baby to adult by humans.

He took her breath away just by moving. He turned her body into a place of sweet, exquisite ecstasy. She had no doubt he would protect her the instant she was threatened. She liked the way he always moved in close to her.

“You coming?” Elijah stood in the doorway, dragging on a pair of jeans. Barefoot. Hair unruly and a little wild. Silver eyes gleaming at her. Jeans riding low, barely buttoned.

She slid out of bed and went right to him, taking the hand he held out. She had no idea what she was doing with Elijah Lospostos, the man who claimed he wasn’t a good man, who told her straight-out, but she liked the way he pulled her in close to him, tight against his side, under his shoulder, his arm clamped around her, but down low, avoiding the four lacerations on her back. That meant something to her. That he would take care even in the way he held her.