She rounded on him as they entered their fifth stop, The Black Cauldron, a popular nightclub for witches. It was somewhere they thought Boyle might be apt to frequent. “Look, if we meet up with the demon tonight, it will be me protecting you. You’re the one with the injury. Please back off and give me some space.”

Jack, Adam, Theo, Micah, and the other witches in their particular traveling party—Thomas had sent out several to search—had entered the recesses of the club, disappearing into the crush of the mostly witch crowd. The press of emotion and magick made Isabelle edgy because of the circumstances and she instantly regretted the harsh way she’d spoken to him.

Thomas turned and loomed over her, his face shadowed in the dim, pulsing light of the place. Suddenly that face she knew so well looked dangerous. He grasped her wrists and pushed her backward, making the other patrons move out of their way until she felt the press of a railing against her back. The man liked to trap her against things.

He lowered his mouth to hers and his breath teased her lips, warming her skin. His hand moved to the small of her back, pushing under the fabric of her V-neck black T-shirt. “No.” His lips moved on hers as he growled the word. “Simple enough for you?”

His scent filled her nose, blocking out the slightly smoky, unwashed body smell of the club and replacing it with Thomas—clean soap, citrusy aftershave, and the inherent, indescribable scent of man.

Irritation flashed through her, hard and hot, but it was quickly followed by total desire. She’d never in her life had such a strong sexual reaction to a man the way she had to Thomas. It was pheromones, or something. Maybe it was just flat-out lust.

She pushed up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, parting his lips and pushing her tongue within to swipe. Isabelle felt more than heard the rumble that went through his body. He pulled her up against his chest and she gripped his shoulders as he plunged his tongue into her mouth like he wanted to consume her.

The people around them ceased to matter. They disappeared as far as she was concerned. Thomas pissed her off, it was true. He was protective to a fault. Yet it was nice to be cared about.

He moved, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans and then sliding his hand down to stroke his finger over her clit through the material of her panties. She gasped into his mouth and her eyes rolled back into her head at the pleasure that rippled through her body. Isabelle moved her hips, grinding down against his hand for more of the exquisite sensation. Her sex warmed.