Thomas pulled his pants on, but left his shirt open and his hair mussed. Isabelle let her skirt fall into place and buttoned her shirt.

They left the library and made their way through the foyer and up the stairs. Whispering softly to one another, they passed through the darkened hallways of the Coven, the place seeming warm and intimate to Isabelle this late into the night.

When they were close to Thomas’s room, they turned a corner and came face-to-face with Adam. He stood staring at them for moment and then broke into a grin. “Go on, boss, you bad, bad boy,” he drawled with a wink before he continued on his way.

Isabelle grinned. “I win.”

Adam’s surprised reaction both times he’d seen her and Thomas together confirmed Isabelle’s hunch. Despite Thomas’s hotness, he wasn’t exactly known for his sexual exploits around the Coven. Thomas Monahan was, for all intents and purposes, the king of witchdom. Maybe women avoided him because of his title.

Watching him open the door to his room, that seemed hard to believe. She knew that he was considered the ultimate leader of the Coven, but he was a man, too. Not only was he a man, he was the most striking one Isabelle had seen in a very long time—physically beautiful, intelligent, and possessing a lovely, tempting juxtaposition of passion and control.

Although as he stared at her in the middle of his dimly lit living room, he didn’t look all that controlled. He looked like he hadn’t had enough of her yet, not by a long shot. For a moment, it made her want to bolt.

It’s just about sex, she reminded herself.

Instead of giving in to the urge to flee, she forced herself to stroll around his posh setup. Under her feet lay a polished wood floor, covered in places with plush throw rugs in dark primary colors. An overstuffed beige couch sat at an angle in the living room across from a plasma television Isabelle doubted Thomas ever turned on.

In the opposite corner stood a desk stocked with a state-of-the-art computer. Packed bookshelves ran all along the room. A darkened kitchen, separated from the living room by a breakfast bar, lay to her right. She could just make out a scattering of pots, vials, and other containers on the counters, probably for spellcasting.

This was a nice place. More like Angela’s condo than the standard digs in the Coven, which were a little like hotel suites.

He took a step toward her and her gaze rushed to meet his. She took an involuntary step backward, away from his natural intensity. Sometimes it could be overwhelming.

Thomas studied for her for a moment. “What’s wrong, Isabelle?”