There it was again - the list of flaws. The reasons he shouldn't have been attracted to me. The reasons he hated the chemistry that, against both our wills, flared between us. My voice quiet, the sound oddly far away, I told him, "I don't want anything from you."

"Liar," he accused, and lowered his mouth to mine.

He kissed me, and the circuit closed again.

His lips were soft and warm, and implored a reaction, challenged me to join in, to give in, even if only briefly, to the chemistry. My limbs loosened, my body daring me to sink into it, to revel in it. But I'd come close enough to the fire, when I'd nearly jumped him to pull the blood from his veins. That had been enough. That had been too much. So I kept my lips together and tried to turn my head away.

"Merit," he intoned, "be still." Ethan's fingers slid along my jaw, knotted into my hair, and he used his thumbs to tilt up my chin. He took a small step forward, our bodies aligning, just touching.

He dipped his head and kissed me again, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he moved his lips across mine, caressing, calming, not coercive. Then, when his tongue slipped between my lips and stroked mine, when the electric thrill slid up my spine, I gave in.

Tentative at first - and only responding after promising myself that I'd never, ever touch him again - I kissed him back. I gave back his kiss, sucked on the tongue he offered me, responded to his nips and bites with my own.

I couldn't seem to help it. I couldn't not kiss him. He tasted so good, smelled so good. He was heaven, a golden beacon in the supernatural darkness that spindled around me. But this wasn't something to blame on magic. This was much more elemental, much more powerful. It was want, desire in its most basic form.

But I couldn't afford that, not to want someone who didn't want me. Not really.

So I put my hand on his chest, and felt the thud of his heart beneath the soft cotton of his dress shirt before I pushed him away. "Stop."

He took two halting steps backward, his chest rising and falling as he pulled in air, and stared down at me.

"That was a mistake," I said. "It shouldn't have happened."

He wet his lips, then ran a hand across his jaw. "No?"

"No."

Silence, then, "I could offer you more."

I blinked, looked up, met his eyes. "What?"

"Power. Access. Rewards. You'd need be available only to me."

My lips parted, words momentarily failing me, the shock of it was so overwhelming. "Are you asking me to be your mistress?"

He paused, and I had the sense that he was deciding if that was, in fact, what he was offering me. Likely weighing the costs and benefits, deciding if easing his erection was worth the trouble I'd cause. A flush crossed his sculpted cheekbones. "Yes."

"Oh, my God." I dropped my gaze, put a hand at my abdomen, wondering how this night had suddenly become so bizarre. "Oh, my God."

"Is that a yes?"

I looked up at him again, saw the flash of panic on his face. "No, Ethan, Jesus. Definitely not."

His eyes flashed, and I wondered if he'd ever been turned down before, if any woman in his nearly four hundred years of existence had rejected the opportunity to service him. "Do you understand what I'm offering you?"

"Do you understand that it's not 1815?"

"It's not unusual for Masters to have Consorts."