Free Demon's Hunger by Eve Silver Page B

asked. The question struck her as funny.
    Apparently, taking her strangled laugh as a yes, he moved to the kitchen—state-of-the-art with cherry cabinets that gleamed with a rich patina, stainless-steel appliances and hardware, black granite countertop with a trio of blue glass vases gracing the end. Everything about the place screamed of wealth. Class with an unexpected twist.
    Lifting the kettle, he brought it to the sink. The sight of his strong, long-fingered hands—one on the handle of the kettle, one on the tap—made her shiver.
    She glanced down, stared at the floor, struggling to find her equilibrium, and she realized she was missing a fuzzy green slipper. In her fear and fury, she'd pegged it at Dain's head and hadn't retrieved it. She imagined it was lying somewhere in her driveway amidst the wreckage of her home. Her life.
    The single slipper she had on looked strange without its mate. Bedraggled. Sort of sad.
    "I lost my slipper," she said. She'd lost everything . The slipper just made the scale tip beyond endurance. Silly, she knew, but it was either focus on the slipper or dissolve in a sobbing, sniveling heap. She opted for the slipper.
    Dain studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. He raised his right hand and unfurled his fingers with the same gesture he'd used earlier, a graceful, showy twist. It made her think of a fencer with a foil.
    Sparks of white light fanned through the air.
    "There," he said. "Now you have two slippers. Fuzzy, neon green."
    He smiled, his hard mouth curving in a way that made her lose her breath, lose her thoughts.
    She felt that smile slide through her, all the way to her toes. Why him? Why did he elicit this response? Ciarran was gorgeous. So was Darqun. But she'd barely noticed them. Why was it only Dain who shot her libido into overdrive?
    With a shake of her head, she sank down on the chair beside her and froze. There were two slippers now. Fuzzy, neon green.
    "How… ?" Her head jerked up.
    Somehow, he'd made her slipper appear out of nowhere, so maybe he could do that with other things.
    "Can you do that with my life? With my house? Wave your magic wand"—she paused as he shot her a look—"wave your magic hand and fix everything?"
    He turned on the stove, put the kettle on the element. "Yes." Her heart swelled with hope, only to deflate as he continued. "And no. It's technically possible for me to repair your home with magic, but it's impossible for other reasons. Too many humans are aware of the destruction. We prefer to maintain our anonymity. In fact, our laws demand it."
    "Who's 'we'?"
    "I told you," he said patiently. "I am a sorcerer."
    Her gaze slid to his white, white sleeve, her fuzzy green slipper, and back to his face.
    "Then why are you boiling the water? Why don't you just use that… that"—she slashed her hand through the air, frustrated—"that magic, or whatever you call it, to boil the water?"
    His smile deepened, a flash of white in his stubble-darkened face, wicked, dangerous. Enticing.
    Dark, aching lust stirred deep inside her, and she almost moaned. Her blood was roaring in her ears. She thought that if he took even one step toward her, she'd leap on him in a wild frenzy.
    "I like gadgets."
    "I wouldn't call the stove a gadget." Her voice had a low, breathy quality, and he pinned her with a look that made her think he knew exactly what dark, secret longings tugged at her.
    "It is to me." He shrugged. "Knobs, dials, switches… I like to play with things."
    Play with me.
    It wasn't until the humor faded from his face and his features got hard and hungry that she realized she'd said it out loud.
    Oh, God, yes. Play with me.

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    Chapter Seven
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    She'd jacked him sky-high from the first second he'd seen her. Dain dropped his gaze to the kettle, but it didn't help. Vivien Cairn was as hot as a Georgia sidewalk in July; he didn't need to look at her to feel the burn. Dared not look at her, because the problem was, he wanted