Free House of the Rising Sun by Kristen Painter Page A

move shocked him. Even kissing her felt like tasting forbidden fruit. Sweet, ripe, juicy fruit.
    His free hand slid up her rib cage until the curve of her breast stopped him. He stayed there, unwilling to go farther without some sign from her. Then her other hand came up to grip one of his horns and he inhaled at the caress of her silk-clad fingers on that sensitive area. The sensation only made him kiss her with greater hunger, eager to show her what she was doing to him. How odd that she could fire him up while at the same time kissing him with the tentativeness of someone unused to such intimacy. Even her fingers seemed to twine with his in a questing way that bordered on exploratory.
    The awareness of her innocence flared into a thousand different things inside him, but the strongest of them was the sudden desire to protect her, to keep her innocent, to have her for himself. The want of those things pulsed within him, dark as dying stars.
    She gasped and pushed away from him, her hand untangling from his instantly. Her mouth was open and her breath was coming as hard as the thumps of her heartbeat. Fear and regrettinged her amber eyes with a feral orange gleam. One gloved hand wiped at her mouth as she backed away. “I have to go.”
    “Wait.” He reached for her, unsure of what had happened but thick with the need for her to stay. “Angel, come back to me.”
    “No,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “Leave me alone, fae.” And then she turned and ran down the dark street.
    He wanted to chase her, to make her explain, but that wasn’t his way. If a woman said no, she said no and he stopped right there. But no did little to ease his curiosity about what he’d done to upset her. And nothing to quench the fire she’d ignited in him.
    He tore his mask off and stared after her, but she was long gone. Her words, “
Leave me alone, fae
,” echoed in his head. He frowned at the strangeness of her word choice. Not that he hadn’t been called fae before in a derogatory way. Since the covenant had been broken, it happened more than he liked, but there were worse things to be called. It wasn’t a big deal, except that it was an odd thing to hear from the mouth of another fae. At least he thought she was fae. With those eyes…
    With a soft snort, he slipped his mask back on. Angel might not want him, but tonight was
Nokturnos
. There were plenty of other women looking for company. But even as the thought entered his mind, it lacked appeal. He wanted Angel. Ridiculous that he’d want a woman who didn’t want him, but there it was. Her sense of innocence combined with her sharp wit and the knowledge that her trust would be hard-won only piqued his interest. After having that small taste of her, she was all he could think about.
    It would be sunrise before he headed home, but the only company he’d be sharing the rest of his evening with came in a bottle.

Chapter Six
    I f there was anything last night had taught Harlow, it was that straying from her comfort zone rarely produced positive results. And yet here she was anyway. At her mother’s house. With the early morning sun beating down on her like a punishment. If Olivia had only relented and given her the information about her father she’d begged for, they’d have a very different relationship. But no, Mother knew best. And now Harlow was finally going to have to capitulate and agree to let the issue of her paternity rest if she wanted Olivia’s help. Somehow, she would have to find a way to ignore the empty place in her heart that she’d lived with her entire life. Resigned to the reality of what lay ahead, she pushed her sunglasses back on her nose, stopped leaning against her car and walked to the front door.
    At least this part of New Orleans was blissfully quiet. A few blocks down, a woman walked her dog. Other than that, the streets were empty.
    The house was impossibly beautiful, but Harlow hadn’t expected anything less. Olivia Goodwin lived her life