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“The intimate scenes—”

Before I could even finish, she let out a frustrated groan, throwing her arms over her head and burying her face in her sleeves. “Iknowthe sex scenes are a hot pile of dog shit,” she said, her voice muffled against the fabric.

“Um... how about I help you rewrite them?” I offered.

Her arms parted just enough for her to cast me a withering glare.

“I mean,” I pressed on, “Iaman incubus demon. Who better to give sex advice than an incubus?”

Literally anyone.

If it weren’t for the need to feed, I’d probably still be a virgin, waiting for my mate to summon me. That wasn’t to say I wasn’t good at sex—I was an incubus, it’s what we were designed for. I had a handful of go-to moves, efficient and practiced—whatever got my partner-for-the-night off the fastest, so I could be done with it and leave.

But Jen didn’t need to know that.

I watched as she bit her bottom lip, mulling over my offer, her expression unreadable. Finally, she exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ll help me rewriteallmy intimate scenes in exchange for me letting you stay here?”

I shook my head, a grin tugging on my lips. “I’ll help you perfect your intimate scenes in exchange for you letting me stayandfor you helping me find a date.”

Chapter 8. Jen

“Help you find a date?” I sputtered.

Devlin shrugged, the movement casual. “You write the exact kind of romance I’m looking for. Who better to help me find it in real life?”

Literally anyone else.

Okay, sure, I could write a slow-burn romance. But knowing how to write it and knowing how to make it happen in real life? Two entirely different skill sets.

I had never even been on a date before, let alone helped someone else find one.

But Devlin didn’t need to know that.

I’d just have to fake it, make it up as I went along, and pray to Hecate that Devlin’s personality was as good as his ridiculously sculpted everything if he wanted any chance of finding a date. Not that it would even matter—whoever he met wouldn’t see the real him anyway. His incubus magic would shift his features, molding him into whatever their subconscious found most desirable.

Which was a damn shame. He really was very handsome.

My gaze flickered over him, lingering against my will. I tried to imagine what my version of him would look like, the Devlin I would have seen if my desires had been left unchecked by Lobato’s suppressing magic. But every time I attempted to alter his features in my mind, nothing changed.

His deep chestnut hair, thick and effortlessly tousled, was begging to have fingers threaded through it. Those smoldering, amber-hued eyes, warm and intense, were the sort you could get lost in without ever wanting to find your way back. And his lips—full, pale, and utterly sinful—yeah, those were probably goingto star in my dreams tonight, doing all sorts of wickedly delicious things.

A pulse of warmth flickered through me, pooling low in my stomach before I could stop it.

I swallowed hard and stole a glance at Devlin.

No reaction.

Had he... dampened his senses around me?

Had he dampened them to give me my privacy?in which case,aw?or was it because he was looking for something deeper than just feeding? Someone he actually wanted to be with? And he’d decided I was already out of the race?in which case,ouch.

I mean, sure, I was saving myself for my mate. I had no intention whatsoever of being with him.None.But an immediate, straight-out-of-the-gate rejection still stung.

Or maybe he’d just wanted to block out the waves of grief that had crashed over me when he mentioned the banishing spell—because it had instantly pulled me back to that moment. The one where my home had been filled with mortal police.

He wants to room with you, Jen. Not be your therapist. Not date you.

I exhaled sharply before straightening. “Fine. I’ll let you stay here and help you find a date”—an excited flurry of sheets rustled from the kitchen—“but there are a few ground rules.”