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He caught my hand and we casually strolled along the street, Deva alive and noisy all around us and yet having little impact on the comfortable bubble of silence that surrounded us.

His apartment was the penthouse suite of a lovely old red-brick church that had retained all its beams and original windows when it had been converted into five apartments a few years ago. It was located within walking distance to the river and the museum, and also happened to be close to the tavern.

Which would be handy for both of us if things progressed as I hoped.

Eljin punched in the door code and then led me up the chrome-and-glass staircase to the top floor. Once inside, he took my coat and hung it in the closet.

“Would you like a coffee, sherry, or port?”

“Port, please.”

“Excellent choice.” He smiled, pressed a hand against my spine, and gently ushered me into the main room. It was a large, double-height expanse, with the lovely old oak trusses painted white to give the room an even airier feeling. Their song, though muted, was rich and warm, a consequence of being one of the few churches that had undergone major renovations without major destruction. On the street side of the building there were two beautifully simple stained windows and, at the other end of the room, a compact but well-equipped kitchen. Beside this was a chrome-and-glass staircase that wound up to the loft bedroom.

“I can see why you want to buy this apartment,” I said. “It’s truly beautiful.”

“But not as beautiful as the woman who now stands within it.”

“Smooth,” I said with a smile.

“But true, nonetheless.”

He raised my hand to his lips, kissed my fingers, then released them. “Please, take a seat while I make our drinks. Would you like some music?”

“Yes.” I sat down on one of the two-person sofas and crossed my legs, revealing an indecently long length of leg.

His gaze slowly skimmed upward, then rose to meet mine. He knew, as I now knew, how this night would end.

While he put on some music—something soft and bluesy—I sent a quick text to Lugh, telling him not to worry if I didn’t appear tonight. He knew I was with Eljin, of course, but better to confirm the fact I was safe than having him worry I’d been kidnapped after dinner or something. Darby did not need her man distracted when she’d only just snared him.

He handed me a port, then sat down beside me, close enough that his left leg pressed the length of my right. I couldn’t help but wish it was skin-on-skin contact and that we were doing more than merely pressing thighs.

We sipped our drinks slowly and chatted about all manner of inconsequential things. Once the glass of port had been finished, he took it from me, placed it on the table, then rose and held out his hand. “Dance?”

I smiled and let him pull me to my feet. He slipped a hand around my waist and pulled me close, his body warm and hard against mine as we slow-danced around the room. It was both exquisite and torturous, and by the time his hand finally slipped to my rump and pressed my crotch against his erection, I wanted him more than I’d wanted any other man in my life.

Except, perhaps, for Cynwrig, but that was to be expected. He was a dark elf, after all. Animal magnetism was an essential part of their nature.

I tilted my head upward, an unspoken invitation to be kissed, and he obliged. For very many minutes, there was nothing more than a gentle dance of mouths and tongues, teasing, tasting, and exploring.

Eventually, he slid his fingers back up my spine and undid the dress’s zip. Then he slipped his fingers under the shoestring straps and slid them from my shoulders. The silk shimmered to my feet, and I stepped free. Aside from my stilettos, I was naked. Eljin didn’t move, but his gaze consumed me, the heat of it prickling across my skin, leaving me breathy and wanting.

Then he sighed and, with a soft “Magnifique,” silently undressed. He was, as expected, also magnificent, his lean body perfectly muscled and without an ounce of fat.

He caught my hand, pulled me close once again, and we continued to dance, our bodies pressed close, heated skin sliding easily—wantingly—against heated skin. For the longest time, we did nothing more. It was a seduction unlike any I’d ever experienced before, and it was as glorious as the man.

When he finally whispered, “Are you protected against pregnancy,” I was slick with wanting.

“Yes, I am.” It came out husky, thick with need.

“Then shall we take this dance upstairs?”

“I believe we should.”

His smile was that of a cat who was about to consume all the cream.

And consume he did.

It was glorious. Utterly, mind-blowingly glorious.