Melissa awakened in a comfortable bed. It was such an unexpected difference from the warm embrace of an opal and gold dragon that she sat up abruptly and looked around. The sheet fell away, cool air touching her bare skin, and she realized she was naked.

She blushed, imagining who had undressed her, then took stock of her surroundings.

Melissa was in an old house, on an upper floor. She could hear the distant hum and honk of traffic, and the steady pounding of rain on the roof. Rain tinkled against the panes of the window, too, sounding icy and cold. There was a damp chill in the air, and it was light outside the windows.

Was it morning or afternoon?

The room was cozy, if not as cozy as a dragon’s embrace. The floor was hardwood, the planks wide and the wood stained dark. The floor was worn and not entirely level, and Melissa found its visible history reassuring in a way. The walls were painted a honeyed beige, which was both warm and bright. She could see by the uneven surface that they were plaster.

There was a crown molding, probably also plaster, around the perimeter of the high ceiling, and a simple brass chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. Its shades were art glass. Melissa stretched to look at the shadings of mauve and amber and blue in their swirled surface. Their beauty had no competition, the white ceiling showing them to advantage.

The rest of the room was the same, furnished with minimal clutter. The furniture itself was so well crafted and solid that it needed no ornamentation—the grain of the wood and the rich patina were enough. The bed had a headboard in arts and crafts style, solid quarter sawn oak that reminded Melissa of the mission style furniture her brother loved so much. The house he and his wife shared in California was filled with it, and Melissa always found its clean lines attractive.

There was a quilt on the bed, pieced of brilliant cotton paisley prints. Melissa found the words Liberty of London carefully framed in more than one piece. Its colors echoed the mauve and gold of the art glass and gave the room a coherence that she liked a lot. The rug on the floor was hooked by hand, cut from wool in various shades of purple and blue. At a glance, it looked to be all one color, but closer inspection revealed myriad hues mingled together.

Melissa thought of William Morris’s injunction to have nothing in one’s home that was not beautiful or useful. She’d bet Rafferty had that stitched on a sampler somewhere.

She had no trouble believing she was in Rafferty’s house. Even this one room had an integrity, a solidity and warmth, that she already associated with him. There were no blue flames, and she felt only a distant tingle of heat.

Had Rafferty abandoned her?

Melissa couldn’t hear anything beyond the rain and the traffic, but she didn’t feel alone, either. She went to the door, and the heat of the firestorm increased slightly. She watched in fascination as the blue-green flames danced around the hand she placed on the door. They seemed mercurial, there and not there, more fluid than fire usually was.

That desire filled her again, her thoughts turning to the pleasure she and Rafferty had shared. She had a sudden and vivid idea of how best to spend a rainy morning in his company.

He had called her “mate,” after all. Melissa grimaced, well aware that if his expectation of a partner was as basic as it sounded, she wouldn’t be able to deliver.

Literally.

Maybe she’d just go with the moment and worry about the implications (and her limitations) later.

The light flared around her hand, as if to endorse the notion, and Melissa caught her breath at the way her knees weakened. A particularly bright flame dropped from her hand to the floor. She snatched at it, fearing the carpet would burn. Instead, the flame rolled through the gap beneath the door and disappeared.

Melissa opened the door in time to see the cluster of flame slip and skip across a foyer, then slide down the stairs.

In pursuit of Rafferty.

Or maybe guiding her to him.

Either way, he was here.

Melissa’s heart leapt, and she knew she had to go to him. She used the compact cream and black bathroom adjacent to her room, admiring the antique wall tiles even as she hurried. She really liked his house. It was authentic and original in a way she found appealing.

But then Rafferty couldn’t be mistaken for anyone other than who he was. His confidence was very sexy. He was proud of his Pyr nature, sure of his objectives. He’d implied that he was more than a thousand years old, which she supposed gave someone time to refine likes and dislikes. She tugged on the fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the door, then set out to find her host.

It was easy. She lifted her hand in front of her and watched for the blue flames. They flared and leapt; then the tips of the flames bent toward the top of the stairs. Melissa descended the stairs, her bare feet sinking into the thick Persian runner, her other hand trailing down the carved wooden banister.

Melissa studied Rafferty’s home, wanting to know every detail about him that could be discerned from his residence. She had no doubt that everything had been chosen with deliberation.

There was a magnificent newel post at the end of the banister, one that looked as if it had been carved out of the trunk of an ancient tree. It certainly seemed rooted to the foyer, which had the same dark wood floors and thick carpets. The colors of choice here were red and gold, a deep oxblood red and a gold that approached bronze.

There was an old fireplace in the foyer, with a tiled surround in that same red and gold, and with an elaborate metal grate. A fire burned low there, casting a welcome heat into the foyer. It burned a little higher and hotter as she passed, as if the flames there were responding to the blue heat that danced from her fingertips.

The front door was solid and substantial, at least three feet wide, with stained glass sidelights and a transom. Melissa noted that the glass had been sandwiched between sheets of modern glass, probably to protect it and to provide better security. The lock on the door had been refitted with a modern lock, one that was set into the antique brass of the original.

Melissa smiled. It made sense to her that Rafferty would do sensitive restoration and modernization. He would be the kind of person to respect the past but look to the future.

He wasn’t afraid to experience the moment fully. She could take a lesson from that.

Rafferty’s house felt like a haven. Melissa wasn’t sure she’d ever want to leave it.

She couldn’t help but compare this to her own home, which was infinitely forgettable. She’d made her town house easy to leave, by conscious choice, so that she could answer the call of her profession and go wherever was necessary without a backward glance. It had never held the same promise as the house she and Zach had bought together, and when that had been sold, she hadn’t wanted to invest emotionally in bricks and mortar.

She’d done the same with relationships since her marriage had ended, never investing the increment that would make another person a cornerstone of her life. She’d always been sure that was the sensible choice. Now, in Rafferty’s home, Melissa realized she had denied herself a kind of solace and comfort that would have been very welcome in recent years.

No wonder she had gone to her brother’s house to convalesce. Her town house hadn’t been much more personal or welcoming than the hospital. Even then, she’d stayed in California for only a week, telling herself she didn’t want to impose.

No. She’d been afraid of not ever being able to leave, of being drawn in so tightly that she’d want only to stay.

Cool as a cucumber her brother called her.

Ice queen Zach had called her.

Chicken shit was what Melissa decided to call herself. Was she ever going to invest in herself? In a personal relationship she wanted? In living instead of simply marking time—or working all the time?

Maybe the moment to change was right now.

Melissa stood in the central foyer and held up her hand for directions. The flames indicated that Rafferty was at the rear of the house, in the room directly beneath the bedroom where she had awakened. That heavy wood door was closed, but the hungry lick of the blue flames when she touched the doorknob told her all she needed to know.

Not just about Rafferty, but about herself and her choices.

It was time to live in the moment.

It was time to want something more than survival.

It was time to do something about getting what she wanted.

Melissa rapped once, then opened the door.

 

“I will make you a wager,” Magnus said, even as Jorge was thrashing the old Slayer. He was within a heartbeat of death, badly wounded, and Jorge wasn’t surprised that Magnus would use his last breath to try to negotiate.

“You have nothing I want,” Jorge retorted. “Except the Elixir in your veins.”

“Which is diluted,” Magnus replied. “Look at me! If the Elixir ran strong within me, would I be so sorely wounded?”

Jorge hesitated. That argument did make some sense.

“I have more,” Magnus said. “I have only to get to it. If you release me, I would share.”

“Eighty-twenty,” Jorge said.

Magnus laughed, coughing blood. “Twenty-eighty was more my thinking”—Jorge drove a talon into the old Slayer’s chest, and his next words required more effort—“but it appears you have the upper talon.”

“Take me there,” Jorge insisted. “Show it to me.” He knew better than to trust Magnus Montmorency.

“I can’t when you clutch so tightly.” Magnus closed his eyes, his breath rasping. “I can barely breathe,” he whispered, his strength apparently fading.

Jorge studied him. Magnus could be lying. But if Magnus wasn’t lying, if he died, Jorge would never find that stash of Elixir. He eased his grip ever so slightly on the old Slayer, on his guard for treachery.

Jorge wasn’t quite quick enough. Magnus twitched and shifted shape, becoming a green salamander. Jorge snatched after him, but no sooner had his hand closed around the reptile than Magnus disappeared before his eyes.

“Better luck next time.” The old-speak resonated in Jorge’s own thoughts. Then Magnus laughed.

Jorge’s eyes narrowed. If there was a next time, he knew who would trick whom.

Next time, Jorge would triumph.

 

The door opened before Melissa to reveal a library, paneled completely in carved dark oak. The fire was built up to burn more vehemently, its flames painting the room with flickering orange light. The burgundy velvet drapes were closed against the morning; the walls were lined with books, old leather-bound books with gold lettering on the spines; and a massive desk reposed in one corner. There was a pair of armchairs before the fire, their caramel leather worn to wrinkles and shine.

Rafferty sat in the one facing the doorway. He wore only his jeans, his bare feet stretched out before the fire. His dark hair glinted; his eyes glittered. He looked both thoughtful and formidable. He was utterly still, except for his thumb, which worried that black and white ring. In his other hand was a large quartz crystal, and there were many mineral samples on the bookshelves. They made earthy and interesting bookends.

Melissa understood he had been waiting for her.

She halted in the doorway, heart in her throat. “You knew I was coming.”

“Our senses are more keen than those of humans.” His words were softly uttered but seemed to resonate in the room. “I heard your breathing change when you awakened. I thought your curiosity would bring you downstairs.” He looked into the fire, and she had the sense he was trying to make a decision about something.

Maybe about her.

Melissa stepped into the room, closed the door, and leaned back against it. She felt as if she had entered a refuge—one of the most secure kind. “Can they follow us here?”

“Magnus and Jorge can follow us anywhere.” Rafferty pushed to his feet, bending to tend the fire that didn’t need tending. The golden light slid over his muscles exactly as Melissa would have liked to slide her hands over him. “When a Slayer can spontaneously manifest wherever he chooses, there can be no barriers to hold him out.”

“Not even dragonsmoke?”

“No.”

“Can you manifest like that?”

“I did not drink the Elixir.” His reply was emphatic, just like his gesture as he shoved the poker into the fire. Sparks scattered and danced.

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

Rafferty pursed his lips and frowned. “I believe only those who have drunk the Elixir have the power to spontaneously manifest in alternate locations.”

Again, Melissa sensed this was only half of the story. What wasn’t he telling her? “So, you’ve never done it?”

He frowned. “I did. Twice.” His gaze flicked to hers. “Although both times I was trying to do it, I’m not sure I was ultimately responsible for my deed.”

“What does that mean?”

“I wanted to find Magnus. I wanted to be with Magnus. I spontaneously manifested in Magnus’s presence. But both times, Magnus wanted something from me.” Rafferty shook his head thoughtfully. “I have come to think I did not make the choice to move, but he summoned me.”

“Because he had drunk the Elixir, and he needed your help.”

Rafferty nodded, that frown still furrowing his brow.

“Did you try again? To make sure?”

“I have failed to repeat the deed.” He flicked her a look. “I was trying again, on the night we met.”

Melissa had to respect his conclusion, given that. Desire couldn’t have much to do with it—she knew he had wanted to destroy Magnus that night in DC.

As the Elixir—and those who had consumed it—was a topic that clearly troubled Rafferty, Melissa didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted Rafferty to be in a different mood.

An amorous one.

The silence stretched between them, the fact that he kept his back to her less than encouraging. But it would take more than mere body language to daunt Melissa Smith when she was on a mission. She stepped into the room and took the chair opposite the one Rafferty had occupied. The leather was worn soft and smooth, and the fire was warm against her legs.

“So, about this mate thing,” she said.

Rafferty spun suddenly to face her, his move deft and elegant. Once again, he had moved more quickly than she had anticipated. What else could he do? “What about it?”

“It has something to do with the firestorm, with these flames, right?” She lifted her hand, and the blue-green fire danced predictably from her fingertips, angling toward Rafferty as if burning in a stiff breeze. Or yearning for a connection. Melissa’s mouth went dry, and she felt a yearning of her own as Rafferty’s gaze brightened.

“The firestorm and its flames are a sign that a Pyr has found his destined mate.”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” Melissa said. “Do you?”

“Then believe in biology,” he said, avoiding her question and her gaze. This conversation made him uncomfortable, which was interesting. “The destined mate is the one woman who can conceive that Pyr’s son.”

There was no chance of that happening, but Melissa saw no reason to tell all of her secrets just yet. “So the flames are a sign?”

“And the firestorm’s heat mounts, until it is sated.” Rafferty arched a brow. “It becomes increasingly difficult to deny.”

Melissa leaned toward him, knowing that the white robe would gape at the neck. Rafferty’s eyes shone and his fist clenched, but he didn’t move closer. It seemed his entire body had become taut, which only fed Melissa’s urge to touch him.

Everywhere.

“So, the firestorm is about making more dragons?”

Rafferty frowned and glanced away. He was turning that ring again but seemed unaware of what he was doing. “There are those who believe as much. There are others who think the firestorm is a chance for a deeper partnership, one that endures after the firestorm is sated.”

Melissa could guess which perspective was Rafferty’s. She respected his sense of tradition and longevity. She wished she’d met him sooner, when she had still believed in the future, in love lasting forever, and in the possibility of happily ever after.

Her short marriage had destroyed that particular illusion.

Rafferty flicked a potent look in her direction, and she glimpsed how important this notion was to him. “There are those who believe the most successful firestorms are those that become permanent partnerships. A union that is more than the sum of the parts.”

Melissa didn’t want to talk about how she couldn’t be that mate for him. She didn’t want to talk about the future or the past—she wanted to talk about the present.

She wanted to savor the attraction between them.

So she changed the subject ever so slightly. “And the firestorm is sated when the mate conceives?”

“It’s sated when they consummate their relationship. Our understanding is that the moment is concurrent, that it takes only once for the mate to conceive the destined child.”

Melissa smiled. She couldn’t help it. “But we already did it once.”

Rafferty didn’t smile. If anything, he was more intent. “That was before the firestorm began to burn.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Important firestorms are launched by the light of a total lunar eclipse. It is common that the destined pair meet after that eclipse, so feel their firestorm in that first encounter.” He frowned and shrugged, then glanced at her. “We met sooner.”

“So it doesn’t count that we did it?”

Rafferty smiled warmly. “Do you think it didn’t count?”

“I mean in terms of making more dragons.”

“In those terms, no. Evidently it didn’t count, because the firestorm is still burning.”

Saved by a technicality.

Melissa didn’t believe in forever anymore, but she believed in the moment. This moment. She believed in doing what felt right, and in asking for what she wanted.

If she told him everything about her personal history, this moment would be lost. She feared that he would turn against her, once he knew the truth.

Just one more taste of him. That was all she wanted before he left her and she was alone again. It seemed such a small thing to ask.

Melissa stood up and crossed the short distance between them. She caught Rafferty’s face in her hands and stretched up to brush her lips across his. She heard his intake of breath, felt him tense, saw the hardness of his erection in his jeans. He wanted her just as she was, and that was the best aphrodisiac imaginable.

“Let’s sate the firestorm,” she whispered. “Right here, right now.” She savored the flash of pleasure in his eyes, then kissed him with conviction.

 

A gift unexpected!

Rafferty wasn’t inclined to despair, although he had felt since the eclipse that every force was allied against him. He had been brooding about his situation, uncertain how to proceed, even as he’d listened to Melissa sleeping. He had been dreading their next conversation, her inevitable questions, the airing of his uncertainties.

He’d told her about the firestorm, fully anticipating that such an independent woman would refuse the burden of bearing his child. He’d been certain that his firestorm was doomed and that the darkfire would burn long and vigorously.

Wreaking havoc for the Pyr.

On the other hand, he appreciated that Melissa was forthright and that she didn’t shirk from hard truths. He’d known he could tell her the full story and she would rationally decide how to proceed. Even if he guessed what her answer might be, he owed her that explanation.

To have his mate consent to sating the firestorm, even knowing its import, was far more than he could have anticipated.

It was a sign that he had only to have faith and that the Great Wyvern was indeed on his side. It changed everything for Rafferty. It gave him hope. It restored his ability to trust that all would end well, no matter how long the odds.

That was something to celebrate.

And he knew exactly how best to celebrate.

Rafferty caught Melissa around the waist and pulled her up against him, angling his head to deepen their kiss. She was as sweet and responsive as he remembered, although he sensed a new hunger in her. Was it because of the firestorm? Or was it because they already had some familiarity with each other?

Rafferty didn’t care. The dragon roared within him, as the flames of the darkfire blazed with sapphire light. He wanted everything she had to give. Holding her captive to his kiss with one hand locked around her nape, he used the other hand to unfasten the belt of her bathrobe. She wriggled like a fish in his grasp, shaking the robe over her shoulders, then locking her fingers into his hair once more.

When her bare breasts collided with his chest, Rafferty started at the sparks that flew from that point, then pressed her more tightly against him. He wanted to merge their bodies in a more intimate embrace than the one they’d already shared—he wanted the consummation of his firestorm to be more than memorable.

He’d waited so long.

He wanted their mating to be perfect in every way.

He wanted this permanent bond rooted in a potent memory.

Melissa met him more than halfway, her eyes closed as she echoed the ardor of his kiss. She kissed him deeply, her teeth grazing his lips, her tongue teasing and tempting. She seemed to be starving for him, desperate for his touch, as determined as he was to push their lovemaking to the next level of passion. He could smell her wet heat, mixing with the faint lingering aura of her perfume. The combination tantalized him.

He was shocked when she broke her kiss.

He was even more shocked when Melissa unzipped his jeans, pushed them over his hips, and closed her mouth over his erection.

Forthright.

That was all he had time to think before sensation claimed him completely. Rafferty was dizzy with the unexpected pleasure of her touch, and he clutched the back of one chair to ensure that he remained standing.

He didn’t evade her, though. Melissa wove a spell with her caress that drove every sensible thought from his mind, ensnaring Rafferty in a web of pleasure and sensation. He closed his eyes against the growing heat of the firestorm, against the assault of the vivid blue flames, against the sure touch of his lover.

Did he dare to imagine that they might make an enduring partnership? Did he dare to hope that in agreeing to have his child, this independent woman with her clear gaze might put her hand in his for the duration? He suspected he could spend a lifetime unraveling her secrets, and he was ready to volunteer.

As she touched him, kindling his passion so deftly that she might have shared his every thought, so sure of what would rouse him that she might have loved him for decades, Rafferty dared to imagine as much. He dared to believe that this firestorm truly could bring him his heart’s desire.

When he was so hard and thick that he couldn’t stand temptation any longer, when he knew he would explode at any time, he knew it would be an abomination to spill his seed recklessly.

He caught Melissa by the shoulders just before he came. He lifted her into his arms, then set her in the caramel leather armchair he had vacated.

She gasped at his move, her eyes widening in surprise, but he braced her buttocks in his hands, dropped to his knees, and licked at her sweetness. She caught her breath in pleasure, then seemed to swoon, those lips softening as she surrendered to his touch in turn.

She put her feet on his shoulders, the smooth curve of her arches sliding over his skin as she pointed her toes. Her trust fed Rafferty’s desire, making the flame within him burn higher and hotter.

Melissa leaned her head back and reveled in his touch, moaning and bucking her hips. He felt the golden heat of the fire against his skin, while the azure heat of the darkfire danced between them, illuminating every place their bodies touched. It wasn’t Rafferty’s imagination that the blue flames leapt higher as Melissa’s passion rose.

He heard the beat of her heart and felt his own match pace to it. Their hearts pounded as one, the sound of hers echoing in his ears, the resonance of his own multiplying the sensation, overwhelming him with a sense of communion.

He heard the flutter of her breath and heard it deepen as she became more aroused. He felt his own breath synchronize in pace, increasing the sensation that they were not two meeting as one, but one that had been separated, its halves now coming together in glorious union once again. He took her to within a heartbeat of release, then paused, building her desire to the cusp of satisfaction over and over again. He denied her the final rush of pleasure each time, knowing the result would be greater for it. She moaned and writhed, gasped at his touch, begged him not to stop.

He felt the flush sliding over her skin as surely as the heat kindled beneath his own flesh, and he knew this time he would push her to the point of release. He felt her clitoris tighten and grow hard, just as he hardened at the sweet taste of her pleasure.

He nipped that taut bud, a quick and hard touch that sent Melissa over the edge.

She shouted, clutched his head, and rocked against him. Her pulse raced with new vigor as the orgasm claimed her. Her knees locked around his shoulders, and she bucked as he still refused to stop his caress, driving her on and on and on. Her release seemed to last forever, and he loved every second of it.

When Melissa slumped limp and exhausted back into the chair, Rafferty thought she might fall asleep again.

But she looked at him, her eyes blazing with demand.

“All of you,” she whispered, then beckoned with one finger. “All of you, now.”

Rafferty smiled slowly as he eased himself over her. She smiled in return as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her ankles hooking together behind his back. She inhaled as he slid his strength into her wet heat, drawing him deeper and deeper. He felt welcomed, as if they were destined to fit together so perfectly, as if there could be no other woman to hold him just so.

“More,” she whispered, rolling her hips so that he was more completely buried within her. Rafferty closed his eyes and caught his breath, struggling for control. Melissa dug her nails into the back of his shoulders. “All of you,” she demanded again, twining against him and kissing him beneath the ear.

Rafferty shivered and pressed into her more deeply. Melissa licked his ear and blew against the wet flesh. He shuddered. She moved her hips and he was lost in her spell again. The sapphire flames leapt and danced around them, sliding over their skin and between their bodies, heating, illuminating, exciting.

Rafferty could even see the blue haze when he closed his eyes. As he moved within Melissa, as she provoked him much as he had provoked her, he felt the heat burn brighter. It became whiter and hotter, burning more vigorously in place. Its demand increased, mingled with Melissa’s scent, tickled the dragon to wakefulness, and utterly enchanted Rafferty.

He cupped her buttocks and stood up, easily carrying her weight with him. She locked her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He met her simmering gaze as he slid his hand between them. He felt her clitoris harden again and saw her eyes sparkle in anticipation. Feeling that she was on the cusp once more, he moved his fingers with surety, knowing already what she liked.

He dared to imagine how powerful their lovemaking would become over time, as they each learned how best to drive the other wild. The notion excited him as little else could have done.

Rafferty deliberately drove Melissa to climax, holding his own reaction back with an effort. Melissa convulsed as she reached her orgasm, her legs tightening around him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her cry rippling across his cheek. He watched her, loving how the blue flames of the darkfire touched her skin, surrounded her, and made her seem to glow like a rare treasure.

His prize.

His mate.

His treasure.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, reaching to pull him closer. Her hungry kiss drove Rafferty to the precipice. He let loose and roared, fit to rattle the rafters. He came in a raging torrent, his seed spilling in a release so shattering that it shook him to his core.

Rafferty’s orgasm both lasted forever and was over in a flash.

It left him staggering in his library, Melissa curled against his chest with a contented smile. He leaned one shoulder against the mantel to catch his breath, liking the stability of the massive slab of old oak. Melissa sighed in contentment and lifted her head to consider him, her own gaze drowsy in the aftermath of pleasure. She trailed her fingertips through his hair, down his cheek, through the day’s growth on his jaw.

“What a perfect way to spend a rainy morning,” she said softly, tracing a line across his mouth with one silken fingertip. To Rafferty’s astonishment, he felt a prickle of the heat trail her touch.

He blinked and looked, knowing his thoughts were muddled and the angle was bad. Melissa swept her hand over his shoulder, then down his arm, as if she would memorize the shape of him.

There were unmistakable blue sparks leaping and dancing in the wake of her caress. He could see them. He could feel them. They made a burning line across his skin, one that fed his desire all over again and sent that familiar urge through his veins. They were that same elusive blue-green as the darkfire had been just moments before.

How could this be?

“Oh,” Melissa said quietly as she noted the direction of his gaze. “Looks like the Pyr mythos has it wrong.”

Rafferty stared into her eyes, unable to summon a word to his lips. How could the firestorm not be sated?

Then his heart clenched in fear. Was there something different about darkfire? Something he didn’t know? Something he should fear?

“Wow,” Melissa said abruptly. “What kind of rocks are these, anyway?”

Rafferty followed her gaze to his bookshelves, only to discover that each sample in his mineral collection had a strange blue flame dancing at its core. The light flickered through the stones, taking on the color of their crystals, and painted the walls in strange dancing light.

Darkfire.

The large quartz crystal he’d been holding earlier was the brightest of all, the blue flame at its heart burning with new vigor.

Rafferty was awed and horrified.

Melissa cast him an impish glance through her lashes, one that made his heart skip. “Do you need to rest up before we try again? Maybe have some breakfast?”

“This cannot be,” he said. He gently put her down, shoving his hand through his hair in consternation. He reached out to touch her shoulder, catching his breath as the blue flame danced again between them.

It seemed to be burning even brighter.

His body certainly was responding to it with greater vehemence.

This made no sense.

Melissa tugged on the robe again, almost as if avoiding his gaze. “I could use a coffee before round two.” She spoke lightly, which was strange since she’d been so sensitive to his moods thus far. Rafferty dismissed the idea that she could be hiding anything from him, telling himself that paranoia had no place in a firestorm.

“I’ll make some coffee,” he said, heading for the kitchen with purpose. Maybe the caffeine would clear his thoughts.

“Maybe it would be a good time for you to explain this darkfire to me,” Melissa suggested.

Again, Rafferty heard something in her tone, a wariness that awakened his own. He considered her, and her gaze danced away from his. He was right. She wasn’t surprised that the darkfire still burned between them.

Why not?

“Maybe there is more than that we need to discuss,” Rafferty suggested, and knew he didn’t imagine that she caught her breath. Then she walked quickly toward the kitchen, once again giving him the impression that she was hiding her thoughts.

Melissa had not conceived his son on the consummation of their relationship, and Rafferty had a feeling she knew why.

He was going to learn the truth, before the coffee was gone.