“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” she said, doing her best to sound angry rather than aroused.
He frowned. “And I told you to behave. Yet here you are, full of stolen pie.”
“What do you want me to do? Return it?”
“Don’t be crass. I want you to pay for it.”
“Moment I do, I’ll start to vomit.” She crossed her arms over her middle. Close the distance. Kiss me. “That would ruin my lipstick, so I have to decline.”
He, too, crossed his arms over his middle. “You can also earn your food.”
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”
A moment passed in silence. Then, “Do you have no morals?” he gritted out. “No.” No sexual boundaries, either. So freaking kiss me already! “I don’t.”
He popped his jaw in frustration and disappeared.
Bianka’s arms dropped to her sides and she gazed around in astonishment. He’d left? Left? Without touching her? Without kissing her? Bastard! She stomped to her car.
LYSANDER WATCHED AS Bianka drove away. He was hard as a rock, had been that way since she’d paraded around her cabin naked, had lingered in a bubble bath and then changed into that wicked shirt. His shaft was desperate for her.
Why couldn’t she be an angel? Why couldn’t she abhor sin? Why did she have to embrace it?
And why was the fact that she did these things—steal, curse, lie—still exciting him?
Because that was the way of things, he supposed, and had been since the beginning of time. Temptation seeped past your defenses, changed you, made you long for things you shouldn’t.
There had to be a way to end this madness. He couldn’t destroy her, he’d already proven that. But what if he could change her? He hadn’t truly tried before, so it could work. And if she embraced his way of life, they could be together. He could have her. Have more of her kisses, touch more of her body.
Yes, he thought. Yes. He would help her become a woman he could be proud to walk beside. A woman he could happily claim as his own. A woman who would not be his downfall.
CHAPTER NINE
AS LYSANDER HAD NEVER had a…girlfriend, as the humans would say, he had no idea how to train one. He knew only how to train his soldiers. Without emotion, maintaining distance and taking nothing personally. His soldiers, however, wanted to learn. They were eager, his every word welcomed. Bianka would resist him at every turn. That much he knew.
So. The first day, he followed her, simply observing. Planning.
She, of course, stole every meal, even snacks, drank too much at a bar, danced too closely with a man she obviously did not know, then broke that man’s nose when he cupped her bottom. Lysander wanted to do damage of his own, but restrained himself. Barely. At bedtime, Bianka merely paced the confines of her cabin, cursing his name. Not for a minute did she rest.
How lovely she was, dark hair streaming down her back. Red lips pursed. Skin glowing like a rainbow in the moonlight. So badly he wanted to touch her, to surround her with his wings, making them the only two people alive, and simply enjoy her.
Soon, he promised himself.
She’d given him release, yet he had not done the same for her. The more he thought about that—and think about it he did, all the time—the more that did not sit well with him. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more embarrassed he was.
He didn’t know how to touch her to bring her release, but he was willing to try, to learn. First, though, he had to train her as planned. How, though? he wondered again. She seemed to respond well to his kisses—his chest puffed up with pride at that. He’d never rewarded his soldiers for a job well done, but perhaps he could do so for Bianka. Reward her with a kiss every time she pleased him.
A failproof plan. He hoped.
The second day, he was practically humming with anticipation. When she entered a clothing store and stuffed a beaded scarf into her purse, he materialized in front of her, ready to begin.
She stilled, gaze lifting and meeting his. Rather than bow her head in contrition, she grinned. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Put that back,” he told her. “You do not need to steal clothing to survive.”
She crossed her arms over her middle, a stubborn stance he knew well. “Yeah, but it’s fun.”
A human woman who stood off to the side eyed Bianka strangely. “Uh, can I help you?”
Bianka never looked away from him. “Nope. I’m fine.”
“She cannot see me,” Lysander told her. “Only you can.”
“So I look insane for talking with you?”
He nodded.
She laughed, surprising him. And even though her amusement was misplaced, he loved the sound of her laughter. It was magical, like the strum of a harp. He loved the way her mirth softened her expression and lit her magnificent skin.
Have to touch her, he thought, suddenly dazed. He took a step closer, intending to do just that. Have to experience that softness again. And in doing so, she could begin to know the delights of his rewards.
She gulped. “Wh-what are you—”
“Are you sure I can’t help you?” the woman asked, cutting her off.
Bianka remained in place, trembling, but tossed her a glare. “I’m sure. Now shut it before I sew your lips together.”
The woman backed away, spun and raced to help someone else.
Lysander froze.
“You may continue,” Bianka said to him.
How could he reward her for such rudeness? That would defeat the purpose of her training. “Do you not care what people think of you?” he asked, head tilting to the side.
Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped trembling. “No. Why should I? In a few years, these people will be dead but I’ll still be alive and kicking.” As she spoke, she stuffed another scarf in her purse.
Now she was simply taunting him. “Put it back, and I’ll give you a kiss,” he gritted out.
“Wh-what?”
Stuttering again. He was affecting her. “You heard me.” He would not repeat the words. Having said them, all he wanted to do was mesh their lips together, thrust his tongue into her mouth and taste her. Hear her moan. Feel her clutch at him.
“You would willingly kiss me?” she rasped.
Willingly. Desperately. He nodded.
She licked her lips, leaving a sheen of moisture behind. The sight of that pink tongue sent blood rushing into his shaft. His hands clenched at his sides. Anything to keep from grabbing her and jerking her against him.
“I—I—” She shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts. Her eyes narrowed again, those long, dark lashes fusing together. “Why would you do that? You, who have tried to resist me at every turn?”
“Because.”
“Why?”
“Just put the scarves back.” So the kissing can begin.
She arched a brow. “Are you trying to bribe me? Because you should know, that won’t work with me.”
Rather than answer—and lie—he remained silent, chin jutting in the air. Blood…heating.
Still watching him, she reached out, palmed a belt and stuffed it in her purse, as well. “So what do you plan to do to me if I keep stealing? Give me a severe tongue-lashing? Too bad. I don’t accept.”
Fire slid the length of his spine even as his anger spiked. He closed the distance until the warmth of her breath was fanning over his neck and chest. “You could not get enough of me in the heavens, yet now that you are here, you want nothing to do with me. Tell me. Was your every word and action up there a lie?”
“Of course my every word and action was a lie. That’s what I do. I thought you knew that.”
So…did she desire him or not? Two days ago she’d told her sister, Kaia, that she wanted nothing to do with him. At the time, he’d thought she was merely saying that for Kaia’s benefit. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
“You could be lying now,” he said. At least, that’s what he hoped. And who would have thought he’d ever wish for a lie?
Excitement sparked in her eyes and spread to the rest of her features. She patted his cheek, then flattened her palm on his chest. “You’re learning, angel.”
He sucked in a breath. So hot. So soft.
“Here’s a proposition for you. Steal something from this store and I’ll kiss you.”
Wait. Her words from a moment ago drifted through his head. You’re learning, angel. He was learning? “No,” he croaked out. He would not do such a thing. Not even for her. “These people need the money their goods provide. Do you care nothing for their welfare?”
A flash of guilt joined the excitement. “No,” she said.
Another lie? Probably. That guilt…it gave him hope. “Why do you need to steal like this, anyway?”
“Foreplay,” she said with a shrug.
Blood…heating…again.
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”
At the unexpected intrusion, they both stiffened. Bianka’s gaze pulled from his; together they eyed the policeman now standing beside her.
She frowned. “Can’t you see that I’m in the middle of a conversation?”
“Doesn’t matter if you’re talking to God Himself.” The grim-faced officer latched onto her wrist. “I need you to come with me.”
“I don’t think so. Lysander,” she said, clearly expecting him to do something.
Instinct demanded he save her. He wanted her safe and happy, but this would be good for her. “I told you to put the items back.”
Her jaw dropped as the officer led her away. And, if Lysander wasn’t mistaken, there was pride in her gaze.
ARRESTED FOR SHOPLIFTING, Bianka thought with disgust. Again. Her third time that year. Lysander had watched the policeman usher her in back, empty her purse and cuff her. All without a word. His disapproval had said plenty, though.
She hadn’t let it upset her. He’d stood his ground, and she admired that. Was turned on by it. This wouldn’t be an easy victory, as she’d assumed. Besides, for the first time in their relationship, he’d offered to kiss her. Willingly kiss her.