I couldn’t move.

He looked at me over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Nervousness exploded through my blood, making me sway on the spot.

Don’t you dare pass out now.

I’d suggested this, yet never in a million years did I think he’d agree, but...I couldn’t back down now, could I?

Maybe this was a test?

A test to see if I would try to seduce him, after all? Yet another attempt to force me to admit all my secrets?

I slouched as my heart hammered. I would have to touch him. I would have to willingly get close to him, all while he waited for me to show my true intentions, merely to prove he was right to hate me all along.

I needed more wine.

“Are you going to get this over with or are you planning on camping in my kitchen?” Lucien’s voice sailed, cold and curt from where he sat on the couch.

My head pounded. If I made it through massaging him without passing out, it would be a miracle.

“Coming...” I choked.

Every step cost me as I made my way into the cavernous yet somehow cosy living room with all the mismatched lamps and lanterns keeping the shadows at bay. I could imagine in winter, when the fireplace roared, it would be extremely toasty and romantic.

Ugh, will you stop?

There is no romance.

None.

Don’t even think about it.

Drifting to a stop in front of him, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

With his legs spread and coat missing, he looked like a heartless king on his throne.

I swallowed to lubricate my suddenly dry throat. Whisper padded past and vanished through the open door to the courtyard. “Eh...how do you want it?”

“Want it?” His eyes tightened, even as the corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t know. I’ve never had it before.”

His wary guardedness was genuine, yet I had the sneaking suspicion he was playing with me.

“Well...” My voice came out a little high. “I usually just like head massages when I’m suffering a migraine but you...if you tell me where you hurt the most, I can try and...” I couldn’t finish, my gaze becoming traitorous and drifting down his body.

His hand came up, tapping the silver plate over his heart, the metal clinking beneath his shirt. “This is what hurts the most. Think you can help with that?”

I flinched, wishing I had a medical degree so I could make his request come true. “Unfortunately, I’m not skilled in removing whatever pacemaker-type torture device you have.”

His eyes flared before settling back into that cold merciless glint that’d become so familiar. “Alright then. I’ll trust you to show me what’s so great about letting another person touch me.” His jaw clenched. “But if you’re doing all of this for my blood, then it would be better just to mop the floor.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m also never going to sleep with you.”

“Like I said, never is a very long time—”

“It is. And I mean it.”

“One day, you’ll believe me that I’m not trying to seduce you.”

“Doubt it.”

“I’m also not looking for compensation with your blood. I’ve endured this pain for over seven years. I don’t need you to save me.”

“Then why bother being nice to me? Why even offer to do this?”

I sighed, frustrated but also full of pity. How awful had his upbringing been that he’d never learned to relax around another person? Never understood that people did things for one another without needing to be rewarded?

“Can’t I do something without needing something in return?” I asked gently.

“No.” He frowned, his hands fisting the couch cushions on either side of his thighs. “There’s always a catch. Always.”

“Not with me.”

He smirked but couldn’t hide his tension. “And that’s the part that confuses me the most. And why you’re the most dangerous of the lot.”

“Me? Dangerous?” I laughed. “As if.”

Before he could reply, I rushed, “I’m offering to do this without expecting anything back. That’s it. That’s all. Does that answer your endless questions?”

He stared at me for so long, the air seemed to buzz around us. More questions cut through his gaze, but he didn’t voice them. Instead, he closed his eyes and forced his hands to stop strangling the couch. “I burn in every bone of my body. Every droplet of blood feels like it’s searing me alive. I don’t care what you massage. I doubt it will help, but...try wherever you want.”

I studied him, drinking him in while he couldn’t study me back.

Wiry muscles, ropey arms, and a shredded stomach—most likely from constantly clenching against pain. No part of him would be easy.

My hands already ached at the thought.

He’d agreed yet...I wasn’t qualified. What if I only solidified his opinion that being touched was something to be avoided rather than enjoyed?

The urge to flee came strong.

My cheeks caught fire as I shifted closer to him and the sudden idea of straddling him came and went. God, what would he do if I—

His eyes flashed open, almost as if he’d heard my thoughts.

“I forgot to warn you.” He smiled, tight and thin. “If you do anything that hurts me or if you touch certain...areas, I’ll snap your neck with my bare hands, got it?”

His threat echoed in the room, but for some reason, I wasn’t afraid.

Either my fear and adrenaline were broken from this place, or I trusted him more than I realised.

“Got it.” I nodded.

His nostrils flared as I sat beside him; I cringed as my knee pressed against his.

He stiffened, his gaze snapping to where we touched. That damn spark appeared again. Crackling and constant, a live current flowing from him to me.

Turning to face him, I breathed, “Just...don’t kill me by accident, okay? If I touch you somewhere you don’t like—barring the obvious, which I vow to stay well away from—” my eyes dropped to between his spread legs “—just tell me.”

He held my stare until my heart threatened to leap out of my chest.

Finally, he nodded and closed his eyes again. “Fine.”

Fine...

But it wasn’t fine and what the hell was I thinking?

My breath caught in my throat as I scooted closer and raised shaking hands to his temples. My fingers hovered for a second, unsure.

This was such a bad idea.

Clenching my teeth, I did it anyway.

With my heart skipping, I pressed my fingers lightly to the soft skin by his hairline.

He went instantly rigid.

His breath hitched.

His hands balled.

A quiet beep sounded, a flash of red beneath his shirt from that awful metal circle.

He groaned as if he’d been given another dose of fire. His skin blazed hotter than I expected, fever-warm, his thick ink-black hair going instantly damp with perspiration.

The cords in his neck stood out as he gritted hard, staying perfectly still.

I kneaded small, gentle circles on his temples, trying to ignore my galloping pulse.

He growled—it sounded suspiciously like a groan while trying to hide that it felt good.

The tendons along his throat softened a fraction. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks.

Awkwardly, I tried to feather my fingers through his hair, but the angle was all wrong. Sitting beside him wouldn’t work. “Sorry,” I whispered, pulling my hands back. “Let me just—”

Before he could move, I darted behind the couch.

Whisper padded toward me, nudging my hip in curiosity.

Giving the panther a distracted smile, I leaned over the backrest and placed my fingers on his temples again.

Lucien jolted.

Touching him did things to me. Terrible, wonderful, wickedly hot things.

Doing my best to breathe, I raked my fingertips through his hair, along his scalp, to the base of his skull.

A guttural grunt escaped him as he shuddered. His head lolled back against the couch, surrendering entirely to my hands. His reaction was so swift, so starved from pleasure, my heart flung itself up my throat.