Tempt the Stars

heat on the other was . . . distracting.
    Like those eyes on me, with an intensity that prickled over my skin, making me itchy and jumpy. Or like the heat of his body radiating through the wet towel, or the strong fingers digging into my skin, or the hot breath on my face. At least, I assumed that was why my breathing had sped up and my head had gone swimmy and I was suddenly oddly grateful that my hands were trapped beside my head.
    Because they really wanted to run themselves through his hair.
    Pritkin was saying something, something I should probably be paying attention to since he was looking a little . . . stressed. I suppose it was due to suspicion or anger or the kind of frustrated rage I seemed to call up in him sometimes. But it didn’t look that way. Or, rather, it did to my brain, which was now wide awake. But to my body . . 
    My body cheerfully informed me that he felt really good pressed against me like that, all hard muscles and smooth contours and ominous bulges. My body liked the air of barely leashed strength and caged mayhem he was giving off. My body thought he smelled really good, like heat and coffee and electricity.
    My body was going to get me killed.
    And okay, this was an unexpected complication. In a situation that was already complicated enough. But it wasn’t exactly surprising.
    Pritkin and I had been together a lot lately and he
was
half incubus. Hell, he was the son of their king, or whatever the creature’s title was. It would have been odd if I
didn’t
feel something occasionally. And that was without the memory of his last night on earth, when he’d given me energy the only way an incubus could.
    I closed my eyes, but that only made it worse, shutting out distractions and allowing me to relive what I’d been trying really hard to forget. The familiar voice a sibilant whisper in my ear, the small of his back slick with sweat, the surprisingly soft hair brushing my body when he took control. And moved over me.
    “Stop it,” Pritkin grated, his voice somehow cutting through the fog. But he didn’t let go. I suppose he was afraid to, because a Pythia or one of her senior initiates could shift without him if there was no contact. But that left us stuck together, and that was becoming really,
really
—
    Awesome, my body piped up enthusiastically.
    “I told you, cut it out!” Pritkin said, sounding pissed.
    “You first,” I snarled, snapping my eyes open to glare at him, because he wasn’t exactly helping.
    Of course, neither did that.
    He must have been jogging, probably his usual early morning ten-mile warm-up before coming to torture me. At least, I assumed that was why the rock-hard abs were outlined by a damp khaki T-shirt, the thin old sweatpants were clinging in all the right places, and the sleeves of the hoodie had been pushed to his elbows, showing the flexing muscles in his forearms. And then there were those hands and those eyes and that mouth . . 
    I shivered again, a full-on shudder this time, and he cursed. But that didn’t seem to matter. Because it had come out like a growl, and my body liked that, too. My hips shifted automatically, pressing us together, and I gave a little gasp because it felt so good.
    And then gasped again when I was abruptly released.
    It was fast enough that I almost lost my grip on the towel. I had to grab it in a hurry and then I just stayed there, breathing harder than technically necessary and still flat against the infernal window. Because he was too close to go anywhere without bumping up against him again.
    And I didn’t think that would be a great idea.
    Pritkin had moved off a few paces, but he hadn’t turned his back on the dangerous creature that had invaded his room and his life. So I was able to see the flush on his skin and the anger on his face. Anger that, for once, I completely didn’t deserve.
    “What the hell was that?” I demanded shrilly.
    “My abilities are triggered by strong emotion,” he said stiffly. “Whether mine or another’s.”
    Incubus powers. No wonder I felt . . . like I felt. “No! I meant
that
,” I said, waving the arm that wasn’t busy keeping covered what little dignity I had left. “All the slamming and the knife waving and the . . . 
that
. What is
wrong
with you?”
    “Nothing.” Accusatory green eyes met mine. “Other than the fact that the trace charm I have on you pinpoints your current location—five stories above our heads.”
    Damn. I should have