Velvet Haven

delivery man, but the delivery is for you.”
    “What is it?”
    She heard Rowan sniffing at the other end of the phone before she spoke. “The most erotic, sensual, unusual flowers I have ever seen. And they smell like . . . heck, I don’t know what, but one sniff is enough to make your head swim. They look like orchids, but I’ve never seen, or smelled, any orchid like this.”
    “Is there a card?”
    She heard some paper rustling. “Sure is. Want me to read it?”
    “Yes.”
    Rowan’s voice wavered. “I think I’ll let you see for yourself.”
    An hour later, the doorbell rang. The teenager Rowan employed to run errands on the weekends was standing at the door holding an enormous bouquet of flowers.
    “Thanks,” Mairi murmured, taking them. Rowan was right. She’d never seen flowers like these. Resting them on the table, she reached for the folded piece of paper that was tucked between a few blooms.
    Thought of you as I picked them. Waiting for tonight, wanting you to open for me like these flowers—Bran.
    Mairi gazed at the pure white blooms with their pale pink center. Running her finger gently along one flower, she watched in amazement as the folds opened, glistening with wetness.
    She read his note once more, and felt her body begin to liquefy, blooming just like that damn flower. Bran was definitely a bad, bad boy. She shivered. She’d never been interested in that sort of man, but Bran was all she could think about. Last night she had dreamed of him as well. In her dream she had allowed him to do some very wicked things to her body.
    She hoped like crazy that tonight he’d do them for real.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Bran contemplated Mairi over the candlelight and a glass of wine. She was nervous. It was coming off her in waves. He didn’t know what to do, what to say to make her at ease. How could he, since he didn’t know why she felt this way?
    He knew she didn’t sleep around. Knew instinctively that she did not altogether understand the sensual hunger that burned deep within her. Bran saw it in her, felt it on her skin. She’d given him energy last night from only a kiss. Remarkable. Mairi had no damn idea how unique she was. How much he wanted to get to know her.
    “I want to thank you again for the flowers,” she said. “They’re really gorgeous.”
    Their gazes met, and she dropped her fork on the plate and sat back in her chair. She’d only picked at her food. He had the sudden urge to feed her.
    “You’re welcome.” He cut into the chocolate torte and swirled the bite in the whipped cream. Then he lifted it to her mouth. “Have another bite. You barely ate your dinner.”
    “I’m full.”
    He arched his brow, challenging her. “No, you’re not.”
    She gave in and took the bite between her teeth. He sat back, watching her, feeling his body grow hot and aroused beneath his leather pants.
    He had not dressed for this . . . date, as Rhys had called it. He was what he was. He couldn’t change that. No suit and tie would cover up what he was—an immortal, hungering for a mortal. “I’ve been wondering,” she asked, as she toyed with her fork. “Where did you find such exquisite flowers? I’ve never seen the likes before.”
    He smiled. No, she wouldn’t have. “They grow wild.” That was the truth. They grew only in Annwyn, and only by the reflecting pool. The water nymphs were fiercely protective of them. He had paid a high price for the posy he had picked for Mairi. He had allowed a nymph to leave the pool, to change her shape into that which she yearned for—a mortal.
    It had gone against his better judgment to grant such a wish. He was king, and as king he had a duty to keep Annwyn and its inhabitants safe, free of all mortal vices. But he had wanted those flowers. Had wanted to smell them and touch them. He had wanted a connection with Mairi. And it scared the hell out of him.
    Cailleach would be furious with him. Nymphs were dwindling, unable to breed since their males had died off. Letting one go would be seen as treachery. But he could deal with Cailleach. She wasn’t the problem. Mairi was.
    She met his gaze over the flickering candle; then she flushed and looked away, and suddenly he knew. She was remembering their conversation last night. Recalled what they had done. Their eyes met again, except he caught her gaze, held it, forced her to not look away, and like the nymph’s flowers, she bloomed, revealing her intoxicating scent.
    “I don’t mean to make