“They must have been doozies.”

Jagr shuddered. It didn’t matter how many centuries passed, he would never forget the vampire who had held him captive.

Kesi had been a member of the Egyptian royalty before being turned, and she had retained all the proud beauty of her ancestors. The dark almond-shaped eyes, the smoothly burnished skin, the sleek black hair that had flowed like a curtain of satin down her slender back.

Ah, yes, she had been lovely.

And as poisonous as an asp.

She might have captured him in the name of revenge, but she had kept him out of a twisted, obsessive need to inflict pain. He hadn’t been her only victim in her private pits of hell.

“The vampire who turned me claimed that I led my clan into the local lair and slaughtered a dozen vampires, including her mate,” he explained, pleased as always by the thought that he had dealt Kesi a painful blow, even if he couldn’t remember it. “Unfortunately, I was captured during the raid.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t just kill you. Why make you a vampire?”

“Obviously you missed the Saw movies. Humans are far too fragile to survive more than the vanilla brand of torture. To be truly creative, you need a creature that can endure pain. And, of course, there’s always the bonus of making me immortal, so my punishment could last an eternity.”

“Dear God.” She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes shimmering with tears. “How did you escape?”

The memory of blood-soaked tunnels filled with vampires and demons he’d ripped apart with his bare hands was washed away by the glitter of tears trickling down her cheeks.

Bemused by the odd phenomenon, Jagr cupped her face in his hands and wiped the dampness with his thumbs.

“I killed them,” he murmured, his voice thickening with something other than ancient anger.

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

His lips twitched. “They weren’t nearly so pleased.”

A silence descended as Regan studied him with a searching gaze. Jagr didn’t flinch. He’d always feared that confessing the truth would make him feel vulnerable, exposed. Instead, he felt…cleansed.

Perhaps it was Regan’s sweet tears that washed away a portion of the bitterness that festered in his soul.

At last, she sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“I meant I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you when you said you understood. You do.” Her lips curved in a watery smile. “More than anyone.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you haven’t forced me to Chicago.”

Jagr hid his flare of wry amusement. If she wanted to believe that was the only reason he hadn’t tossed her over his shoulder and hauled her to Chicago, then so be it.

“The thirst for revenge is a powerful force,” he agreed. “Nothing will keep you in Chicago while Culligan lives. I would just have to come hunting you again.”

“Hunting?” The emerald eyes darkened, then shockingly, she lifted a hand to lightly trace one of the scars that marred his skin. “Do you think I’m your prey?”

With a hiss, Jagr jerked from the searing temptation of her touch. By the fires of hell, what was she doing? Even a complete virgin should be able to sense that his legendary control wasn’t so legendary. Not when it came to this emerald-eyed Were.

“Regan,” he warned softly.

Deliberately she followed his retreat, her hand once again boldly stroking over his chest.

“What?”

He grasped her wrist, his fangs lengthening as scalding pleasure poured through him.

“Don’t toy with me.”

She didn’t try to tug her wrist from his grim grip. Instead, she simply lifted her free hand and continued to torment him with light, searching fingers.

“Why did you show me your scars?” she demanded.

Jagr shivered, his body swiftly going up in flames. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little one.”

She met his gaze squarely, ignoring his warning as she stepped close enough to wrap him in midnight jasmine.

“Did you think they would bother me?”

“Do they?”

“Only what they represent.” Leaning forward, she trailed her lips over a thick scar. “The fact that you were forced to endure such pain for so long.”

Jagr’s fingers loosened on her wrist, his thumb brushing the rapid beat of her pulse. Fine. Obviously she wanted to play. Already he could catch the scent of her arousal perfuming the air.

Who was he to be the voice of reason?

Soon enough she would discover you couldn’t dance with the devil without getting burned.

Sliding his hand up the elegant sweep of her back, he grasped the tender nape of her neck.

“Like you, little one, I survived,” he murmured. “And for the first time, in a very long time, I’m very glad that I did.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, her head bending forward to brush her lips over his chest.

Convulsively, his arms wrapped about her, tugging her tight against his hard body.

“Do you understand what you’re starting, Regan?” he rasped, his senses stirring with an intensity that was almost painful.

“Not really.” She trailed her tongue down the dip over his breastbone. “But I like it. Do you?”

His soft groan rumbled through the cavern as his hands shifted to cup her hips, compulsively pressing her to his thickening cock.

“Shit, if I liked it any more I would go up in flames,” he muttered, for the first time fully appreciating the powers that had become his when he’d been reborn a vampire.

He could hear every beat of her heart, feel the finest of tremors that shook her slender body, smell the midnight jasmine of her skin…the temptation of her rich blood.

His fangs throbbed in concert with his aching erection.

“I never knew…” She arched back to meet his hungry gaze. “Does it always feel like this?”

Unable to resist the sight of that slender neck arched in open invitation, Jagr lowered his head to nibble his way down the satin skin.

“No,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Never like this.”

She quivered as his tongue ran a searing path along the line of her collarbone.

“Then what’s happening?” Her fingers dug into his upper arms, as if her knees had suddenly become too weak to support her. “One minute I want to punch you in the nose, or at the very least get a restraining order, and the next…”

He nipped her earlobe, careful not to break the skin. One overwhelming lust was enough.

“And the next?”

“I want to strip off my clothes and feel your hands on my skin.”

Before she could even guess his intention, Jagr grasped the hem of her shirt, and with one smooth jerk had it pulled over her head. She gasped as he tossed it aside and just as easily rid her of the tiny white bra.

“Like this?” he rasped, his hands moving to cup her breasts with a reverent care.

By the gods of his mother, she was beautiful. Perfect. Edible.

His thumbs stroked the rosy tips of her nipples, rumbling in pleasure as the peaks hardened and she shivered with excitement.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Exactly like that.”

His head lowered, his lips closing over the tip of her breast.

“And like this?”

Her head dropped back, her hair brushing over his arms that he had wrapped about her like a warm spill of satin.

“Oh…God, yes.”

Grimly reminding himself of her innocence, Jagr leashed his desperate hunger. Falling on her like a ravaging beast probably wasn’t the best seduction tactic. Not yet.

Continuing to torment her nipple with his tongue, Jagr deftly slid down the zipper of her jeans, longing for the sensation of her naked body pressed against his. When there was no protest from Regan, he slowly began to peel them downward, lowering himself to his knees as he efficiently tugged off her running shoes and socks before removing the jeans.

Then, still kneeling, he simply drank in the sight of her.

Her legs were long and slender. Her waist narrow enough he knew he could span it with his hands. But it was the firm muscles that rippled beneath her smooth skin that sent a jolt of excitement through him.

Well, that, and the tiny triangle of silk that was at his direct eye level.

His fangs were fully extended, ready and willing to cut through the delicate material to reveal the sweet treasure beneath.

Once again, however, he restrained his sharp-edged need.

Instead, he slowly worked his way back to his feet, trailing his lips up the curve of her stomach, the hollow between her breasts, and the frantic pulse at the base of her neck.

She groaned, her lips parting willingly as he at last claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss.

“Jagr,” she moaned.

“You smell of midnight jasmine. I could drown in that scent.”

“You smell of power,” she whispered against his lips. “Like a strike of lightning.”

“Does lightning have a scent?” he teased, his hands compulsively caressing the curve of her back. He could have her in his arms for an eternity and still it would not be long enough.