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Not seductive and tender.
    “Becoming friends with me won’t work. I still remember you’re the one who did this,” she pointed out.
    “Well, thanks to you, your pain is my pain. I know this stings.” He finished applying the bandage over the wound. “Have you figured out the main flaw in your plan yet?”
    The undeniable sexual attraction I have to you? “Not yet. What have you figured out?”
    “You can’t change your shirt with the handcuffs on.”
    Muriel smiled. “No problem. The binding spell on the handcuffs was the hard part. It was easy enough to bespell some shirts. Hands-free dressing for the time being.”
    “That’s good,” he said, though she assumed he was not too pleased by her foresight. “Is this one of them?” he asked, referring to her torn work shirt.
    “This? No. I’m not planning to work with you hanging off my wrist,” she said with a crooked grin.
    That was all the permission he needed before he ripped her shirt all the way down the center. Muriel was grateful for her modest bra, because her entire top half was bared to him. Nervousness caused her to gulp in air, but this only caused her breasts to move closer to him on every inhale.
    “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he muttered.
    Had one night really seemed that long to him?
    His eyes lingered on her bra-covered breasts for a few drawn-out moments, and Muriel couldn’t stop her nipples from hardening. She told herself it was the cold and not his burning gaze, but she knew better. Luckily for her state of mind, he turned to leave the bathroom without touching them.
    “What do you sleep in?” he asked as though he hadn’t just been drooling over her. She almost thought she imagined the brief interlude.
    “Pajamas,” she answered, knowing that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. For one of the first times that night, she actually led him somewhere as she rifled through one of her drawers until she found a modest pink shirt and purple, loose-fitting lounging pants.
    Her work shirt still hung from her cuffed arm, but instead of searching through the house for scissors, she looked to Kier. “Do you mind?”
    She held her arm closer to him, and he must have understood what she meant because he reached up and ripped the material completely off with one hand.
    The tugging against her skin caused some pain, but that was nothing compared to the shot of arousal that reverberated through her body. “Thanks,” she muttered.
    She held the pink shirt to her stomach, closed her eyes and concentrated. Seconds later, the shirt left her hands and covered her.
    “Neat trick,” he said. “Mine’s better.” In one second, his gray shirt, jeans, and shoes were gone, replaced with a pair of loose-fitting sleeping pants.
    She hadn’t bothered to ask Esmeralda to bespell any clothes for him. Demons were able to conjure clothes to fit whatever situation they needed. The better to corrupt mortals, if they needed to.
    As an angel, Muriel had the same ability. It was an easy task that most celestial beings could do. Fallen angels had none of those talents.
    If she’d known what he was about to do, she could have prepared her mind, but before she could blink, he moved closer until he was just an inch away, his naked chest close enough that she could feel the heat coming from him. The muscles in his broad chest rippled with the movement and begged for her touch. God help her, but she wanted to touch him.
    The intense heat from his body seared into her. How could a demon be so hot? Did the fires of Hell give them extra heat? What would his chest feel like against her palm? Her cheek?
    “You’re staring. If I didn’t know better, I would say that you like how I look,” said Kier.
    His voice broke the spell. “Um, yeah,” she muttered, unable to think of anything to say to defend her obvious approval of his shirtless form. She settled for changing the subject. “I’m exhausted. Let’s go to bed.”
    “I’ve wanted that since I saw