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Still, I kept a tight wrap on my empathic powers. No way would I go delving into his emotions just yet—especially since I couldn’t get myself under control. Damian’s nearness was messing with every one of my senses. I knew what it was like to be attracted, and what I felt with Damian was like attraction on steroids. It took all my willpower to keep myself from inclining toward him, into accepting that challenge in his eyes.
    Kiss me.
    I gulped. Did I think that? Or did he say it?
    “Are you American?” I asked. I hoped the question would jostle something loose. I wanted to test Jarred’s information. I don’t know why Jarred would lie about Damian’s origins, but the man’s motivations were murky at best.
    “How would I know?” he countered. “I don’t even know if I’m human.” Amusement threaded his words.
    “Of course you’re human,” I said. “There aren’t any other options.”
    “Are you sure?”
    I kept my expression pleasant, but it took some effort. I got the distinct impression he was screwing with me. “Okay, then. Tell me about these options.”
    “Mmm.” He looked me over, his eyes going all smoky. How the hell did he manage that? My breath stalled in my lungs. Way to be professional, Kel.
    “I don’t know where I’m from, if my name is truly Damian, if I’m American, or who the president is … but you believe I’m aware of alternatives to being human.” He slid the very last inch, trapping me against the wide arm of the couch. “You do think I’m crazy.”
    “I’m trying to help you,” I said, injecting calm into my voice. “We may not know much about you, Damian, but prior to your amnesia you believed you were a werewolf. Can you tell me about that?”
    He laughed. “What a conversation that would be, Frau .” His gaze lingered too long on my lips. “Do you like werewolves?”
    The question startled me. I wanted to blurt, “I like you,” but I managed to bottle that response. “Werewolves don’t exist, Damian.”
    “But if they did?”
    “I don’t know if I could like a creature that was so dangerous.”
    “A very therapeutic thing to say,” he said. “But not entirely honest.” His gaze darkened more, and my heart flipped over in my chest. “You think I’m a werewolf.”
    “Not at all.”
    “I could be.” His rock-hard thigh pressed against mine. I couldn’t stop the shiver that danced up my spine. “Because I very much want to devour you.”
    “Th-that’s inappropriate.”
    “Very,” he agreed. “You should probably stop me, Frau . Especially as you think werewolves are dangerous.” He offered a toothy smile. “Or perhaps you find the human me dangerous, ja ?” He tugged the knot of hair pinned at my nape. The strands drifted around my shoulders like tired dandelions. He sniffed my hair (Sheesh! He really did like my smell!), his fingers daring to stroke my neck. Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips against the hollow of my throat.
    Hot need sparked in my belly. I put my hands on his shoulders, intending to push him away, but I couldn’t quite work up the outrage. His lips trailed up my throat, tracing the same path as his fingers, then coasted along my jaw. I felt his teeth tug my earlobe, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
    “That’s quite enough,” I rasped.
    “I smell your arousal. You’re wet for me, Kelsey.” He pulled back and cradled my face. “My memories have abandoned me, but I recognize desire.”
    Oh, good Lord. He was right. I was aroused. And so was he. Worse, he was going to kiss me, and then I’d be a goner for sure. I could commit the final sin—sleep with a patient. Then I would be as awful and immoral as my mother believed. (Honestly? No real down side there. But I was trying to have morals, damn it.) “S-stop,” I managed. I cleared my throat. “Damian! You’re being rude!”
    He reeled back as if I’d slapped him. His hands dropped away and he scooted to the end of the couch. “Forgive me,” he