Chapter 4
Maggie
He said it so flat I almost dropped the cheese.
"Are you seducing me?"
The man had horns, midnight-dark skin, and a tail that probably had its own opinions, and I was the one accused of seduction? Apparently, my domestic witchery had more teeth than I thought.
I spun, chunk of cheddar in hand like it was Exhibit A. “Is bread and cheese all it takes?”
His mouth parted, then snapped shut again, like I'd hit him with a riddle he couldn't solve. The inside of his ears went dusky pink. Oh. So the monster could blush. That was completely unfair and doing dangerous things to my blood pressure.
I set the cheese down and grabbed a knife just to have something sharp between us. “If that’s the case, you’re dangerously easy, Bram.”
His amber eyes narrowed, steady and unsettling, like he was cataloging me all over again. “Not easy,” he said finally, voice low. “Just… not used to being here.”
“In kitchens?” I quipped, slicing into the cheddar.
“In someone’s home.” Softly said, like an old bruise he didn’t show to anyone. It landed in my chest and stayed there, warm and aching.
That quiet honesty made my hand wobble on the knife.
I covered it fast by plopping a slice onto a plate.
"Well, congratulations. You've been officially seduced by sourdough and Cabot extra sharp.
Happens to the best of us. I once dated a guy for three months just because he could make a perfect carbonara. "
The corner of his mouth twitched like he didn’t know if he was allowed to smile. Goddess, let him smile. Just once. On purpose.
And damn me if my stomach didn't flip harder than it had during the hot flash. I turned around, trying to breathe casually through the implication. Was I seducing him? Did I want to?
The way my heart sped up suggested that was a resounding yes. So much for plausible deniability.
I excused myself to the little half-bath under the stairs, muttering something about checking on the bread, which made no sense since the bread was already on the table.
He didn't call me on it. I splashed water on my face and tried to remember how to be a normal human woman having a normal dinner with a normal. ..
Nope. Nothing about this was normal.
I'd never had sex with a non-human. I didn't even know what species he was. I opened the browser on my phone and typed in: horns, tail, paws, pointed ears, sharp teeth, velvety dark skin.
The autocomplete suggested "Barghest."
"Barghest," I muttered, squinting at the results. Well, that was different. And explained the protective Labrador energy he had going on.
The photo on my phone was definitely the same race as Bram. Bigger, the guy looked like he spent all his free time at the gym and ate protein powder for breakfast. Okay, so Bram was the sleek model. Leaner. Still lethal. Still... a lot. And somehow that made him even more appealing.
Curiosity buzzed through me like a second glass of wine. Before I could stop myself, I tapped the next search. Barghest… porn.
Oh.
Oh.
The preview thumbnails alone were enough to make me choke on my own spit.
Things long, thick, tapered. Egg-shaped protrusions near the base that looked both impossible and intriguing.
Things involving tails I couldn't even put into words.
Academic curiosity, I told myself. Purely educational research.
My body called me a liar and started taking detailed notes.
I pressed play.
Heat pooled low in my belly. My mouth went dry. I snapped the phone case shut like I’d been caught shoplifting. An entire cathedral bell of want rang through me and kept ringing.
My nipples were diamond-hard under my sweatshirt, and my thighs pressed together like they had plans.
“Maggie?” Bram’s voice carried from the hall, low and steady.
"Oh, crap," I whispered at my reflection. My curls were feral, my face flushed, pupils blown. I looked exactly like a woman who'd just gone down an interdimensional smut rabbit hole in her own powder room. And was seriously considering a field study.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket, adjusted my sweatshirt, and tried to look like someone not wondering if his tail really could—
Nope. Not finishing that thought.
I opened the bathroom door.
Bram was standing in the hall, so close his horns brushed the low arch above him. He straightened as soon as I appeared, amber eyes scanning me like he was checking for wounds. Guardian. Gatekeeper. Trouble.
“You were gone a while,” he said.
My face went nuclear. “I was… washing my hands.” And committing several crimes of the imagination.
He tilted his head, not convinced but too polite to argue. The air between us felt charged, prickling my skin. Like the house itself held its breath to listen.
“Sorry,” I blurted, brushing past him toward the kitchen. “Didn’t mean to leave you standing there.”
I could feel him follow me, slow and deliberate. My pulse spiked again. My brain was still replaying images I shouldn’t have searched for, which was absolutely not helping. Neither was the soft sound of his steps or the hush of his tail against the doorframe as he ducked under it.
I busied myself rearranging cheese slices on the plate like it was an art form. “So. Bread and cheese. Soup’s hot. Wine’s flowing. You surviving?”
He didn’t sit. He lingered in the doorway instead, big and watchful. “Did I do something?”
I froze, knife halfway through a cheddar cube. “What?”
“You seem…” His eyes searched mine, then dropped to the floor. “Uncomfortable.” He thought he was the problem. He thought he was too much. The urge to step closer and say you’re exactly enough nearly knocked me sideways.
Oh God. He thought he was the problem. He thought I was uncomfortable because of him, when the truth was I’d just watched a tail do… things on a shaky video filmed in a cheap motel room.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I said quickly, maybe too quickly. “I just, uh, needed a minute.”
His brow furrowed. “If you want me to leave—”
“No!” The word shot out of me like a cork.
I winced at how eager it sounded, then scrambled for cover. “I mean… no. You don’t have to go. Unless you want to. Do you want to?”
He blinked at me, tail giving a small twitch before curling neatly behind his leg. “No.” Softer than a vow, but it landed like one.
We stared at each other across the kitchen. The soup bubbled. The clock ticked. My heart tried to punch a hole through my ribs. Every ordinary sound made the wanting louder.
I shoved the plate of cheese toward him. “Then sit down and eat before I lose my nerve.”
For a moment, he just looked at me like I was a puzzle, or a dangerous spell.
Then he stepped forward, pulled out a stool, and lowered himself with deliberate care.
The island suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker.
He was careful with the furniture the way he’d been careful with me. It did not help.
I poured him more wine because my hands needed a task. He took the glass, careful fingers brushing mine. My stomach flipped again. His touch was a sparkler, a small contact, long tail of heat.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way he filled my kitchen, steady and impossible to ignore. Maybe it was the fact that I now had very explicit knowledge about what was under those dark grey pants.
But the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“What if I were seducing you?”
His amber eyes snapped up, wide and hot all at once. There you are, I thought, as if I’d just coaxed a wild thing to the edge of the trees.
The knife in my hand wobbled dangerously over the cheddar.
Well, no taking that back now. Door opened. Threshold crossed. The house waited to see what we would do next.