Her body chose that moment to shiver.

Raphael's chuckle was husky, male in a way that said he knew he had her. "Bath first, I think."

"I thought you were playing hard to get."

He stroked a finger down her throat, making her shiver again for a far different reason. "I just want to set the ground rules before we do this."

She forced her feet forward, toward the bathroom. "I know the rules. Don't expect anything but a dance between the sheets, don't go all calf-eyed, yadda yadda." The words were flippant but she felt a tug in the region of her heart. No, she told herself, utterly horrified. Elena P. Deveraux would never be stupid enough to give her heart to an archangel. "Is that about-holy shit!" She stepped into the bathroom. "It's bigger than the bedroom!"

Not quite but close. The "bath" was almost the size of a small swimming pool, the steam curling off it pure, sensual temptation. A shower stood to her right, but it had no glass walls, the area defined only by an expanse of gold-flecked tile. A lightbulb went off in her head. "Wings," she whispered. "It's all to accommodate those beautiful wings."

"I'm glad they meet with your approval." The sound of something wet hitting the cool white of the tile had her glancing back.

Raphael's shirt was on the floor, his chest threatening to make her drool. Stop it, she told herself. But it was hard not to stare at the most beautiful male body she had ever seen. "What're you doing?" Her voice came out husky.

He raised an eyebrow. "Taking a bath."

"What about the rules?" She found her fingers were at the bottom of her T-shirt, ready to pull the sodden material over her head.

He kicked off his boots, watching her peel off the T-shirt to reveal the very circumspect sports bra she wore underneath. "We can discuss those in the bath." His voice held the promise of sex, and when she looked down, she realized why. The rain had turned her black bra into a second skin, the soft material delineating her nipples with perfect clarity.

"Fine with me." Unable to look at him and think at the same time, she turned her back and got rid of her boots and socks, before peeling off the bra. Her fingers were on the waistband of her cargo pants when she felt his body heat behind her. A second later, he was tugging the tie off her hair. Surprisingly, he was careful, so it didn't hurt. The wet strands hit her bare back a few moments after that.

Lips on her neck. Hot. Sinful.

She shivered again, goose bumps rising across her flesh. "No cheating."

Big, warm hands stroked up her damp torso to cup her breasts. She jerked at the bold move, moaned. "Enough. I'm cold." Though he was doing a great job of heating her up from the inside out.

More kisses along her neck.

She put her hands over his, and tipped her head to the side to give him better access. He trailed his tongue down, chasing a droplet of water that fell from her hair, down her nape, and along one shoulder, before drawing back. As she straightened, his thumbs hooked into the sides of her pants.

"Nuh-uh," she said, pulling away. "Rules first."

"Yes, the rules are very important."

She waited for him to move around her. He didn't. Her lips curved. And she decided that since she was living dangerously, she might as well go all the way. Undoing her pants, she pushed them and her panties down in a single push, before stepping out of the garments and kicking them aside. That done, she glanced over her shoulder.

The archangel's eyes held cobalt lightning. Alive. Vivid in a way that proclaimed his immortality. Her breath caught but she knew that if she planned to tangle with this particular male, she had to stand her ground. Throwing him a wicked smile, she walked up the steps built into the side of the bath and into the water.

"Ooooooh." Liquid heat. Pure heaven. She ducked under, came up pushing hair out of her eyes.

He was where she'd left him, watching her with those impossible eyes. But this time, she wasn't mesmerized. Not when she had his naked body there for her delectation. The archangel was built like a fantasy, his chest sculptured with the honed muscles of a man who had to be able to carry his own body weight-and more-in flight.

Her gaze caressed the lines of his chest, his abdomen, skated down. She sucked in a breath, forced her eyes back up. "Come here."

He raised an eyebrow, but then, to her absolute astonishment, obeyed the order. As he entered the bath, she found herself gauging the powerful muscle of his thighs-what would it be like to have all that strength around her as he buried himself inside her? Her stomach clenched. Never had she craved a man with such hunger, never had she been more aware of her own femininity. Raphael could snap her like a twig. And for a woman who had been hunter-born, that wasn't a threat . . . but the darkest of temptations.

Her hand fisted under the water as she remembered how he'd made her cut herself. She hadn't forgotten, had no romantic fantasies that he'd change, become more human. No, Raphael was the Archangel of New York and she had to be ready to take that man to her bed. The water lapped at her breasts as he settled on the opposite side, his wings folded to his back, his hair beginning to curl from the steam.

"Why the delay?" she asked, having seen the blatant evidence of his arousal.

"When you've lived as long as I have," he said, eyes heavy-lidded but definitely on her, "you learn to appreciate new sensations. They are rare in an immortal's life."

She found she'd moved toward him. He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her closer until she straddled him as he sat on a ledge below the waterline, her legs wrapped around his waist.

He settled her firmly against him.

Sucking in a breath, she said, "Sex isn't new to you," and rocked her heat over the exquisite hardness of him. Good didn't begin to describe how it felt. How he felt.

"No. But you are."

"Never had a hunter before?" She grinned, nibbling on his lower lip.

But he didn't smile. "I've never had Elena before." The words were husky, his eyes so intent she felt owned.

Draping her arms around his neck, she leaned back so she could look into his face. "And I've never had Raphael."

At that moment, it felt as if something changed in the air, in her soul.

Then Raphael's hands spread on her lower back and the feeling dissipated. Nothing, she thought, it had been nothing but an overactive imagination. She was tired, frustrated, so damn greedy for this immortal who'd made no secret of the fact that, lust or not, he might yet kill her.

"The rules," Raphael said, catching her gaze, holding it.

She pressed closer, continuing to rub her heat along his aroused length. Today, she needed the pleasure Raphael could provide. And if there was a little sensual cruelty mixed in with the pleasure, so be it. "Yeah?"

He stilled her movements with those powerful hands of his. "Until this ends, I'll be your only lover."

Her muscles tightened at the absolute possession in that statement. "Until what ends?"

"This hunger."

The problem was, she was afraid this fury would never end, that she'd go to her grave craving the Archangel of New York. "Only if you meet a condition of mine."

He didn't like that, his bones sharp against skin gone taut. "Tell me."

"No vamp, human, or angel honeys for you either." She dug her nails into his shoulders. "I won't share you." She might be a toy, but she was a toy with claws.

His expression thawed, those cobalt eyes holding a distinct gleam of satisfaction. "Deal."

She'd expected to have to fight him. "I mean it. Not one lover. I'll cut off the hands they used to touch you, dump their bodies where no one will ever find them."

He seemed amused by her gruesome threat. "And me? What would you do to me? Shoot me again?"

"I'm not feeling guilty for that." But she did. Just an eensy bit. "Does it hurt?"

He laughed, and the open pleasure in it was a caress. "Ah, Elena, you are a contradiction. No, it doesn't hurt. It's healed."

She wanted to be a tough-ass, but that smile of his was doing things to her, melting her from the inside out. "So, what turns on an archangel?"

"A naked hunter is a good start." He pulled her harder against his cock, holding her in place when she would've wiggled. "My wings," he told her, kissing her neck, finding that sensitive little spot just above her collarbone.

It made her soften, return the favor. "Wings?" She nipped at the tendons of his neck, feeling languorous heat crawl up her body-she'd thought she wanted a short, hard fuck to screw up her brains enough that she could come down from the adrenaline buzz, but now that she was in his arms, a slow descent into sensual oblivion sounded far better.

When he didn't answer, she decided to do some exploring of her own. Moving one hand, she stroked firmly along the top edge of his right wing. He went tense against her, the waiting kind of tense, the kind that told her she'd either done something very good or something very bad. Since he was still pulsing hot and hard under her, she decided to go for good and repeated the act. This time, he shuddered.

"They're sexually sensitive?" Eyes narrowed, she thrust a hand into his hair and tugged him up from her neck. "The Bitch Queen was brushing her wings against yours."

He let her hold him, though they both knew he could've broken free in a second. "Only in certain situations." One long finger traced circles around her nipples.

She slapped at his hand. "I'm not buying."

He moved his finger to the dip of her elbow, making her shiver. "Is this sensitive in normal situations?"

"Hmph." But she let go of his hair, let him kiss her properly.

When they came up for air, he said, "They're sensitive, yes. But sexual only in a sexual context-which seems to be always with you."

"Guess a thousand years plus teaches a lot about charm," she said against his lips. Perfect lips. Lips she could nibble on for hours. "You've got all sorts of slick going on."

"For a warrior perhaps."

She was too interested in kissing him to answer right away, her entire body focused on his, her skin so sensitive she thought she might explode. "In the bath?"

He shook his head. "I want to see you in my bed."

"Another fallen hunter," she murmured. "Where's the soap?"

He reached along the rim and picked up a near-transparent bar. As he lathered up his hands and began to stroke them over her shoulders, a clean bright scent that echoed his own-water, wind, forest-rose up around her. "Do many fall?" he asked, running his hands down to soap the exposed parts of her breasts.

It made her lower body tighten another notch. "Vampires are sexy," she teased. "Angels are usually too snooty to bother with humans. I figured you lot were too evolved to enjoy getting down and dirty."

He looked up through lashes dark with wet, soapy hands sliding below the waterline to do things to her that were surely illegal. "Then you'll be getting an education tonight."

She moved on his fingers, inciting him to do more. "Yes, please."

The archangel handed over the soap, but kept his other hand where it was, stroking her with patience most men wouldn't learn if they lived to be ten thousand years old. "Come, hunter, it's your turn to educate me."

"Lesson one"-a breathy statement-"always give the hunter what she wants." Holding his gaze as he drove her to an inevitable crescendo, she lathered up her hands, and began to explore that body of his. Muscle and sinew and strength, he was delicious in every single way. "Oh!" Dropping the soap, she clutched at his shoulders with slippery hands as he pinched her clitoris, threatening to throw her over the edge into orgasm. "Stop that," she whispered, and he obeyed . . . only to slide two fingers deep into her.

"Let go," he said, kissing the taut line of her neck. "Let go."

Let go? During sex? She never had, not since the first time. In her innocence, she'd held on so tight, she'd broken her lover's collarbone. But Raphael wasn't human-he wouldn't break, wouldn't call her a freak. And then raw pleasure made the decision for her. The archangel took her lips in a savage kiss, a duel of tongue and lips, even as his fingers jackhammered into her in hard, fast thrusts. She came in an exquisite burst, her body clenching so tight it almost hurt.

In the aftermath, she was aware of Raphael finishing off the soaping. When he told her to lean back and rinse out her hair, she did so with a dreamy smile. She could get used to this, she thought, refusing to think of the future. Because the truth was, her life span was unlikely to be anything close to an ordinary human's. Hunters lived dangerous lives to begin with. And she was tracking a deranged archangel.

"Up."

She rose, kissing Raphael as he followed. A flicker of surprise lit his eyes. "How long can I look forward to such easy compliance?"

"Wait and see." She let him lead her to the shower, where he rinsed off the last bubbles of soap before grabbing a huge sky blue towel. She took it from him and dried herself, wanting to watch him as he did the same with efficient movements that told her he had no idea of what it did to her to watch him. That intrigued her.

Raphael clearly knew how beautiful he was, how he affected mortals. But seeing him like this, she realized that beneath the arrogance was a lack of vanity-it made sense when she thought about it. Strip away the layers of civilization, and he was, at the core, a warrior, his looks simply another tool in his arsenal.

Without warning, he snapped out his wings, showering her in millions of fine droplets. "Hey!" But she was already wrapping the towel around herself and reaching for another with which to pat his wings dry.

He watched her approach. "They'll dry on their own."

"But will it be as much fun?" She glanced meaningfully at his erection, sliding the soft material over his wings with extreme care.

"Hurry up, Elena." That cobalt lightning had returned. "I'm ready to fuck you into oblivion."

Oh, dear God. Dropping the towel, she pulled down his head and kissed the hell out of him. He liked it if his reaction was any indication. Pushing away the towel that clothed her, he lifted her up until she was wrapped around him. Breaking the kiss, he began to walk out of the bathroom. "My turn, hunter."