“Full of questions, eh? What’s this really about, Charlie?” Hank's voice had dropped an octave, low and confident and easy. And buzzed on Yrrebé.

“It’s about realizing you know everything about me, and I know near to nothing about you. It’s all surface stuff.”

He shrugged, but a small grin tugged on one corner of his mouth, making a nice little dimple in his right cheek. “You never cared before. Why the sudden change?”

Heat shot to my cheeks. “There’s no change . . . I was just curious.” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest, embarrassed by how lame that sounded.

He slid his hands across the cool surface of the granite, leaning on his elbows, eye level with me. I held my ground, instantly drawn by the way his eyes changed from sapphire blue to topaz blue. 

“You like me. Admit it.”

A quick sputter of denial erupted from my mouth as he withdrew, looking like a damn Cheshire cat. He was trying his best to unsettle me, but he’d have to do more than that to get me unhinged. “Yeah, well, that’s the problem with sirens. They assume everyone likes them, and when one doesn’t they’re so damned blind and ignorant and stunned, that nothing can make them see the truth.”

“The truth being that you want me. Don’t lie. I can tell.”

I laughed without humor. “You’re drunk.”

A small smile played on his sensual lips as he finished cleaning up and putting everything back into the refrigerator and cupboards. “Probably for the best anyway. Wouldn’t want you falling in love with me, bugging me at all hours of the day and night. Begging,  Please, Hank, please. I need you nooooowwww . . .”

“Oh my God,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He wiped the counter, tossed the paper towel in the trash, and then placed one hand on the counter and the other on his hip, his smile fading. “The Throne Tree was a gift from my sister. I knew Pen as a child back in Elysia, but then lost track of him after I’d grown. Malakim is something I’d rather not talk about. And I came here to get away from my family because, when it comes right down to it, I’m a selfish asshole. So there you have it. Anything else?” He stood there, waiting, his irises returning to their familiar hard blue.

I couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t move, yet every instinct was telling me to leave. The air became charged with a dangerous mix of awareness and masculinity. I felt like prey—caught, stunned by the sheer beauty and power of his being.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathed, heart pounding through my eardrums. “Stop using your siren crap on me.”

His jaw tightened and flexed. “I’m not.” He lifted both hands in an innocent gesture, but his expression said “I told you so.” My reaction had just proved his point—I wanted him, and he hadn’t done a damn thing except stand there and be . . . Hank. That alone would’ve made most women cave, but I wasn’t most women, I was his partner.

“You’re an ass. A schizophrenic ass.” I hopped off the stool. “One minute you’re normal, the next you’re all moody, and the next you’re doing this . . . shit. Sober up already and stop messing with me.”

I started for the door, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Without a shadow of a doubt, Hank had just completely unnerved me.

Door. Just make it to the door.

Somewhere along the way, my jeans became too tight, brushing faintly against a place that did not need any more encouragement.

The door went fuzzy for a second.

“Charlie.” He was right behind me.