Of course, her gaze had to drop to his ass.

Nice. Actually, much, much better than nice.

Then he stepped into the shower and the rush of water filled the room.

Jade remembered to take a breath then. Okay, step one of her plan had just worked. She had the guy in her apartment. Actually, naked and in her apartment.

She grabbed his jeans and snuck out of the bathroom. Her hands dove into his pockets for a quick and dirty search. A search that proved totally useless. Dammit, no ID! Who went around New Orleans without so much as a wallet?

Az—Azrael. Did the guy only have one name? She needed more info from him. About him.

She shoved the clothes into the washing machine and hurried back toward the driving rush of running water in her bathroom. Steam filled the room, and she could see the hard outline of Az’s body behind the thin shower curtain.

It had been a while since she’d had a lover. Actually, it had been seventeen months, fourteen days, and six hours. Not that she was counting.

Okay, so she was.

But she couldn’t erase the memory of her last lover’s screams from her head. No matter how hard she tried, Jade couldn’t forget them. My fault.

The image of his death was burned in her memory, and she wouldn’t be forgetting it, or him, anytime soon. Johnny had been another painful lesson for her. Most humans weren’t strong enough to survive the battle that she found herself in. And falling for a human guy—one who couldn’t fight the shifters coming for her—that was a plan sure to guarantee death.

Her gaze lingered on Az. He wasn’t human, she knew that. But what was he? How strong would he really be? If she pushed him, if she got close to him, would he wind up the same way Johnny had? Bleeding? Broken? With her name on his lips?

But he took out a shifter. Killed him with just a touch.

She wanted to believe Az was strong enough to defeat anything or anyone that would come his way.

Only . . . something had ripped his back apart. He’d been attacked by a being so strong that he still bore the scars.

She reached for a towel. Placed it near the shower. Until she found out just who—what—Az was, she couldn’t risk sleeping with him. She’d just have to go back to counting the days.

Seduction would have to wait.

She couldn’t have another man’s blood on her hands. Not again.

When Az stepped out of the shower, he half expected to find Jade waiting on him. Maybe he’d been hoping that she’d be there with her bedroom eyes locked on him.

But the room was empty. He grabbed a towel, dried off with a rough scrub, then secured the cotton cloth around his hips as he went to look for her. The blood had washed away, turning the water red as it slid down the drain. He’d healed and now . . .

He wanted.

Angels weren’t supposed to feel emotions. Not desires. But since he’d fallen, he’d gotten slammed with every sensation that humans experienced. All the needs. All the wants. All the endless hungers.

And, right then, his body was hard and heavy with desire.

Because Jade had looked at him with hunger in her eyes. He’d seen the heat in her stare when she’d gazed at his naked body. She’d liked what she’d seen.

Only fair really. When he looked at her, he could certainly appreciate the view.

He opened the door. A quick glance revealed that Jade wasn’t in the small bedroom that waited to the right. He eased out of the bathroom and turned left in the hallway.

And he found her crouched down, painting an image of a street performer on her wall.

She hesitated, then glanced back at him. A faint streak of blue paint lined her cheek. “Your clothes aren’t ready yet.”

Fine. He stalked closer to her. Took the brush from her hand. Let his fingers linger on her skin.

But she shook her head. “You don’t want to do . . . this.”

“This?” He asked, though he knew exactly what she meant.

She nodded. “It’s not safe to want me. I thought . . .” Jade took a deep breath and licked her lips. He was discovering that he loved to watch the slick movements of her lips and tongue. “When your clothes are done,” she said, “you should leave and forget that you ever met me.”

He’d forgotten many humans. Remembered the screams of others. He put the paintbrush down on the small bucket of paint. Then his fingers slid up her arms. Curled over her shoulders. “I think forgetting you may not be an easy task.”

“You don’t get it.” She didn’t jerk away but held herself perfectly still as she told him, “Men who want me have an unfortunate history of death.”