Her lips were so damn soft. And her taste . . .

The sweetest temptation.

Like strawberries. Fresh strawberries. And . . . champagne. The fancy stuff that he hardly ever bought. Delicious. Good enough to make him feel a little drunk.

Want more.

She’d frozen in his arms. Not kissing him back. Not shoving him away. Not responding. Screw that. He pushed her back against the wall and licked her lips. The woman had fire inside of her. He’d find it.

Marna trembled against him. With that small movement, her lips parted even more. A growl broke from his throat, and Tanner let the kiss deepen. Let her taste the hunger and lust that he could barely keep in check around her.

Then her tongue licked against his mouth.

Yes.

Her hand rose from his chest and curled around his shoulder. Instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer.

Kissed him harder.

Deeper.

Their bodies pressed together. No way could she miss the heavy c**k thrusting against her, and the feel of her tight, pebbled ni**les against his chest had Tanner desperate to strip her, and taste her—everywhere.

He’d been wrong. She didn’t fear him, she—

Marna pushed him away. Because the lady packed one hell of a lot of strength in that slender body, he flew back about five feet.

They stared at each other. Her lips were red and swollen from his mouth. Her breath heaved out, and a flush stained her cheeks. “Why . . .” She cleared her throat and tried again because that one word had been a gasp, “Why did you do that?”

Did she really need to ask? Because I want you. But he said, “Because it was time you realized a few truths about me.”

She licked her lips. Fuck. His back teeth clenched. Could she still taste him? He could still taste her.

Want. More.

He’d be having more.

Her gaze darted to the door behind him. He could all but read her thoughts, but, sorry, angel. She wasn’t getting away from him that easily.

“I want you,” he told her. The words were heavy, hard, and they seemed to sink into the thick silence that had grown in the small room.

Her hands clenched into fists.

Tanner raised a brow and tried to look like the lust wasn’t ripping him apart. “Based on the way you kissed me back, I’d say you want me, too.”

Her chin lifted a good two inches into the air. “Lust is for humans. It just makes them weak. It makes them—”

“Horny.”

Her flush got even deeper. She was cute when her face was all pink.

She also needed to realize something important. Not in heaven any longer. “You’re with humans now. Humans, shifters, demons—you’re walking right with all of us.” There was no holding herself apart anymore. “So it’s time you started dealing with the changes in you.”

Changes . . . emotions. Needs.

He could help her satisfy a few needs. Or every need. If he got her in bed, they wouldn’t be crawling out any time soon. He’d make sure of that.

They’d get to the bed part, later. Now that he knew she wanted him—

“I don’t . . .” She stopped. Cleared her throat. She wasn’t saying she didn’t want him. Tanner knew she couldn’t say it.

Angels and their no-lie rules. He rather liked those particular rules. Made things easier for him.

The whole deadliest-beings-on-earth bit? He could do without that part.

“I don’t want to be here with you,” she said instead, and he knew those words were the truth. She wanted to escape him and head out in the city on her own.

“Tough.” It was. She’d have to deal with the situation—and him. He’d been treating her with kid gloves for the last few months. Watching over her. Being afraid to get too close.

No longer.

Someone was playing a deadly game with her, and he wasn’t about to sit back and do nothing.

“Until we find out who is setting you up, you’ve got yourself a shifter shadow.” Thanks to the heavy punch he’d tossed at Jonathan—and the not-so-little matter of Marna’s shooting—he was on administrative leave from the PD for a few days. That leave would give him plenty of time to keep an eye on her and do some detective work in the city.

He’d hit the places human cops would never think to look, and he would find out what the hell was happening.

“Someone knows what you are—exactly what you can do—and they want you labeled as a killer.”

She pushed back her hair. “I am a killer.”

Maybe. But in this case, in the murders of Michael and Beau, she was innocent.