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Her eyes felt weighted. Keeping them open was proving difficult. Excruciatingly aware of his gaze on her profile, Shelby stuck her hand into her purse in search for her keys at the same time she took the steps to her townhouse, her legs lugging her heavy body. It had been a tiring day. The wine and the events of the evening were clearly affecting her. She was more tired than she could ever remember being. Maybe she needed vitamins.

She slipped the key in with a shaky hand, unlocking before turning to face him. His gaze hit her like a cannon blast.

Her legs gave way. Her lungs drained of air.

A sinewy arm caught her and pulled her to a flat, hard chest. From her core, a breeze emerged, so cold it made her bones tingle. “I’m sorry, I…”

Her mind was foggy, his face becoming a blur. She tried to uncoil herself from him but instead found her hands gripping his biceps for support. “I’m s-so dizzy and it’s…so cold.”

He bent to whisper against her hair. “Shh. Don’t fight me.”

He held her closer and her body sculpted to his, easily molding to the hard planes of his chest and hips.

Something was wrong with her.

She grew frantic, her heart pounding, the air clogging her throat. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

“Please, please.”

She didn’t know what she pleaded for, but she felt desperate, felt…helpless.

Their legs touched throughout. His thick, muscled ones were braced apart, supporting her languid ones. When she arched her body in a weak struggle, it brought a large, rigid column to scrape against her mound.

“Please, I…”

Her breasts arched up to him, her waist still very much pinned to his own. She fought the cold inside her as much as the arms around her.

“Let me go.”

“Shh.” He tightened his arms around her, that insistent bulge pressing into her pelvis. The hot mist of his breath covered her face, then she felt the faint skim of lips across hers. “Shh.”

She sighed, her muscles going lax. He felt so good. So good. Ice spread through her, driving her closer to him for warmth. She flattened her breasts to his chest, her heart beating frantic. He grew hotter, his skin scalding her sweaty palms.

His voice was a sensuous, heated whisper. “Let go.”

His lips closed around hers, exerting pressure, coaxing hers apart. Shelby shuddered, her tongue somehow finding the energy to slowly graze the tip of his. He went rigid at first contact, then growled in response, his mouth firming on hers, tongue plunging inside her. That same instant his wet, hot tongue stroked the roof of her mouth, the boiling warmth of him poured into her body like lava.

Invigorated, reenergized, her body sang as he kissed her. This was no mere sampling. His mouth devoured hers and the strong, willful strokes of his tongue fed her with a hunger to learn his taste.

Shelby had never felt such desperation. It was as if her life depended on it, as if she’d die if he didn’t kiss her, as if she’d cease to exist if she didn’t kiss him back and take everything his mouth offered and more.

Her mouth was equally ravenous on his, her tongue knowing no shyness as she drank him up lick by lick. He was sweet and so warm her bones, cold before, threatened to melt into her muscles. She slid her hands up his arms, gripping his shoulders, her hardened nipples scraping his chest. He groaned into her and the decadent sound reverberated inside her.

In the back of her addled mind, Shelby counted the steps to her bedroom, her bed, thinking even one would be too many. She wanted—needed—to feel him. To be filled by him, by this powerful, gentle stranger whose kiss was suddenly as important as her next breath.

Without breaking the kiss, she moaned into his mouth, one hand gliding up the corded column of his throat and to the back of his neck, where her fingers sifted through his hair.

He stiffened, then tore his lips away so fast she had to blink her eyes to focus. She felt his harsh, haggard breaths on her hair, then the weight of his forehead fell on hers, and a hoarse, ragged voice whispered, “Get inside.”

Shelby did. She stumbled into her home, closed the door behind her and leaned on it, her mind racing in a wild effort to comprehend what had happened. A part of her wanted to yank open the door, drag him inside and tear his clothes off—while another part was shocked at herself. At what she’d done. At what she still wanted to do.

Outside, Six stumbled down the steps, leaned on a lamp post and slid until he fell sprawled, legs stretched across the sidewalk.

Kill her.

It was that simple. He didn’t even need to touch her to do so. He’d been reaping souls for the past twelve decades. All he needed was to pull her out. It took only a look, a kiss, a flick of his wrist, or a silent command—having his soul will her death more than her own wished for life.

Something so simple, and so difficult with her.

Six had known the instant he’d seen her she might take a bit more effort. Her soul looked stronger than many he’d reaped and she looked quite at home in her current body. It was obvious that she had no desire to leave it. Yes. Six had expected resistance, but definitely not his own.

And he’d had her. He’d made sure she grew weaker with each step she took, and by the time she’d reached her front door, her soul had been ready. Waiting to be plucked.

Why he’d hesitated, he didn’t know.

He’d stopped mid-process. Completely unlike him. He could’ve drained her life away with that kiss. She’d been lacking oxygen already. A little more would have done the job. Instead, Six had poured himself into that kiss like his own life had depended on it. He’d been filled with fire, aching to touch and kiss her everywhere. He’d wanted her. All of her. Body and soul.

He’d been consumed with the urge to feel her, discover if her lips were as sweet as she looked, and if her body was as soft and fluid as it appeared. More than he’d ever wanted to reap a soul, he’d wanted her kiss. He hadn’t been prepared for the tiny flick of her tongue on his, or the shock of arousal it spiked in him. Suddenly that fleeting taste of her mouth had not been enough, and he’d wanted more. He’d thought he would get another taste, a small taste to drain the breath out of her, but at his first true taste of her, he’d lost control.

A body which he’d summoned a million times, to do a million similar jobs, had felt so bloody full he’d almost sworn it had no more room for him and it would thrust his soul right out of it. Even now, he could hardly stand being inside this body—that had never given him problems before. In over a hundred years. Until Shelby Morrison.

Finish, reaper.

Finish what you started. Feel nothing. Think nothing. Do the job. And forget the day you ever kissed Shelby Morrison—and missed.