"Great. So I'm operating at the level of a toddler?"

Daemon's lustrous eyes met mine. "Basically." The dark graphic shirt strained against his chest when he laid the bloodied towel aside and leaned back. "Look, it's stopped bleeding already. Not that bad."

I glanced down and saw the fresh gash on my knee. Other than looking gross, it was salvageable. "Thank you for cleaning it up."

"No problem. I don't think you'll need stitches." He lightly brushed his ngertips around the cut.

I jerked at the contact. Little tingles shimmed up my leg. Daemon's hand stilled as he lifted his head. His eyes went from a cool green to liquid fire within seconds.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Sliding into his arms, kissing him and touching him—things I shouldn't think about. I blinked. "Nothing."

Daemon rose slowly, holding my gaze. My whole body tensed as he neared and placed his hands on either side of me. Then he bent over the chair between us, resting his forehead against mine. He inhaled deeply and it came out in an unsteady rush. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Do you know what

I've been thinking about all day?"

With him, it was anyone's guess. "No."

His lips brushed the skin of my cheek. "Finding out if you look as good in striped socks as you do in reindeer ones."

"I do."

His head slanted and his smile was lazy, arrogant. Predatory. "I knew it."

I shouldn't let this happen. There was a whole slew of complications: his attitude, the connection between us, and my new kindergarten–age abilities. Funny, the fact Daemon was an alien was the complication I considered the least important. And then there was Blake. That is, if Blake ever spoke to me again, which was debatable. But due to Daemon's interruption at dinner, I didn't get to talk to Blake. Irony was a bitch. Knowing all of that, I still didn't pull away. And neither did he. Oh no, he was moving closer. His pupils started to glow and his breath seemed to have stalled in his chest. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm not doing anything."

Daemon shifted his head just enough that our lips brushed once...and then twice before he increased the pressure. This kiss...it was nothing like the other times, which seemed to be angry and challenging. As if we'd kissed to punish each other. But this was gentle and soft, feather light. In finitely tender. Like the kiss we'd shared in the clearing the night he'd healed me. Light swept through me as we kissed, but soon the kisses, they weren't enough. Not when a slow fire was burning under my skin—and under his.