“Rubbing herself against a sleeping man just wasn’t on. It was morally questionable. Probably illegal. Definitely icky. But why oh why did bad things always feel so damn good? Just once more, she promised herself as she pushed back into him again. “Addie, I am not made of stone.”

“But damn it, if he could be nonchalant about a woman rubbing herself against his giant erection like it was a stripper’s pole, then so could she.”

“Sure. Although I should give you fair warning. I can’t promise to be so gentlemanly again should you get horny at five a.m. tomorrow morning.”

“She felt sorry for him. A hippie chick who looked like she bought her clothes at Oxfam and a puff of wind could blow her over?”

“Stop now,” he warned, low and husky, “or forever hold your peace.” Addie froze, mortified. “I’m…” What? I’m what? Depraved? Disturbed? Disgusting? How long had he been awake?”

“Please give me a chance to make you happy. I make this promise to you in this beautiful garden you fought so hard for, that I will spend every day putting you first.”

“She was beautiful and radiant. He remembered the concern in her eyes. The same concern drove her now, pushing her toward acts of violence. On the surface, he'd be a fool to turn her down. She was driven by tragedy, just like him, and she would be incorruptible, just like him. He needed a blade to kill, but she could kill dozens at once empty-handed. She was Death, and she had just asked to be his ally.”