“You don’t mean that,” came the deep, self-assured reply. Accompanied by another sinfully erotic movement of its hips.

Could it be more arrogant? “I do too. I’m serious. Get it off me!” Before she did something really, really stupid, like pressed back against it the next time it rubbed.

Aw, come on, Gabby, this is the most turned on you’ve ever been in your entire life, a devilish inner (suspiciously fourteen-year-old-sounding) voice provoked. What could it hurt to finally get a little taste of fairy? You’ve already blown it.

It’s here to kill us! she countered fiercely.

We don’t know that. Silence, then a plaintive: And if it is, do you really want to die a virgin?

Gabby was horrified to realize that for a moment she actually entertained that question as a legitimate avenue of inquiry. Reasonable. Sane even. How sad it would be to die a virgin.

Oh, grow up, she seethed, regaining her senses, this is not a fairy tale. There’s not going to be a Happily-Ever-After here.

Happy now? came the hopeful query.

She was losing it. Completely.

It tried to turn her then, and she fought a momentary, pointless little battle with it, making herself heavy and stiff in its grasp. She knew it was stupid, that she was just stalling for time, but she’d stall for all the time she could get. Feeling it behind her was bad enough; being forced to look at it while it was touching her would be downright devastating.

It picked her up and rotated her. Literally plucked her from the floor and spun her about, depositing her on her feet again.

She fixed her gaze at eye level: its sternum. Damn the thing for being so big and making her feel so tiny and helpless. At five foot four, she was accustomed to having to look up at people, but the darkest fairy was at least a foot taller than she was, and nearly twice her mass.

It slipped a finger beneath her chin. “Look at me.” Again, that dark, strangely accented voice caressed her. There should be a law against men—fairies—having such voices, she thought grimly.

She kept her chin firmly down. She knew how inhumanly erotic it was. She also knew—the little argument she’d just had with herself showcased the point well—that she had a lifetime of dangerous fairy-fascination corked up inside her. And that cork was too highly pressurized.

“I said,” it repeated evenly, a hint of impatience edging its tone, “look at me, Gabrielle O’Callaghan.”

Gah-bry-yil was how it pronounced her name. What its gorgeous accent did to her last name was simply beyond describing. She’d never known her own name could sound so sexy.

No way was she looking up.

There was a moment of silence, then it said mockingly, “Willy-nilly, peahen. I thought the Irish were tougher than that. What happened to the wench who bashed me a good one and made me bleed?”

Her head whipped back and she stared up at its dark, chiseled face: Fairies didn’t bleed.

There was blood on its lip. Crimson drops dripping from the corner of that full sensual mouth, making it look even more elemental and dangerous.

Blood? Gabby gaped, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. Was it a fairy or wasn’t it? The Books had said it was! What in the world was going on?

“You put it there. I’m giving you the chance to get it off before I decide to claim vengeance instead.” Its dark, smoldering gaze dropped to her mouth and fixed there. “Your tongue will serve well. Come, a kiss to make amends.”

When she scowled and didn’t move an inch, it gave her a coolly smug smile. “Oh, come, ka-lyrra, taste me. We both know you want to.”

Its supreme arrogance (no matter that it was entirely right about her wanting to taste it) pushed her over the edge. She’d been up for twenty-four hours straight and was emotionally exhausted by what had been the most horrid day in her entire life. She was beginning to feel strangely numb, almost beyond caring.

“Go to hell, Adam Black,” she hissed.

For a brief moment it looked completely taken aback. Then it tossed its dark head back and laughed. Gabby shivered as the sound coursed over her, rolled through the room, echoing off the high ceilings.

Not human laughter. Definitely not human.

“Ah, Irish, I’m already there.” It cupped her jaw in one big hand and forced her head back, locking gazes with her. “Know what that means?”

Gabby shook her head tightly, in as much as she could with her face clamped in its implacable grasp.

“It means that I’ve got nothing left to lose.” Pressing the pad of its thumb against her bottom lip, it forced her mouth open, and began lowering its head toward hers. “But I’ll bet you do. I’ll bet you’ve got all kinds of things to lose, don’t you, Gabrielle?”