Angels' Dance by Nalini Singh

would’ve considered any such whisper a challenge.
    “But,” she said, pouring hot water for some tea after she’d finished cleaning up, “we cannot discount Lijuan.” The oldest of the archangels after Alexander, Zhou Lijuan had committed atrocities it had chilled Jessamy to record in the secret histories she kept on each member of the Cadre. “She appears to have a partiality for Raphael, but her intrigues run deep.”
    “Her troops are currently scattered across her territory, with no indication they’re planning to amass for an assault.”
    Leaving the tea to steep, she looked up just as Galen shoved his hair back again. “You need to cut that.”
    “I meant to do it last night.” Pulling off the knife at his belt, he hacked off a chunk.
    “Galen!”
    A questioning look.
    Incensed, she grabbed the knife from him. “Sit down before you butcher all this glorious hair.” The color was so vibrant, it seemed to glow with life.
    He obeyed with suspicious meekness, not saying a word as she trimmed his hair with care. It was only when she was halfway done that she realized she was standing in the middle of his parted thighs, his breath warming her through the thin material of her gown. A languid heat curling her toes, she finished and stepped back. “There,” she said, voice husky. “You can clean up.”
    He stood instead, his face all hard, blunt lines, his body brushing her own . . . and his thumb rubbing her lower lip. The touch tugged at things tight and low in her body, until she ached, her breath coming in soft pants.
    * * *
    G alen had behaved for far longer than he’d thought himself capable of behaving where Jessamy was concerned. He’d flown with her so trusting and delighted in his arms, imagined her sleeping in his bed, and luxuriated in her presence as she filled his kitchen with warmth. It had taken all his willpower not to put his hands on her hips while she stood between his thighs, and tumble her into his lap.
    Now . . .
    Her skin was delicate under the roughness of his own, her breath sweet, and her lips when he claimed them parted on a soft gasp. Hand clenching on her back, he forced himself not to thrust his tongue into her mouth, not to maraud. Part of him was waiting for her to shove him away, and when she didn’t, he had to fight a roar of savage satisfaction. In its stead, he pressed down on her chin and slanted his mouth more fully over hers, his cock pushing against the fabric of his pants and into the gentle curve of her abdomen.
    A flutter on his chest, a slender hand spreading over his skin as Jessamy rose on tiptoe to follow his mouth. Groaning at the feel of her high, taut breasts rubbing over his chest, he licked his tongue across her lips, wanting to know that he was welcome before he swept in to devour, to savor. Her nails dug into his skin, a tiny bite that made his entire body throb . . . before she pushed at him, turning her head away at the same time.
    Freezing, he dropped his hand from her cheek and took a step back, making no effort to hide the jut of his arousal. “Should I apologize?”
    Jessamy gave him an incredulous look out of those pleasure-smudged brown eyes . . . Then she laughed, the vibrant color of it filling his aerie, sinking into his bones. But the laughter faded between one breath and the next, her expression betraying a stark bleakness before she blinked and he was faced with warm elegance again, so gentle, so unimpeachable. “I’m the one who should apologize,” she said, fixing her gown though it needed no fixing.
    His eyes narrowed. “Is it because I’m not learned?”
    “No!” She reached out a hand, dropped it midway. “No, Galen.” Distress darkened her eyes, made her face pale.
    There. A weakness, a chink in her armor he could use to batter his way inside. Except sometimes, it was better to allow your opponent to believe she’d won. “Perhaps I’m not learned,” he said, quickly cleaning up the area where she’d