Marga sobered as if thrown in an icy Norwegian fjord, and she took a wary step back. “You’re an incubus?” Known for their overwhelming sexual magnetism and the nasty habit of impregnating any female that wasn’t up a tree by the count of three. That explained the underlying hint of danger she’d sensed beneath the outward attraction, the sense of wrong she’d gotten despite her uncontrollable surge of lust.

Benjamin bowed. “At your service, darling.”

She cleared her throat and inched further away. “Thanks, but I can service myself quite well.”

At Atticus laughter, barely hidden in a cough, she realized what she’d said, her face flushing with heat.

“Although,”...