His hands moved over my back, frantic. His lips were everywhere, my jaw, my chin, the length of my neck. His tongue traced my pulse point, making me hyperaware of every inch of skin. It was too much. I tore my mouth away. "Why are you doing this?" I panted. "Why now?"

His lips skimmed across my cheek. He nipped my ear. "I couldn't compete with a dead guy. You worshipped him."

"So I wouldn't forget him," I cried, desperate. I felt out of control.

Ian dug his fingers into my hair and seared his gaze with mine. "He's alive, Aimee. Flesh and blood. That I can compete with.