Heat radiated from the man, as welcome on this cool, clammy night as hot chocolate was during a snowstorm.

Unable to help herself, Ursula edged closer.

His hair was thick and wavy. The dark brown locks tumbled over his forehead and curled around his ears. Classical Greek features made him movie-star handsome. Dark stubble dusted his firm jaw, upper lip and cheeks.

Warmth flooded her.

She had an insane urge to cup his beautiful face and stroke his bronze skin. Both were impossibly virile, the same as his broad shoulders and muscular arms. A black tee hugged his firm pecs, ripped abs and bruising biceps. He had a tribal tattoo on the right one that mesmerized her. Her nipples tightened.

His low-slung jeans left nothing to the imagination. He stopped cupping himself and revealed the enormous bulge behind his fly.

Her mouth got even drier.

“Tell me where Farron hurt you.” Heather touched Daemon as a blind woman would, lingering on every spot, especially the X-rated ones. Color flooded her cheeks. Desire welled in her eyes. “I’ll make it better.”

The guy, Farron, snorted and made a beeline for them.

Ursula blocked him.

He reared back. Surprise crossed his features at her presence and interference. Confusion replaced it.

What could she say? She had no idea why she’d stopped him except it seemed the right thing to do. Not for Heather or Daemon, for her.

She pushed to her toes and craned her neck to drink in his straight nose, slightly flared nostrils and full mouth. Far too often, she’d dreamed of lips like his, despite the danger carnal thoughts posed to a good angel. Although her soul was pure, she was also a woman and indulged in his animal magnetism. In human years, he was probably thirty or so. Supernaturally, he was a demon and had likely been around since time began. Tiny flames flickered in his black eyes. His scent was of the Earth and its deepest depths. The sulfur smell alone should have warned her off. Instead, his fragrance drew her to him, the same as his heat.

A zombie groaned in the room behind him.

He didn’t bother looking over, regarding her instead. He frowned. “What?”

If she could have formed words, she would have introduced herself. Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough strength left to smile. Drooling was her sole option.

“What the hell?” Stefin, a beefy Russian with blond hair, rushed down the hall, followed by redheaded Taro then Anatol, who sported long dreadlocks as dark as his complexion. All three were demons and enforcers there who kept clients from getting too frisky. They, like Daemon, wore black shirts and pants.

Farron grinned at the trio. His smile carved deep dimples in both cheeks, making him even more adorable.

Her legs wavered.

“Loosen up.” He gave the guys a careless shrug. “I was only having a little fun.”

“Not with Heather, you don’t.” Daemon slung his arm around her and planted his hand smack on her breast.

She turned bright pink but sagged against him.

Farron gestured in surrender. “Fine with me. Which room is mine?” He pivoted away and almost fell over Ursula.

She lifted her face to his.

He stepped back.

Stefin joined him. “I’m in charge here.” He slammed his fist into his chest, his muscles thick like his accent. Taro and Anatol rolled their eyes. Stefin glared at Farron. “You’ll go to the room I tell you to go to.”

“Is that so?” Farron lifted his hand.

Stefin and the other demons did the same.

Power from the dark side zoomed between them.

Ursula skittered out of harm’s way.

Lights flickered. Air sizzled. Farron held his own against the guys, the battle a Mexican standoff.

He laughed. A booming sound filled with mischief and surprising joy.

Enthralled, Ursula staggered toward him.

He looked over.

Taro hurled a new blast, a mega flash that turned everything blinding white. Once colors bled back in, an invisible force pinned Farron’s arms to his sides. His large feet dangled several inches above the floor.

“In there.” Stefin gulped air and inclined his head to the left. Together, he and the guys used their powers to push Farron into the room, his back to it.

She followed.

He stared at her, eyes widened. “What?”

Before she could manage a word, Anatol slammed the door and locked it. She could have walked through the barrier, an easy thing for a good angel, but that would have been rude. Disappointed, she slouched against the wall.

“Ah, guys, get a room, all right?” Wynona shook her head at Heather and Daemon making out on the floor more passionately than most couples did in bed. She stepped around them and strode to Ursula. “What are you doing out here?”

She opened her mouth but still couldn’t speak.

Wynona eyed her. “Are you okay?”

Uncertain, Ursula turned to Farron’s room. It was eerily quiet, considering four uncivilized males lurked inside.

“What happened to your hair?”

At Wynona’s question, Ursula patted her bun, surprised to find it twice its normal size. The rest of her slicked-back do was also frizzed and poofy.

“I’ll write down the name of the Pantene conditioner I use and give you an online coupon I found. Come on.” Wynona steered her back into the treatment room and shut the door. “Okay, I talked to Becca. And she—”

“Who is he?”

“—agrees with me. Wait. What? Who is who?”

“The guy Anatol, Taro and Stefin hauled into the treatment room.” She jabbed her thumb in that direction. “His name’s Farron. Who is he? What’s his story?”

“Why?”

Heat poured through Ursula. Her face burned as it never had during her time on Earth and in Heaven. “I want him.”

He is the one. We fit.