Big hands ran lightly up and down Peri’s arms. More touching. More of that indescribable sensation that made him want to laugh and moan and drop to his knees, surrender, lose himself. And that was even before he looked into those amazing blue eyes.

Eyes that really saw him. Eyes that held secrets and wanted to share them. Peri barely suppressed a shiver.

And the man wanted to know his name.

“Peri.” The gentle touch was making him bold. Or stupid. Probably both. “And who are you?”

For a second, he wasn’t sure if the smoking hot blond had heard him; his gaze had dropped, his eyes were on what his hands were doing, and he seemed perfectly happy to go on that way for a while. “Name’s Fiachra,” he murmured at last.

Peri was trying to think of a more intelligent comeback than beautiful name, when Fiachra touched him under his chin with a fingertip, tilted his head up, and looked into his eyes, and he stopped thinking altogether.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Fiachra whispered.

Peri blinked fast, catching the tears before they could do more than make his eyes sting a little. What he was was exotic. He knew it; he’d always known it. He had his Japanese father’s dark almond-shaped eyes, and his father’s glossy black hair, though peroxide and L’Oréal turned it to pale gold. His mother’s Swedish ancestry had lightened his complexion and given him killer cheekbones and a slender body. Fucking beautiful. And fucking untouchable.