“Never have,” she admitted, so terrified of the sheer power of him that she sounded absolutely normal. It was either that or start screaming. “I’ve never been up this high before.”

“What do you think?”

She took a deep breath and a step backward before turning to face him. The impact hit her like a physical blow. He was . . . “Beautiful.” Eyes of such pure undiluted blue it was as if some heavenly artist had crushed sapphires into his paints and then colored in the irises with the finest of brushes.

She was still reeling from the visual shock when a sudden wind swept across the rooftop, lifting up strands of his black hair. But black was too tame a word for it. It was so pure it held echoes of the night, vivid and passionate. Cut in careless layers that stopped at the nape of his neck, it bared the sharp angles of his face and made her fingers curl with the urge to stroke.

Yes, he was beautiful, but it was the beauty of a warrior or a conqueror. This man had power stamped on every inch of his skin, every piece of his flesh. And that was before she took in the exquisite perfection of his wings. The feathers were a soft white and appeared dusted with gold. But when she concentrated, she saw the truth—each individual filament of each individual feather bore a golden tip.

“Yes, it’s beautiful up here,” he said, breaking into her fascination.

She blinked, then felt her face color, having no idea of how much time had passed. “Yes.”

His smile bore a hint of mockery, of male satisfaction . . . and of pure, lethal focus. “Let us have breakfast and talk.”

Furious at having allowed herself to be blindsided by his physical beauty, she bit the inside of her cheek in reprimand. She wasn’t going to fall into the same trap again. Raphael clearly knew how striking he was, and he knew the effect it had on unsuspecting mortals. Which made him an arrogant SOB she should have no trouble resisting.