Page 37 of The Price of Forever

She rolled her eyes, then snapped the black strap of my cross-body bag. “What’s this?”

“A strap.”

She cocked a hip, narrowing her eyes. “No shit. What’s in the bag?”

“Why do you care?”

Her nostrils flared. It was too easy to poke her—and be poked by her. It made me want to spend the whole day just diving into this dynamic that had been growing between us. Even though that was the absolute last thing I should be doing.

“You hide all your weapons in your pants. Why can’t you just put whatever’s in here in your pants too?”

I laughed—on accident. It just slipped out. She looked delighted.

“I only have so much room in there,” I told her, grabbing another sausage link.

“I thought it was like the closet to Narnia or something.” Her eyes were on me as I wolfed the sausage link and went for another.

I swallowed the rest of my food. “I’m not that magical. Still just a man at the end of the day. Can we leave?”

She sighed, but I could tell it was just for dramatics. She tugged her ballcap lower on her head. “Could have fooled me. I swear you need to plug into the wall at night to recharge.”

“I’m not a Tesla.”

“But you do admit that you’re part electric?” she challenged.

I made sure to not even twitch with amusement. “No comment.”

“Fine. Let’s go, Mr. Roboto.” With her black jeans, ballcap, and leather jacket, she looked every inch an undercover celebrity. The secretive aura she pulled tight around herself only contributed to her mystique.

Once the door opened, she sprinted down the steps, and I was compelled to chase her. Something about Jordan activated my beast mode. I wanted to protect her at any cost. But I always wanted to consume her; make her mine; fill her and fuck her. Chasing her sated at least part of this forbidden desire.

Five floors down I managed to elbow past her, but she shrieked with laughter and grappled at my arm and yanked me back. I let her slip past me again and she tore down the steps, our footfalls making a thunderous noise in the stairwell. By the time we reached the ground floor, we were both breathing heavily.

“I won.” She launched a fist into the air.

I pulled open the door for her to pass through to the lobby. “I let you win.”

“Now, now, now. Don’t be a sad sack thirty-something.” She strutted through the lobby, impossibly cocky, her persona cracking only momentarily to wave at Arthur the doorman. “We just need to work on your fitness level.”

I fought the grin. “Oh, are you a personal trainer now too?”

“I can walk in eight-inch heels for eight hours and launch my body weight up a steel pole. I think I’m qualified.”

She had no argument from me. I saw the way her muscles worked under those lights. I was, among other things, an admirer of her fitness. Not that I’d ever share that with her.

“You might benefit from starting a pole routine,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed through the main doors and onto the streets of Tribeca. “Once it’s installed, I’ll work on getting you into shape.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I said, falling into step beside her as we strode toward the subway station. I didn’t plan on informing her that I was already in shape.

“Oh, it will. Unless what you’re saying is that…you’re too insecure in your masculinity to try the pole?” The way she looked at me, her eyes alive with mischief, told me she relished pushing my buttons just as much as I suspected.

“It has nothing to do with manliness,” I said.

“A real man would try.”

“Listen, I get that you want to see me work the pole. But Root Bear isn’t coming out to play.”

“So you’re saying he’s in there somewhere.” Her brows lifted and she nodded. “Okay. I can work with that.”

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