Page 85 of Heat Clinic

We sit like that until a cloud of people walk through, edging past us on the stairs as they make their way to the bank of elevators beyond the trees. Dressed in suits and dark coats, they’re ready for a meeting. Her stomach growls, and I glance at my watch. Marcus and Sam will be home soon.

“We should head back.” A very bad idea forms in the back of my mind. It’s the best sort of bad idea one can have. An impulsive one. “Ready for your surprise?” I stand, and she blinks up at me before taking my hand. I pull her up and glance around the emptier lobby. The group of people who came through have gotten into their elevator. There’s only a few lingering, talking on phones or chatting with one another.

“This wasn’t it?”

I jump down those last two stairs and step into the dirt, digging my hands into the soil. It’s cold and damp against my skin, and it’s getting embedded underneath my short nails, but the look on Emily’s face is worth it. Her expression is a mix of baffled amusement and horror. That’s my favorite kind.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, glancing around.

I rip a few roots as I tug it free, scooping the small plant from the ground. “I would think that was obvious. All right, luv, time to go.”

The pilfered plant drops soil onto the smooth concrete floor as I hold it to my chest. I grab her hand with my filthy one, smearing her with dirt, and lead her up the stairs at a brisk pace. You can’t run. That attracts too much attention. But we definitely hurry.

We hit the glass door and push it open, cold air smacking me in the face as we spill out onto the street.

“Hey!” someone shouts as the door swings shut behind us.

I’ve changed my mind. Running is definitely a good idea. I squeeze Emily’s hand in mine. “Run, luv!”

And we do. A few people glance at us, but most New Yorkers know how to mind their own business. We dash down the street and run a few blocks, getting lucky with the crosswalks. Outside of our building, we stop to breathe.

The plant’s lost most of its dirt, and my coat is filthy. The dry cleaner’s going to have a hell of a time cleaning it. But Emily’s wide smile and laugh make it worth it. Her smile is radiant. It lights up her eyes and makes them crinkle a bit at the corners. I’ve always been slightly more partial to men than women, but she captivates me. Completes us.

She holds my gaze, and something passes unspoken between us.

Something soft and warm.

I lean down and claim her mouth with a kiss, a tender brushing of lips, and I’m careful not to crush the delicate plant in my grip. She has no such qualms. Emily throws her arms around my neck and curls me down to deepen it. My tongue slips into her mouth, stroking against hers. Tasting her. Marking territory.

When we break for air, she rests her forehead against mine. “You’re crazy.” She says it with fondness. “And that’s why I love you. And for the record, I think you’re perfect exactly as you are.”

My heart squeezes, my chest too tight to contain it. I didn’t realize how much I wanted—needed—her to desire me as much as her dynamic makes her crave our alpha.

“I love you too. And I prefer to call it being creative. But I just realized… we don’t have a pot to put this in.”

“Come on,” she says, grabbing my empty hand and leading me past Bobbie and into the creaking elevator. “I have an idea.”

A few moments later, I cross my dirt-stained hands over my chest and look down at our handiwork. “I like it.”

“I’ll need to get some potting soil to fill it in, but it’ll work for tonight.”

“I’m home!” Sam calls from the doorway. “I brought pizza.”

“In the library!” I call back.

Sam pokes his head in the doorway and looks between us, then glances down. “Cool plant. Hungry?”

“Starving.”

We wash up and eat, and my phone dings with a text from Marcus saying his meeting is running late. I put a few slices in the toaster oven so he can heat it up when he gets home, and we settle on the sofa in the living room and eat.

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” Sam asks when we’ve finished, grabbing the remote and switching the input.

“Only if you want to lose,” I answer, throwing down the gauntlet.

He gives me an appraising look, then grins, his cheek dimpling. “Game on. Be prepared to eat those words. I’m the King of the Kart.”

“Care to make it interesting?” I ask, arching a brow and glancing over Emily’s head.

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