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“Fuck,” Mickey muttered and rubbed her face. She tried to scrub the electricity between them away as the blood rushed up her neck and into her cheeks. She would not be able to work like this.
“What?”
Mickey searched Strap’s face as he asked her the question.
Strap slumped himself on the couch next to her. His fingers were dangerously close to hers. Mickey curled hers back so she could no longer sense the prickling sensation baking her skin from his warmth.
Her need to pounce on him was lodged in her throat like a swallowed block. She choked it down and forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m going. I’m doing it. You don’t just get to say ‘I’m your mate’ and believe I will automatically trust you. I’m not that gullible. Nor do I need a mate.”
Mickey stood. She refused to tell him that she wasn’t doing it for the money. Loot was hard to sell, and there was no point in using whatever was stolen … echoing his words.
“Fine,” he said, “then I’m going with you.”
“What?” Mickey whipped her gaze at him. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” He stood. Strap towered over her.
The annoyance brewing in her chest kept her anchored. Instead of letting the desire percolate to the top, she remained focused. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I have years of being a thief under my belt.” Strap stepped closer.
Mickey figured out that he was trying to provoke her. She stood her ground. She would not be intimidated. Her hands went to her hips, and she waited for him to continue.
“I can shift into two powerful animals. Don’t ask how that happened. The point is that it did, and I can. I have shifter smell and hearing.”
Mickey thought she saw the hint of a smile perk at the corner of his lips. She didn’t want to know what it meant.
“Plus, I have incredible agility. Much better than a human.” He poked her in the shoulder. Mickey scrunched up her nose at him and scoffed. She brushed off where Strap touched because of how it tingled.
“You just spent the last few minutes telling me why it was bad to steal. Now you’re telling me you’re going to help me?”
“You’re my mate.” Strap flung his hand carelessly in the air. He said it as if it answered everything. “You can’t get hurt. I can’t let that happen. It’s instinctual.” Strap shrugged and stepped back to sit on the couch again.
“Fine. Whatever.” The words slithered out of her mouth before she could think them through. Shock and irritation grated on her. Mickey did not want a partner, but something inside her didn’t seem to mind.
“Get out. Come back tomorrow.” She pointed toward the door.
Strap placed his hand on the back of Mickey's couch and leapt over it toward the door. She wanted to smack that cocky demeanor right off his face. But she said nothing. She followed and opened the door for him. He smiled at her. Part of her clung to that smile as if it were the first time she’d seen anything like it.
“I’ll see you later. You like donuts and coffee?” Strap’s tone purred down her spine, and Mickey slammed the door closed. She didn’t want to answer him.
As Mickey walked into her room, she could feel the heat from Strap’s eyes sweeping up her back. She could almost feel it land on her ass and hips. Mickey wondered what his large hands would feel like grabbing her waist as he dug his fingers into her skin while she rode him.
Her feet stuttered as the image made her knees buckle. She tightened her jaw and clenched her fists to keep herself from turning back and throwing the door open to yank him back into the apartment.
Also, if she forced herself to keep walking, she allowed herself the illusion that she was still in control.
She made it to the bedroom and closed the door with her hip.
She slid down the flat oak door and sank onto her butt. Her arms rested on her knees, and she buried her head in the darkness and inhaled the scent of fabric softener from her newly washed sweatpants.
The fog cleared from her mind as the artificial lavender and lilies scent erased the showered, soapy, fresh scent of Strap.
Mickey flipped her head back and stood when she could inhale and exhale with less tension. She sat on the bed and pulled out a journal of her father's.
The musty old book’s paper aroma wafted through the air. Mickey skated her fingertips over the beaten, worn leather. She closed her eyes, imagining the man who was her father holding the journal in the same position. The material was so smooth under her thumb that it was almost velvety.
Mickey gingerly untied the twine holding the pages together and opened the book. Dust floated in the air, happy to be released from their years-long imprisonment.
