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He pulls out a notepad and clears his throat.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Approximately five feet, one inch tall,” he begins. “Slim build. Long blonde hair. Eye color believed to be blue or green. Clothing—white shirt and black jeans. Shoe type unknown.”
“Anything else?”
He looks confused.
“Is she attractive, for example?” I’m just teasing now.
“Oh, yes. Rather attractive indeed—” He gives a kind of choking cough and color rises to his pallid cheeks.
I suppress a grin. A man would have to be gay or asexual to not be moved by the girl’s looks.
“Thank you, I’ll deal with her,” I tell him.
He looks like he’s going to say more, but a flicker of movement, a flash of golden hair has caught my attention.
“I’ll update you later.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you, Forge.” I barely hear his voice as he shuffles off.
She’s sitting on a bench now, directly across the street.
And she looks beat. Defeated. She wiggles her shoulders, then lifts her small hand and tries to massage her own back. I could have those knots worked out in a minute, I think. And for one delicious moment, I imagine her laying face down on my table, while my hands run over her soft, bare skin, feeling out areas of discomfort—
I shake my head. What’s wrong with me?
Then I go still.
Because she’s looking right at my shop. She’s trying to be subtle about it, but her eyes are such a vivid turquoise, they’re like flares of neon shooting in my direction. She presses her hands against the bench, as if she’s preparing to stand up, then her chest rises in a sigh and she hesitates. She’s scared, but she’s not quitting. Media hack or not, I can’t help admiring her guts.
Mine,my beast says, and the mating urge unfurls inside me, like some slumbering giant coming to life after years of stony sleep.
Come into my lair, I growl.
Because I know there’s no way I’m going to let her leave before I’ve found out exactly what she’s doing here.
And what it’ll take to make her stay.
