He didnât know how to say it more clearly: she washis â¦
Arousal was flowing through his body, and her fear dragged sharp claws over his skin.
âCalm down,â he managed, in a voice that had precious little humanity left in it.
She quieted, her breath hitching as she tried to swallow the tears. And she stopped struggling, which was good. Except that he still wanted to press against her, despite the irritating layers of cloth in the way. She was sweating, he could taste it, and the urge to press his face against her throat and lick his tongue delicately against her bare skin to taste it even further made a fine tremor run through the center of his bones.
Fur receded. The claws prickling out through his fingertips receded, as well. He won the battle with himself by bare inches, and the animal retreated snarling back down to the floor of his mind, curling up and promising trouble later â¦
âHalf my ass is hanging out.â Sophie tugged on the skirtâs hem. There was nothing like wearing your friendâs clothes to remind you of your shortcomings. âIâm, what, only an inch taller than you?â
âOh, you look fine.â Lucy swept her short, sleek dark hair back, blotting her lipstick. Luce even lit a cigarette before opening her door, the brief flare of the lighter painting her face with gold. âYou look hot. Why donât you ever loosen up and wear a miniskirt?â
âI wear appropriate attire for my job.â Sophie pushed her glasses up, wishing her curls werenât falling in her eyes. Lucy insisted she leave her hair down. The car was nice and warm, so the touch of cold wind on her bare legs was shocking when she stepped out. She pulled the back of the skirt down one more time and wished sheâd just worn jeans. Jeans covered up a lot. âThereâs a dress code, you know.â And I donât have anything else in my closet. Food first, clothes later, thatâs the rule.
Luce was already tapping her foot, eager to be off down the cracked sidewalk. âOh, please. Margo the Battle-Ax wears scrubs all day. You could, too, you know.â Sheâd squeezed into a short evening-blue silk sheath that showed off her ample curves, and her legs looked long and beautiful in a pair of fishnets, ending in a lovely pair of glittering silver heels.
Heels, for a night of dancing? Well, Lucy had more endurance than Sophie did in a lot of areas. Sophie could stay, have a drink, watch everyone making fools of themselves, then catch a cab home.
Though cabs were expensive.
Lucy slid her arm through Sophieâs. âBesides, you need to put your toesies in the dating pool again, sweetheart. Itâs been six months since the decree came through. Youâre a free woman.â
A free woman. I wish someone would tell Mark that. âI guess so.â
âYou guess so? Come on, Soph.â
âOkay, okay. Iâm a free woman.â As long as he canât find where I live. Stop worrying so much, dammit! But that was like telling herself to stop breathing. And good God, but she had no intention of ever dipping a toeâor any other appendageâin the dating pool ever again.
Once was enough.
The street pulsed with neon. Here on Broadway, Jericho Cityâs nightclubs were all clustered for warmth, a long row of them on either side of a square bounded by leafless trees and trellises with strings of decorative all-weather lights woven into them. A chill wind came up Fifth Avenue and teased at Sophieâs bare legs. Her back was already aching from the low black heels Lucy had talked her into, a familiar pain she put up with during the week but could have happily done without on a weekend. âWhy am I doing this again?â
âBecause I need to practice my lambada, and it wonât hurt you to get out from under all those books,â Lucy said sharply.
Thank God for you, Luce. Sophie straightened her shirt. Well, maybe shirt was an ambitious word for a silk spaghetti-strapped tank top that showed a slice of midriff. This was Lucyâs, too. Sophie didnât have anything that satisfied Lucyâs exacting standards for a night out.
She had precious few clothes at