“Try me.” If he’d ever just admit to one little feeling about me, I might admit to one about him. “Don’t push me, Ms. Lane. This place is getting to me. You want the beast on your hands?” I glanced at him. His eyes were sparking crimson and he was breathing hard, but not from exertion. I knew him. He could run for hours. “You want me, Jericho. Admit it. A lot more than once or twice. I’m under your skin. You think about me all the time. I keep you awake at night. Go ahead, say it.” “Fuck you, Ms. Lane.” “Is that your way of saying it?” “That’s my way of saying grow up, little girl.”
