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chance I might accidentally bump into him. My use of the word stalker had been a joke when I’d used it in reference to Lucas, but I was towing a line when it came to Desmond.
    I knew it was wrong, but instead of calling him I was walking through the financial district towards his office. It was late, well after nine by now, but I suspected he might still be there. I had no intention of talking to him, but hearing Dominick say I should see Desmond made a need take light in me.
    I had to see him.
    Desmond was a fix I couldn’t make it through the rest of my night without indulging in.
    The Rain Industries Tower was on Bank St. in spite of the fact it had nothing to do with banking. As I traversed the nearly empty sidewalk, watching a few late workers move towards the subway stations or waiting town cars, I started to think about what a terrible plan this was.
    I shouldn’t be here, but bad ideas seemed to be the only ones I was capable of having lately.
    I climbed between the metal paws of a lion statue in front of a bank on the opposite side of the street and sank into the shadowy cradle of its legs. The Rain business center looked out of sorts with its surroundings, too glossy, metallic and modern next to the old skyscrapers it was nestled between. The lobby was white, all the furniture and art—a Jackson Pollack series—were done in a variety of shades of the color.
    Shades of white were something I’d never understood. Was there really a difference between linen and cotton flower ? They’d tried to convince me white came in shades when I’d tried on wedding dresses, but I still had trouble accepting it.
    Instead I thought about what a bitch it would be to clean up blood in that lobby.
    Desmond was a stark contrast to the whiteness of the space as he walked through it. He wore a charcoal-gray suit with the blazer slung over one arm and his pale green tie loosened. With the sleeves rolled up and his top two buttons undone I could see the dark hair on his arms and chest. Desire stirred in me.
    When he stopped to talk to the desk man, I was afforded a view of one of my favorite parts of Desmond’s body, his tight, firm butt, which well-tailored pants made the most of. My leather jacket was suddenly much too hot. He and the older man laughed at a joke, and my throat constricted, lust fading into the painful reminder he was no longer mine to lust after. With a final wave he left the building and jogged down the steps.
    Go to him , my brain commanded.
    I shifted but didn’t move from my perch.
    Desmond stopped abruptly at the bottom of the steps, and his eyes widened slightly. He sniffed the air. Oh goddammit, of course he sniffed the air. Why was I constantly forgetting about the natural abilities of werewolves in their human form? I hadn’t been this close to him, hadn’t seen him in the three weeks since he’d taken a bullet meant for me.
    I’d spoken to him, though.
    Damn, I had spoken to him just the night before. I’d stayed on the line and listened to him breathe after he’d fallen asleep in the middle of our conversation. I had it bad.
    Now he seemed to be looking right at me, but human-form werewolf vision was only good at night if the wolf had time to adjust. He’d just come out of a bright lobby, and there shouldn’t have been time for him to spot me in the shadows.
    I tried to push myself farther under the lion without drawing more of his attention.
    Go to him.
    My brain had a one-track mind.
    “Secret?” He was whispering, his tone uncertain like he wasn’t quite sure he could trust what he was smelling. Hearing my name from his lips was so painful I wanted to run across the street and put my arms around him.
    I didn’t move.
    He raked a hand through his short black hair and scratched the dark stubble on his jaw. After a final sniff and a small shake of his head, Desmond sighed and walked off down the street. When he vanished, I slipped out from my hiding place and watched the space where I’d