Fuck. At this rate, I’m going to need another cold shower.

“What are you doing after breakfast?” Nora asks breathlessly as we pass a jogging couple. “Do you have some work to do?”

“I have that meeting with my portfolio manager in the city,” I reply, trying to control the urge to turn and glare at the male jogger. The fucker eyed Nora a bit too appreciatively when we ran past him. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Oh, that’s good.” She’s beginning to pant as she speaks. “I want to get a haircut today, and maybe meet with Leah and Jennie.”

“What?” I turn my head to stare at her as we round the corner. “Where exactly are you planning to do these things?”

“At the Chicago Ridge Mall. I messaged Leah and Jennie last week, letting them know I’d be in town, and they said they were going to come in today and stay for the long Memorial Day weekend.” She says it all in one long breath, then gulps in more air and gives me an imploring look. “You don’t mind if I see them, right? I haven’t seen Jennie in two years, and Leah—” She abruptly falls silent, and I know it’s because she was going to say she saw Leah the last time she was in that cursed mall, when Peter let her act as bait for Al-Quadar. My pet doesn’t realize I already know about that meeting—and about Jake’s presence that day.

“You’re not going to that mall.” I know I sound harsh, but I can’t help it. Just the thought of her wandering around that place by herself is enough to make me see red. “It’s too crowded to be safe.”

“But—”

“If you want to meet with your friends, you can do so here at the house or at some restaurant in Oak Lawn—after I make sure it’s secure.”

Nora’s lips tighten, but she wisely doesn’t voice any objections. She knows this is as far as she can push me. “Okay, I’ll ask them to meet me at Fish-of-the-Sea,” she says after a minute. “What about my haircut?”

I eye the long, thick ponytail hanging down her back. It looks beautiful to me, especially with the end swinging back and forth over her shapely ass. “Why do you need one?”

“Because”—she pants as we pick up the pace—“I haven’t had so much as a trim in two years.”

“So?” I still don’t see the problem. “I like your hair long.”

“You are such a guy.” She can barely speak but somehow manages to roll her eyes. “I need to shape this mess. It’s driving me crazy.”

“I don’t want you cutting it short.” I don’t know why I care all of a sudden, but I do. “If you trim it, don’t take off more than a couple of inches.”

Nora gives me an incredulous look as we stop to let a car pull out of the driveway in front of us. “Really? Why?”