Mira hung up with a lump in her throat and tears burning her eyes. Working at the diner had been her anchor for months, and now she felt adrift. Chaos had engulfed her life within the last twenty-four hours and chaos had a name—Jack McAllister.

Resting her elbows on her knees, she covered her face with her hands, careful not to put pressure on her bruise. The too-small jeans dug uncomfortably into her waist and pulled tight across her thighs. Irritated, she undid the top button, then got up and stalked into one of the guest rooms to find some other clothes. A search of the closets and dressers in both the extra bedrooms yielded nothing.

Mira went into Jack's bedroom. She couldn't stand to stay in these constrictive clothes one more minute. If Jack became upset with her for rooting through his dresser to find something wearable, she didn't care.

After opening a few drawers, she found a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt that said University of Minnesota on it in faded gold and red lettering. She stripped off the loaned clothes and snuggled into the soft, worn fabric with a sigh. They were way too big for her. The sleeves hung past her hands by a good three inches and the pants billowed around her legs.

Worse, the material still held the scent of Jack. She gathered the front of the sweatshirt and pressed it against her nose, inhaling and closing her eyes. Almost unconsciously, she passed her fingers over her lips, remembering Jack's kiss.

Sex with Ben had never been good. She'd only reached orgasm with him a handful of times. Her clit was either too sensitive or not sensitive enough, or Ben had reached his climax before her. Ben had made her feel like it was her fault, and maybe it was. Maybe she was just one of those women who had a hard time with it unless she was doing it herself.

Mira wondered if she'd have a hard time with Jack.

But Jack didn't want her. Not really. He'd practically run away from her after he'd kissed her. Obviously, he'd done it only to ignite her magick and prove to her once and for all that it was real.

She chewed her lower lip. Of course, his hard-on had seemed pretty genuine.

Mira swallowed hard at the memory of it pressing into her, then remembered the wad of condoms in his nightstand drawer. She was being silly. A man like Jack McAllister probably got a hard-on from kissing a tree.

Shaking her head, she walked to the window in the living room. Downtown Minneapolis spread below her, under a cold, clear blue sky. There would be a full moon soon.