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I press my hand to my queasy stomach.He's taunting me.“I'm not afraid.” Cadence is staring at me. She must be remembering how I told her I was scared.

He grins so I can count every tooth in his head. “Good. Because my backup is here.”

“Your what?” I ask, turning to see what he's looking at.

Jordan, looking sharp as a razor in his midnight-shade ribbed sweatshirt and matching ironed pants that tuck into heavy ebony boots, climbs the stairs. There's ten of them, and every step resonates from his heel coming down. The noise is louder than the passing traffic. I hear nothing else.

His eyes sway up, finding mine as naturally as a crow catching a breeze. He's locked on. I can't move, can't make my lungs listen. Cadence saved me from tumbling down the steps, but it was pointless, because at this rate I'll collapse.

Jordan is nearly on us. My body tightens from tip to root, heat waves fill me with rapid desire. My cells remember exactly what he did to me when we were alone after the party; how he made me beg, scream, come, all at his command.

The last thing I told him was that I hated him.

And now he's here to watch me marry his son.

His lips spread open to say something. I strain expectantly. Dez shouts, “Yo, Jordan! You made it. Let's get this going then.”

Jordan perches on the top step, his attention still solely on me and no one else. He clicks his teeth together, closing off whatever he was going to say. Then he marches right by me to enter the courthouse. My palms hurt; I loosen my fingers, removing my nails from my tender flesh.

Cadence nudges me. “Still time to bolt back to the car and flee,” she whispers.

“I can't.”

She blinks at how certainly I say that. “Okay. Then let's go after them.”

We both walk across the polished brown floors of the lobby. A long counter is staffed by three different people with wall signs explaining their responsibilities. Dez is done speaking to one of them and receives a stack of papers.

My eyes track around the room looking for exits. I told Cadence I can't flee, but my gut can't resist searching for a way out. Restrooms are labeled on the far left of the round room, other doors set into the wall spanning one end to the other. I count ten of them; Jordan and Dez are waiting for us next to one. “Hey, let's go!” Dez yells at us, his voice echoing in the acoustics.

Jordan glances at his son, then across the room at me. He sucks the oxygen from my throat with his intense stare I’ve come to recognize. Cadence sighs gently in my ear. “Is it weird to point out how hot Dezmond's dad is? He's definitely too old for me, but you know. Credit where credit is do.”

I stiffen at her blunt compliment, shooting her a quick side-eye. “I guess.”

She purses her plump lips. “If I marry him, I'll become Dezmond's step-mom.” Her attention shifts away from Jordan to me, and when she smirks, I know she's teasing. “Then I could whip his ass into shape, turn him into a model citizen for mydaughter-in-law.”

Cadence's joking around is enough to make me smile for real. “Weirdly tempting.”

She laughs, but Dez's voice booms over it. “What the hell are you two doing?” he shouts. “We're waiting for you, come on!”

Dezmond fans the papers like they're a flag. I realize we have to sign those to make the marriage official. The little bit of joy Cadence created melts away. It takes all my effort to force my legs to carry me towards Dez … and his father.

Jordan has been standing still. If I wasn't studying him so closely, I wouldn't notice the subtle way he tilts his jaw up, how his arms cross over his chest like he's making a barrier between us. He's doing all he can to wall himself off.

If we hadn't let ourselves indulge in our most basic, perverse desires, I would never guess he thinks of me as more than a cardboard box.

The knob in his throat shifts when he swallows. “Hello, Ms. Jones,” he says. It's sanitary as an operating room.

I return the false politeness ten-fold. “Mr. Hartford. Nice to see you again.”

His lips straighten, his arms squeezing harder, making wrinkles in his sweatshirt. I can see the hard shape of his muscles through the fabric. Cadence is right, this man is hot. And older. And not the one I'm going to marry.

“Jesus you're slow,” Dez growls, grabbing my wrist. I flinch; that simple reaction changes everything about Jordan. His green eyes widen, then tighten into slits. The jugular in the side of his neck twitches.

He can't stand to watch his son touch me.

I get it. I hate when Dezmond breathes the same air as me. But what can we do? What can any of us do to get out of this mess?

“Hi, Mr. Hartford,” Cadence says, pushing forward until she knocks Dez's arm away from me. She inserts herself smoothly between the group of us. I rub my wrist, relieved to have Dezmond's hand off of me. “I'm Cadence, Lori's friend. We should probably at least say hello if we're going to be witnesses for their marriage, you know?”