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“My number,” she explains. “In case anything comes up.”

It would take a damned apocalypse for anything to ‘come up’ that would keep me from our date. Still, I take the paper from her, fold it, and tuck it into the inside pocket of my suit jacket, just over my hearts.

Writing my own number down on the same pad of paper, I tear it off and give it to her. “And here’s mine.”

The act is so simple, so mundane. Two strangers getting to know each other, exchanging numbers, agreeing to test the waters and see if a relationship has any potential.

It makes a bubble of wry humor rise in my chest.

Not exactly the way I thought meeting and claiming my mate would go, but I’ll take it. I’ll take anything she’s willing to give.

“I’ll text you the details?” I ask, and she nods.

Nora stands from her chair. “Alright. That sounds good.”

It’s clear she means to leave, and even though I’d keep her here for the rest of the afternoon if I could, I stand as well. I follow a couple of steps behind as she crosses the office, and as she moves toward the door, I reach to open it for her. I settle my other hand unthinkingly on the center of her back and…

Shit.

Shit.

Just as she did the last time I touched her, Nora goes absolutely still.

Unlike last time, however, she doesn’t move away. She leans minutely into the touch, turning to look up at me. Her lips are still curved into a delectable smile and there’s a bright, teasing light in her eyes.

“You kind of have a thing about touching me, don’t you?”

If she only knew.

Still, I don’t remove my hand as I return her smile, and when she presses even closer into that touch, it’s all I can do not to lean down and claim that sweet, full mouth of hers.

“Should I not?” I ask her.

“I… don’t mind it.”

Trying not to let that inflate my ego any more than strictly necessary, I lead her from my office and down the hall toward the elevators. I keep my hand on her back the entire time, and Nora makes no move to stop me from doing so.

A small victory, but after the absolute devastation of my last couple of attempts with her, it feels like triumph.

As we wait for the elevator, Nora looks around the space with sharp contemplation.

“So you’re like, what? The boss of this entire place?”

I chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it. I oversee the several divisions that make up Morgan-Blair Enterprises, but it’s the talented teams within those divisions that keep the business running day in and day out.”

“Ah,” she says. “So you’re more symbolic. A figurehead. Like the one on your ship.”

“Ship?”

“On your desk. With the tentacles and the carved woman at the front of it.”

Is Nora… teasing me?

It’s such an unexpected delight that I bark out a startled laugh as the elevator arrives. “Careful, Lenora. Any more of that and I might just cancel our date.”

“No,” she says, absolutely certain. “You won’t.”

Clever little siren.