Why the hell was Jordan there?

I pulled on my underwear and pants, moving quickly to get decent. The man had horrible timing.

“Okay,” I said once I’d slipped on my sweater and boots. “You can turn around now.”

Jordan spun in the chair, his long legs cluttering up the small space between the exam table and the wall. The room had been plenty big without him. Then he’d barged in and taken over.

I could smell him. I could feel him, his presence somehow radiating into the space between us and reminding me of the spark that was always there when he was near.

So far, that spark had brought me nothing but frustration and anguish.

I needed to remember that.

Because when he wasn’t actively being a jerk, my body seemed to forget the fact that I hardly knew him and that he was batting at a less than ideal average, both in the bedroom activities—okay, coffee table shenanigans—and normal human interactions.

“Why were you at my apartment?”

He sighed. “Should we continue this conversation somewhere that isn’t a doctor’s office?”

I huffed, slammed my hands on my hips. “Why, Jordan?”

“I want you to call off your lawyer.”

I laughed and started for the door. “You’re kidding right?”

“No, I’m not.”

Turning the knob, I said. “Then you must just be stupid because I’m not calling off Bec—”

The rest of my sentence was cut off as a warm chest pressed me against the door, a slightly calloused palm covered mine on the knob. “I’m not stupid,” Jordan said into my ear.

“A-acting like it,” I said, forcing my idiot body to stop melting, to stop liking the feel of him against me.

He was bad in bed.

He knocked me up.

He tried to take my baby away.

“Let me go,” I hissed and struggled against him.

Jordan released me, backing up a step. His pupils were dilated, the black nearly eclipsing the blue of his irises. He raised his palms when I whipped around.

“What the hell is with you?” I asked, flattening my palms against the wooden panel of the door. “I can barely keep up with your moods. One second you want to fuck me, the next you’re gone. Then you’re back and I see this glimpse of a nice, caring guy who, oh, by the way, wants to fuck me again.” I laughed but it wasn’t filled with humor. “Then it’s like whiplash because all of a sudden you hate me, accusing me that I’m a gold digger. We hardly know each other. I wouldn’t invest this much time into managing some asshole’s moods even if I did know him.”

“Are you done?” he asked when I’d finished, chest heaving, cheeks hot.

Unbelievable.

“Yeah,” I said and opened the door. “I’m done here. In the future, communicate through my attorney.”

As I walked out of Dr. Stephens’ office, I half expected him to stop me, but Jordan let me go, and I was relieved.

Really, I was.

He was insane, his moods yo-yoed faster than I could keep up with, and furthermore, he wanted to take my baby from me.

I forced a smile at the receptionist, making a note to call and speak to the manager about them letting Jordan in without asking me first, before hurrying out of the waiting room and into the hall. I found my way to the stairs leading down to the hospital’s lobby and walked out to my car. But when I pulled the door handle, it didn’t unlock. Frowning, I pulled again. I had one of those cars with the locks that automatically disengaged when the key fob was near, because, well, history told me repeatedly that keys and I didn’t mix.

But the theory of automatic locks only worked when I had my purse. Or rather, my keys in my purse.

Which was likely sitting on the counter in Dr. Stephens’ exam room.

Dropping my head back, I stared up at the clouds. November wasn’t the coldest time in California, but the sky was gray and there was a definite chill in the air. None of which would help me get my purse back.

I was exhausted. I didn’t want to walk back into the hospital. I didn’t want to do a damn thing except cozy up on my couch with a blanket and a book. But I needed to go back to my apartment, make sure everything was moved out and locked up, and then drive across town to my new house.

Which was on Seraphina’s street—actually directly across the street from her home. We were both excited.

Separate but close by worked for us.

Of course, none of this changed the fact that I still didn’t have my keys.

I made a face, wanting to be in the jammies-on-the-couch portion of the day already without the rest of my adult responsibilities.

Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way and with a sigh, I pushed away from my car.

“Looking for this?”

Jordan.

I made a sound, a whiny little cry that would indicate to any of my friends that I was nearing the end of my rope.

He didn’t pick up on the signal. Instead, he stood there, my black purse gripped in his hand like it was a clutch rather than a good-sized handbag.

I’d forgotten how big he was.

Big.

I giggled at the absurdity of it all, especially when my thighs clenched and I felt moisture pool between my legs.

He was horrible in bed, you little hussy, I thought.

Well, not horrible so much as premature. With a little practice . . .

Oh, my God. I was going insane. It was the hormones. Had to be. All the books said that my sex drive might increase. That was the only reasonable explanation for why I could possibly still be attracted to him.

Jordan rattled the bag, like he was shaking a toy for a dog. Annoyance flared. Really? Should I trot over and rub myself on him in thanks?

My body liked that idea. Especially when the movement lifted the hem of his T-shirt, exposing a couple of inches of hard, flat abs. It liked the rubbing-all-over-him option a lot.

I tilted my head to the sky again and tried to find my freaking brain.

I was losing it, switching personalities faster than the man in front of me.

But what could I possibly say?

“Come closer. Let me smell that Satan’s deodorant of yours and remember all the reasons why I can’t fuck you.”

His brows drew down. “What was that?”

Oh come on, Abby, I yelled internally. Filters. Stop allowing your thoughts to vomit all over the sidewalk.

“Nothing,” I said. Thank God I hadn’t spoken loudly. “Just thanks for grabbing that.”

“Did you say—?”

“Uh-uh. I didn’t say anything. I most definitely did not say that my body is a confused asshole that still wants to have sex with you, even though you are maybe the worst lay of my life and—”

Oh. Good. God. I clamped my lips closed.

“You want to have sex with me?” Jordan closed the distance between us and I backed up until my spine was pressed against the cold metal of my car.

“I didn’t say that.”

One hand came up, caging me in. “I think you did.”

“Nope.” I lifted my chin. “What I said was that my body wants to fuck you. My brain, on the other hand, is very logical and understands that while you may be pretty to look at and have a rather large . . . hammer, you’re not equipped with the knowledge to use your apparatus properly.”

I smiled when his jaw dropped open.

“And let it also be noted that you’re a jerk.”

After snagging my purse from his limp fingers, I slipped under his arm—gagged, because his deodorant was seriously the worst—and pulled the door handle.

Thankfully, the locks disengaged and I slipped inside, locking them behind me before Jordan got any ideas. I pushed the button to start the car, put the engine in gear and began reversing, forcing him to move back or get run over.

Unfortunately for me, he chose option A.

I glanced out my window just before driving away and saw that his expression was stormy. I could have sworn that his lips had formed the words, “I’m not done with you,” but I pretended not to notice.

I was done with Jordan O’Keith. Once and for all.