Gypsy Moon (All The Pretty Monsters #4)(16)

With zero expression on his own face, he just studies me like there needs to be more said.

“I’m not sure what a high-school-quarterback comparison means exactly,” he finally tells me, lips pursing.

He’s cute when he’s confused. It’s hard to find a guy who looks as good as Vance cute very often.

“It means you’re a legendary golden boy, a bit of a cocky dick in attitude, and the expectations for the chick you’re with must be astronomical by this point.” My eyes flick to his as I add, “When sex is involved, it feels like I’m the only person in the world you want to see, and it feels like you want to be with me. But when sex is over, so is the way you look at me.”

He moves so fast that I don’t have time to react, and I end up on my back with him settled between my legs, pushing a lock of hair out of my face, as he stares down at me.

“I’m a very distracted man, Violet,” he tells me as he casually pulls one of my arms around his neck. “It’s truly a curse,” he goes on, bringing my other arm up around his neck.

My legs tremble against him, even as they tighten.

“Some days, it gives me actual brain aneurisms, but that won’t kill me. Instead of whining about it, I deal with it like any dignified man. Some days, I may say or do the wrong things because of the foul mood such moments leave me in,” he states conversationally, even as his lips lightly brush mine.

Those damn butterflies try to go to work.

“Violet!” Emit calls from down the hall like they’re all getting impatient, yet still humored to no end.

I’ve put off my conversation with Emit for way too long, but I was preparing for a fight that I never had, and now my body is riddled with left-over nervous energy. I definitely don’t need to tackle that problem right now.

Vance stands abruptly, moving away from me and leaving a bereft feeling in his wake, as he remains shirtless. The low-slung waist of his soft, gray pajama pants aren’t what makes my lips edge up in a small smile; it’s the slippers he slides his feet into like it’s not a big thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man wear old-school slippers outside of a commercial.

But Vance is a man of fine comfort and unapologetically plans each piece of comfort into his intensely uncomfortable days. He’s already tying a very plush robe into place, and clears his throat when I just continue to spend a little too long admiring him.

I blame it on the shit week I’ve been having.

I’m starting to better appreciate all the nicer things when they come along.

“I’m reminding myself of the hellish time you’ve had in the past forty-eight hours, at current,” he tells me like it’s a casual confession. “I’m going to need you to stop looking at me like that before I make an impulsive, likely insensitive decision to stop showing restraint.”

Before I can mentally assess where my head is at, Arion walks in, swings his gaze over me still wearing his shirt, and grins as he makes his shirtless way to me.

If I had to label his look, I’d call him a gothic rocker.

“You really bloody broke our curses,” he tells me like he’s both awed and…I’m not sure why that unknown, infused emotion in his eyes has me slightly worried I’ve rushed into something.

Arion’s intense on a normal day.

This isn’t a normal day.

As usual, his hands are on me in the next instant, pulling me to him, and I exhale a tired breath.

“Was that the knee-me-in-the-bollocks sound you just made?” he asks next to my ear, lips already dragging down my throat. “After you threw yourself before the very worst part of me and gave me your neck? You’re the most frustratingly confusing woman I’ve ever known. I believe this is the truest meaning of mixed signals.”

“I regret the day I invited you into my house without leaving my bedroom off limits,” Vance says idly.

The clinking of ice that follows his words tells me he’s at the small bar.

Arion grins next to my ear as he gently backs away, eyes narrowed and assessing, as that out-of-place smile stays fixed to his face. He has the most unnerving looks that leave me paranoid as hell.

Another harsh exhale spills between my lips when his hands finally drop from me, because he’s the most frustratingly confusing person I’ve ever met.

“Which reminds me, I need to speak with Damien,” I tell him, remembering why I’m pissed at the illusionist.

“I’m first up, love,” Arion says as he starts invading my space again. “I thought the only thing holding you back was your fear. Clearly the fear is absent if you’re willing to turn yourself over to the very darkest part of me. It’s amazing you’re in one piece, so clearly you played submissive very well, Violet. It’s because you were ready for me to save you and overcame your fear of me. Now we can be together.”

When I say nothing and simply stare at him like he’s forever losing his mind more and more when we speak, he frowns like he’s genuinely perplexed.

“Arion, no matter what you did, I couldn’t have endured another second of those cries. And you were at Abby’s mercy while in that state. You ripped my throat out and told me to put on some healing potion so you could sit down and watch the fight.”

Apparently, I guess right, because his pupils widen marginally.

“I held your hand when you finished,” he says like he’s defending himself.