“Who the fuck are you, man?” Sparrow spits. “Why don’t you go back inside and pick up a chick of your own?”
“She’s mine.”
She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.
His voice spins and churns in my head, bouncing off the tingling crevices of my skull and making my pulse race.
Did he actually say that, or did I imagine it?
I watch his face desperately, but Warren’s dark eyes are so cold that they make me shiver.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” he says with clear menace in his tone. “Let her go and walk away now, or you’re going to regret it because I’ll fucking ruin you.”
Holy skid mark.
I’ve seen him pissed. I’ve seen him rigid. I’ve seen him be a total asshole. But I’ve never seen him filled with as much heated fury as he is right now.
Maybe Sparrow senses the dark promise behind Warren’s gaze, or maybe he’s just not much of a fighter. Either way, he finally drops his hands from my body, letting me go.
“What the fuck ever,” he says as he looks over at me, his blue eyes scathing. “Fucking whore,” he spits at me, making me flinch, before turning and stalking away.
I continue to watch Warren, whose hands are fisted at his sides, but his eyes don’t leave Sparrow until he disappears into the parking lot. Then his dark eyes finally settle on me, and I swallow hard at the expression on his face.
It’s anger still, but there’s also something else, and it takes a moment for me to realize what it is. Fear. Warren was worried about me.
My heart pounds with each step that Warren takes as he crowds my space.
I inadvertently back up because of the magnitude of his intensity. When I try to take another step back, my ankle twists on these damn platinum shoes, and I almost go down. I would have if it weren’t for the fact that Warren is suddenly there, scooping me into his arms.
I was mad at him. I was hurt. Confused.
But despite all of that, I feel entirely safe in his arms. Just like the night I was sick, I know I’ll be okay with him. My instincts assure me of that fact.
I settle against his chest, my hand curling into the fabric of his shirt like I never want to let him go. And shit, he smells so damned good. Burrowing my nose closer, I smell him unashamedly.
I indulge again and again. If I could, I’d bathe in a bottle of Warren Knight.
“Stop sniffing me,” he snaps, since he’s still definitely mad at me. But it’s like a worried mad. Not a mad mad. Not an asshole mad. Just...protective mad.
Huh. I never realized how many mads there really were before this moment. There’s a hungry mad, frantic mad, impatient mad, probably even a sex mad. Mad, mad, mad.
I nuzzle into him and sniff him again. “The sense of smell is totally cool, isn’t it?” I ask a bit dreamily.
He pauses for a beat as he continues to carry me, my body bobbing along with his steps. “Sure,” he says in a clipped tone. Because, you know, he’s mad.
“If you think about it, smelling is, like, inhaling for your brain. Like a brainhale. You give such a good brainhale, Warren Knight.”
I shove my face further against his chest and close my eyes so that I can really let my sniffs take over all my senses.
Ahhh. Damn, that’s nice.
“You smell like wood chips and jazz music and smirks.”
A noise that sounds like a startled laugh escapes his chest. “You’re stoned out of your mind, aren’t you?”
“Yup,” I say popping my P. I do it a few more times because the sound is like a concert on my lips. “And you know what? I’m not a fan of the being of the high. Which is ironic, considering I’m a natural flyer,” I tell him.
He mumbles something that I don’t catch, because I’m suddenly too focused on petting his jaw scruff. Part of my brain realizes I probably shouldn’t be doing this, because it’s not polite to pet people without permission, but I just can’t stop myself. “You got good scruff,” I tell him. “It’s, like, a solid soft-to-scratchy ratio. I give you an A.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
I yawn. Holy blue balls, I’m sleepy.
When I pull my eyes open again, he’s placing me gently in the front seat of his car. I have no idea where his date went, but I’m so glad she’s