“No.” Mr. Morally Grey strides across the shop floor.
I’m not even looking in his direction, but my core clenches at his bassy command, and every inch of my skin heats with the crackle of sparks.
Shit. I’ve captured his curiosity, now I need to hold his attention.
Whatever I say next will either turn him off and result in another dismissal or stoke the flame of interest.
I pause, take a deep breath, and keep my features neutral. Then with the slowest of movements, I turn my head.
“Excuse me?”
I place my hands on my hips and sweep my gaze down his body. Because I’d lose my nerve if I met his eyes right away.
Beneath the blazer, he wears a black shirt unbuttoned halfway down the sternum that shows just enough of his pecs to make me salivate. The fabric is obviously silk from the way it shimmers in the light and skims his muscular torso like water. His jeans are the darkest gray and showcase muscular thighs.
I tighten my lips, flick my gaze up to find him smirking. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Up close, his pupils aren’t so much green but a glacial blue with a ring of gold that resembles tiny flames.
He’s amused.
Irritation prickles my skin that he could have so casually disregarded me at first glance yet he now stands there expecting me to… what? Entertain him?
Or be impressed?
“Nick and I were in the middle of a conversation,” I say, my words clipped.
“Which was going nowhere.”
His accent is far more cultured than I expect for a man who looks so dangerous. It’s not quite aristocratic, but he sounds just as educated as the professors at the university.
“A brat should never have to supply the implements of her own taming,” he adds.
My breath hitches, and it takes every effort to hold still. To hold back the urge to squeeze my thighs together and squirm under his inspection.
Right now, the store has vanished, and my entire awareness is concentrated on this intriguing man. I’m fighting against my instincts that scream at me to drop to my knees.
“Is he bothering you?” Nick asks from afar.
“No,” I say without looking in his direction.
I immediately feel shitty for being so offhand. As much as I want to turn to Nick and thank him for his help, I can’t take my eyes off Mr. Morally Grey.
He steps closer, so we’re standing within arm’s reach. His scent is sharp, masculine, deadly. It reminds me of metal slicing through mahogany, with tantalizing hints of leather, tobacco, and sandalwood.
The overall effect has me entranced.
His gaze sharpens. “What’s your name?”
“Phoenix," I lie.
Sort of.
Because I’ll be damned if I tell him that my full name is Hedwig Phoenix Stahl. Nobody ever believes that my mother named me after the saints, and not the fictional owl.
“Marius,” he replies in a way that’s both deep and enticing. “So, you like to play?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I expect a reply.”