He stared at me for a few beats longer, his eyes assessing. I tried to appear at ease, as if I didn’t want to run from him saying he didn’t want me, and placed my hands in my pockets, rocking back on my heels. Eh, no problem. He sighed, leaning back on the desk, even though his eyes didn’t waver from me, not buying my act.
Gradually he spoke, as if he were gauging my reaction to each of his words. “When I first really started contemplating the idea of a real relationship between us,” his lips thinned, “it was shortly before we lost our baby boy and girl.” My own lips pinched, air slowly exhaling through my nose at the reminder of our loss, while I watched as his chest heaved, his own head falling for a moment before he rolled it on his shoulders, glancing back up to me. “After that,” he sighed, shaking his head, “I didn’t know what the fuck to do.”
“We were lost,” I whispered, my hands clenching in my pockets. “Afraid of reality.”
“Exactly,” he rumbled, standing, his hands instantly going into his pockets, which dragged his jeans lower on his hips. This time, he began pacing. “And when we did get back together, I was still scared shitless, but I knew I wanted to be with you.” His predator growled low. “But as far as the thought of exclusion goes, it’s the ‘what-ifs’ that are killing me.”
I backed away, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion as I watched him stalk up and down the bookcases as I had. His head was lowered and his shoulders were hunched. The muscles in his arms bulged, and his jaw was clenched. He appeared like a man torn.
I was startled to feel hope bloom amongst my fear of losing him. Hope for another man. Someone besides Dominic. Someone I didn’t want others touching. Hell, I didn’t even want them looking at him, or him gazing at them, hungry for all his attention directed at me. And it freaked me out only a little.
He stopped unexpectedly after a full couple of minutes of quiet, taking a hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck, his eyes coming to me, then away, as he said quietly, “I don’t know if I can do exclusion.” He paused, green eyes finding mine and staying this time. “And I don’t know if you can, either.”
I stiffened at his implication, and seeing it, he shook his head, explaining, “It’s one huge ‘what-if’, since I know we wouldn’t give our word on it.” He was right. A Mystical’s word bound them magically to what they said, but for him and me…it would feel like cheating — demeaning us — when we had never had to use magic to make us…us. Our relationship had always been about love, trust, and respect. When I didn’t argue with his assumption, he nodded his head once, as if he knew I wouldn’t. “So there would be no damn magic to keep us from being turned on by someone else.”
He threw his arms wide, his eyes flashing. “I can smell your arousal when someone else tempts you.” His eyes flashed again, his voice rising. “I have no clue what type of man I would become if we were really together and I scented that on you again.” A finger-point at himself. “It’s uncharted territory for me.” His finger swung my way. “And you.” He started pacing again, running a hand through his hair before stuffing it back into his pocket.
Covertly, I scented the air, getting the vibe of his rant. And sneezed, rubbing my nose. The action was odd enough that Ezra stopped in his tracks and glanced at me. I pointed at the fireplace. “The fire’s bugging me.” But, on the plus side, I had caught a whiff of something from him as he let his true feeling show.
Possessiveness.
He nodded and resumed pacing, his head lowering again, not showing his features.
Carefully, I stated, “It wouldn’t have to be a relationship-relationship if you didn’t want that. It could be only an expansion of what we already are.” That might make him feel better.
He growled. It was Vampire.
Guess not.
He continued his trek for another few minutes until rumbling, “Even if we did this, there are other things that could be an issue.” Again, he ran a hand through his hair. Clearing his throat, he stopped to rest his shoulder against a bookcase. Green eyes met mine straight on. “And I don’t want you to find them offensive.”
Oh. Boy. When a man started like that, it was always offensive. “Do your worst.” I was proud I didn’t snarl.
His gaze landed on my breasts.
Lingered.
Instantly, crossing my arms and feeling self-conscious, I did snarl, “I know they’re not big and perfect like your slut’s, but they’re fucking mine, so don’t you dare say anything rude.” That, I could not take.
He muttered, “Jessica is not a slut.”
I snorted.
Ignoring me, he gestured to my breasts and hips, saying, “I honestly find your assets perfect over anyone else’s, and I can’t stand how you hide them under bulky t-shirts, cargos, and albeit adorable, but still immature lingerie.” He glanced at my now wide eyes, and then back to my chest. “I’m a Vampire, sweetheart. I like sexy and seductive.” A single eyebrow rose. “And cartoon characters and baby animals are not that.”
I immediately started fumbling with the buttons on my ‘bulky’ top over my ‘immature’ lingerie, and through gritted teeth, I asked, “And?”