My voice stops him, clean and clear.
"I want you."
His steps freeze. He doesn't turn around, but his shoulders have gone rigid. The silence in the tent is suddenly heavier than the screams outside. He's listening.
Moon Arden turns slowly, a controlled pivot, and meets my eyes. The playful arrogance is gone, replaced by a low, serious intensity.
"Why me?" he asks.
I rise from the chair with deliberate grace and close the distance between us, stopping so close I can smell the expensive, oceanic sharpness of his cologne over his natural scent.
"Because you're the one who suits my new perfume brand," I state, my voice flat.
He stares, then that infuriating, prideful beautiful smirk slips back onto his lips. He looks away with a dismissive toss of his head.
"I know I'm handsome. That's not new to me."
"I didn't say you were handsome," I reply calmly.
His head whips back to me. I see it—a flicker of genuine irritation in those sky-blue depths.
Hit the spot.
