Only then does his attention slip to the outline of my perfection.
My features steel, and I try to get to the point of his conversation before Nyra comes to get me for the Mating Moon and instead finds me chatting up the most beautiful-nake-man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“And?” I ask harshly.
What does he want? Is he here to see the Goddess’s work firsthand? The laziest gift that any shifter has ever been given?
What?
“I just…” He shrugs just lightly then before meeting my eyes with that same look of cold carelessness. “I guess I just expected a more impressive woman. I don’t know.”
My jaw drops so fast it high fives the floor, and they both celebrate the first real shock I think I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.
“Excuse the fuck out of me?” My hands hit my hips so hard it hurts, but the outraged sting to my ego hurts more.
Expected a more impressive woman?
Of all the times people sweetly called me pretty, I never thought I’d be demanding it from someone.
And yet, I almost am.
I almost want him to acknowledge all the ways I know I’m beautiful. He should be picking daisies and writing me sonnets right now!
Just tell me I’m fucking pretty!
“Youdon’tthink I’m attractive?” I hold back my irrational anger by an unraveling thread of dwindling politeness.
He takes a good minute to reassess me with a slow rake of his infuriatingly deadened eyes.
I cannot believe I thought his piss green gaze was beautiful.
Calm down. Let him talk. It’s not that bad. Maybe he’s legally blind and honestly can’t see how completely fucking gorgeous I am.
“I’ve seen better,” he finally spits.
That’s it!
My palm snaps across his mouth like he just threatened me.
He basically did!
He threatened my humbleness.
I’m humble, Goddess dammit!
A sharp smile twists his lips, and his thumb drags across his mouth to wipe away the pain I know I just left him with. Still he sneers at me as if I just complimented him rather than attacked him.
“I have an offer to make you, beautiful,” he whispers with a dragging drawl of his low tone.
It’s mocking now. That pet name is a mocking insult, and I want to clock my fist against perfect white teeth for ever saying a word to me.
He’s the rudest fur fucker I’ve ever had to meet.
My teeth are clenched shut so tightly that I can’t even respond to him. A high arch of my eyebrow is as much as I can do.
“You’re interested,” he says casually, and as he leans in, placing his big hand against the window sill between us, myattention slips down the hard lines of his chest. Lean narrow muscle tone gives him a lithe appearance that says he’s quick.
But something in the back of my mind tells me I could take him if I had to. The skills I’ve learned from my father have never been wasted.
