Can't Fix Cupid

“Relax baby,” he purrs. “I got you.”

“She said fucking stop.”

The cold voice halts Sparrow in his tracks.

He turns around, taking me with him, and I have to squint at the sight. With the fire pit burning behind him, all I can see is a dark silhouette of a menacing shadow looming before us like a beautiful demon from hell.

I sob in relief at the sight of him.

I try to go to Warren, but Sparrow’s fingers dig into my waist, holding me back.

The looming sh

adow strides forward inordinately slowly—or maybe that’s just what my foggy brain is interpreting.

It seems like it takes ages until he’s finally standing before us, and I can see the wrath on Warren Knight’s face. “Let her go, and walk away.”

Sparrow tenses but doesn’t release me from his grasp.

“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.