Page 32 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Rurik makes a rough sound.

“Let me explain this to you so your pretty little head can understand,” he says. “When someone runs the other way from you, 99.9% of the time, they are uninterested and want nothing to do with you.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but I beat him.

“Did you just call me pretty?” I can’t stop the stupid grin I know is on my face.

Chapter 5

Briar

Rurik blinks once. Then blinks again. “Is that seriously the only thing you heard?”

“Of course not,” My grin widens like a fucking mad woman because he didn’t deny he thinks I’m pretty. “There’s a 0.1% chance you’re into me, too. That’s better than 0%.”

“You’re seriously impossible,” Rurik groans, turning around to continue walking.

I shrug and walk beside him, noticing that his pace was not quickening this time. I grin again, unable to stop myself.

“Stop doing that with your face. It’s creepy.”

“Thank you,” I try to eat up my smile but can’t. “Take my flower.”

“No, now piss off.”

“But why?”

“What kind of question is that? I’m not interested, Briar. Get that through your thick skull.”

“So now you think my head is pretty and thick?”

Rurik stops walking and turns to me. His dark blue eyes glow with rage, and I nearly swoon at the glorious sight.

“Fucking listen to me,” He growls. The rumble from his chest makes my mouth water, and I want to open him up and drink that sound.

Calm your tits, girl.

He lifts a finger, waving it in front of my face like some forbidden lollipop begging to be licked. “Out of respect for my friendship with Oscar and Natalie, I tried my damndest to tolerate you. But I’m sick of this. We are never going to be anything. Do you understand that? I am not interested in anything you have to offer. I am not interested in getting to know you. I am not interested in you. So why don’t you, for once, do as I fucking say and piss off before I choke the living hell out of you until I snap your neck.”

He keeps waving his long finger in front of my face. I can’t be held accountable for what I do next. I wonder how that finger would feel inside my mouth as I suck on it.

So I do it.

I capture his finger in my mouth.

Fuck.

Fucking shitballs.

Bad idea.

His finger is like an appetizer, feeding my hunger with little bits of samples as I get ready for the main course. Him. But I want more.

What does his neck taste like?

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