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She pressed her lips together as she uncrossed her arms, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her top. Ivo leaned against the doorframe, trying to slow his heartrate and collect his thoughts.
This was her. Now he got it. Suddenly it all clicked—why shifters like Miguel threw all caution and logic to the wind the second their fated mate rolled into town. It really was like a drug.
“Okay,” was the best he could do in the silence that followed.
Smooth one, you idiot.
Ivo cleared his throat and looked away, his jaw flickering as he bit down on his back teeth. For some reason it was always his dad’s voice in the back of his mind, berating him whenever he fucked up. And hearing his dad always ticked him right off.
Not that it was her fault. Alani. His inner bear growled, eager to come out and tussle with her. Ivo bit back a smirk at the thought of growling her name himself, though there were far fewer clothes standing between them in the situation he was imagining.
“Okay.” Her eyebrows lifted for a moment as if waiting for more. “Uh, okay. Right. Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, but I’m just trying to get some work done downstairs and…” Color rose to her cheeks as she trailed off, perhaps hoping he’d fill in the blanks.
“And what?” he asked, his tone harsher than he’d meant it to be. For a fleeting moment, she actually looked nervous; the thought made his gut churn. He shook his head, trying to force some civility into the conversation—and failed, because the presence of his fated mate had all his senses on overload, every cylinder firing at warp speed. “You want me to keep it down or something?”
“W-well…” Holy hell did she look stunning when she was flustered. Probably not a good thing, but Ivo couldn’t help it. He wanted to drink in every inch of her—her sadness, her fears, her joy, her affection.
The effect of one’s fated mate had been grossly understated by everyone he’d talked to in the past. This was almost unbearable. Every fiber of his being felt drawn toward her, desperate to connect skin-to-skin. The animal inside of him yearned to be free, but the man knew at this point that what his inner bear wanted was technically classified as assault.
So. No. He wasn’t going to let the inner animal take over.
If only he could figure out how to make the man stop looking like a total dick—that’d be super.
“It’s just, I’m really trying to concentrate on my pottery,” she finally continued, “and it’s hard when the ceiling is shaking—”
“Pottery, huh?” His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own, interjecting when it ought not to; his ears wanted to listen to her talk for hours, that sweet little voice of hers. “Yeah, I bet that takes real focus.”
Ivo had meant to sound genuine when he said it, but he knew the second the words came out he sounded like a condescending ass—he could read it all over her face. Two seconds later her nerves disappeared, replaced by a barely subdued anger that made his inner bear fall back as if one look had browbeaten him.
“Look, maybe you don’t put any stock in the arts, and that’s fine,” she snapped, cheeks flushed redder than ever, “but all I’m saying is that I’m trying to work and it’s hard to do so when you’re stomping around. I really don’t mean to be, uh, rude…” She tucked the loose wisps of hair behind her ears—Ivo had wanted to do that from the moment he saw her. “But can you please be a little quieter? I’ll only be here another hour.”
“So you just thought you’d come up here and tell me how to walk in my own house?” Ivo fired back. He’d meant it to sound playful, but once again his body was disconnected from his brain, and he came across annoyed—and like an asshole.
Goddamn it.
***
“Oh, Alani, no…” Tanith stared at the empty studio space, two mugs of steaming green tea in hand, and looked upstairs at the sound of Ivo Ames’s raised voice. It didn’t take a PI to put two and two together. Other artists had also complained about the guy’s lead feet, but no one had actually gone upstairs to confront him about it.
Leaving the two mugs of tea behind, Tanith hurried up the grimy stairs to the upper-floor apartments. It would have been beyond ideal to rent one of the units herself, but the landlord couldn’t be bothered with any of the energy-efficient upgrades she’d suggested years ago, so Tanith had looked elsewhere.
The stairwell between her gallery and the first floor of apartments was only there for emergencies. Alani, meanwhile, had used it to go yell at a rather grumpy Ivo Ames.
She found the pair squabbling, her emerald greens washing over them quickly before stepping in to cut the tension.
“So you just thought you’d come up here and tell me how to walk in my own house?”
“Whoa, okay,” Tanith said, wrapping an arm around Alani’s slim shoulders and glaring up at Ivo. “Let’s take a breather, kids. What’s the issue?”
“Tanith, who the hell is this?” Ivo demanded. While he sounded more than a little annoyed, she noted that the anger hadn’t reached his eyes. Dark and usually lacking expression, today she saw curiosity and interest in them.
“I already told you who I—”
“Alani is renting some studio space from me,” Tanith insisted, giving the woman’s arm a squeeze. “She’ll be here for a few months.”
“Well—”
“And if she says you’re being loud, you’re being loud,” she continued, raising her voice to speak over him. She glanced at Alani. “Was he?” When Alani nodded, mouth set in a thin, grim line—tough to do, given how full and pouty her lips were, perfect for sketching—Tanith raised her eyebrows at Ivo. “Well?”
