I open my mouth to fashion a response, aware that Morgan is looking between the two of us clearly perplexed. Shit. What do I say?
“Hello, Stavros. What brings you to Luxe today?”
The Dark King smiles menacingly, and as devilishly handsome as he is, I can’t help but feel nauseous with terror. “Oh, just thought I would stop by. And I wanted to see you.” His voice is smooth yet assertive, not unlike his son’s. Dorian. Where is he?
My eyes flicker to Morgan who is bursting with confusion. Noticing the anxiety and alarm etched on my face, Stavros casually holds up his hand, causing everyone and everything in the salon to abruptly freeze before my eyes. I can’t believe it; every person is unmoving, totally frozen in time where they stand. Morgan is still staring at me, her eyes narrowed in puzzlement. She looks like a wax statue of herself, along with the other stylists and patrons of Luxe. Unreal. My eyes grow wide with horror, and I open my mouth to scream, praying that someone somewhere will hear me.
“Careful, young lady. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Snap of my fingers is all it would take to end everyone in here. I do not wish to harm you or your friends. I only want to talk.”
“Where’s Dorian?” I croak mustering every ounce of courage left in me. I am trembling yet I give him a steely gaze, refusing to let him see me ruffled. I am screaming, fighting within, struggling to maintain my composure. Oh my God! What the hell is happening?
“My son will be along shortly.” Stavros stands, buttoning his suit jacket, his smoldering eyes never leaving mine. “I only wish to speak with you. If you would do me the honor of taking a walk with me, the humans in this salon will not be harmed.” He extends the crook of his arm to me.
“And they’ll go back to how they were?”
“Yes. You have my word.” Stavros drops his arm and instead extends his hand. “Please.” I look down at it then back up to meet his eyes, my glare hard and unforgiving. “You know you want to. It’d make us both feel better,” he smiles, flashing a row of gleaming, white teeth.
“I’ll walk with you. But keep your hands to yourself.”
Turning on my heel, I stalk out of the salon, willing my shaky knees to keep me upright. His footsteps are silent yet I know he is right behind me. I can feel him. Where the hell is Dorian? Can’t he sense my anxiety?
I lead Stavros away from the salon, my arms wrapped around me tightly. It suddenly seems much colder than it was just minutes before and I am overly aware of the pulsing current crackling in the space between us. Once we have reached a grassy clearing hosting a few park benches, I stop and turn to him abruptly.
“Ok, you wanted to talk. So talk,” I say tersely.
“Relax, Gabriella. Have a seat,” Stavros says, unbuttoning his suit jacket and gracefully folding his tall, broad frame onto a bench. He looks up at me and smiles, looking mouthwateringly suave. I sit at the other end of the bench with a huff, knowing exactly what his game is. “Now, first thing’s first. You sent back my gift. Why?”
My head snaps to him and I frown, despite the flutter deep down in my stomach. Now that I see him up close, I notice that he looks younger than I initially thought. Glossy raven hair, glittering blue eyes, and tan olive skin. A more refined, polished version of Dorian. Classically handsome yet sinfully sexy. Shit.
“I didn’t want it,” I mutter.
“Oh but I think you do want it. Don’t let your affections for my son dissuade you from the things you really want in life. Things that I can and will provide.” I see the pink of Stavros’s tongue as it glides across the top of his teeth, causing my breath to hitch involuntarily. “And unlike my son, I won’t make you work for it. If you were mine, I’d give you anything you wanted. Not hire you as my employee,” he scoffs.
“But I like to work. It keeps me busy,” I say meekly. I clear my voice and try to square my shoulders. Stay strong, Gabs. “And besides, I think you do want me as your employee. Just in a sick, twisted way.”
Stavros’s full lips curl downward as if he is considering the validity of my statement. “Believe what you wish, but you don’t recognize the real villain here. I won’t deny my intentions, as depraved as you may view them, but at least I am honest. Can you say the same of your beloved?”
Is he serious? “Are you trying to say that I shouldn’t trust Dorian? Knowing that he can’t lie? And weren’t you the one who cursed him in the first place?” I glare at him through the narrow slits of my eyes. He has successfully pissed me off. “I trust him wholeheartedly. He could have killed me months ago. And he hasn’t tried to mind-fuck me without my consent.”