Page 70 of Tethered Fates

How am I supposed to be strong when Teagan makes me weak?

I keep my back to him. I grab hold of the door handle and rip it open. “Go back inside, Teagan.”

The sound of crunching pebbles draws closer until a soft wall of heat and the scent of warm sand and sweet tea flows across my senses like a caress.

And something else, something I can’t capture just yet.

He stays silent, yet I feel all that is unsaid as if he were screaming.

My eyes stay trained on the window, teeth clenched. “I have no time for you right now. Go be with your brother,” I say, harsher than I ever want to be. “I don’t want to see you—”

His hand rests on my forearm, soft as a butterfly’s wings, and my resolve is caught by the wind to be carried away.

“Take me with you,” he whispers, like he’s asking me never to leave, and fuck, I would. How could I ever reject a single request he lays at my feet?

When I face him, he is so painfully beautiful that I never stood a chance. His large, curious gaze is locked on mine. Small, soft lips part like all the words he doesn’t say are on the tip of his tongue. And how I want to grab his face and swallow deep until I know his every single thought.

“Teagan…” I drop my head. “I…”

His hand circles my wrist, his hold something I could easily break, but I don’t want to. I never want to.

Then he whispers, voice shaking, and like a dame in an old noir movie—our little game, “Let’s blow this joint, slick.”

I have to physically stop myself from taking his mouth; our first kiss will not be in front of Bran, who’s smirking at us from where he sits.

I take Teagan’s hand, lead him around my car, and rip open the passenger door. He slips in, and only when I snap his seatbelt do I let go—the loss of his addictive heat immediate—then I drop into my own seat.

Before I can even think about it, I’m taking us away. Teagan’s hand rests on my thigh like he doesn’t trust me not to escape, while my heart beats with the same excited trepidation as when I have escaped and not been caught stealing something precious.

With one hand, he manages to open ABBA’s greatest hits and slides the CD inside my stereo. “Nice outfit, by the way.”

I’d forgotten the floral culottes. When I glance at Teagan—breathless—his gaze dances with his bobbing head while Agnetha Fältskog sings about time slipping through her fingers. I wonder if I ever stood a chance against this boy who’s half my size, yet his presence eclipses.

***

“You’re rich then, huh?” Teagan remarks, the numbered buttons flashing as we climb each floor in the elevator towards my penthouse suite.

He cocks his head to the side. His tight curls bunch over his narrow shoulders, the mirrored walls giving me access to Teagan at every angle. My fingers curl in on themselves to stop me from exploring him at every angle, every position.

Does my quiet boy get loud?

I clear my throat, realising I haven’t answered him.

“Sometimes. Right now I have money because I’m a—”

“Detective.”

I grin at the mischievous glint shining from his dark eyes, framed with black lashes long enough to brush against his high cheeks. “Exactly. But sometimes, just for fun, I’ll throw all my money away to spice things up. You can’t imagine how many businesses we’ve all started and run into the ground over the years.”

The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and I lead Teagan into my penthouse.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, gaze bouncing from the polished marble floor to the sleek and uncomfortable cream sofa. To the gold and glass light fixtures embedded in the ceiling.

“Why not?” I shrug. “Forever is a long time, and our interests wane on less important things. Luc owns a terrible club called Sucker he’s ignoring now that Golden is in his life.”

Teagan wanders. He inspects vases, peeks under tables, and pulls open drawers.

I’ve never cared about having a home, but Teagan makes me want something like it. A place that smells like him, that’s painted exactly how he wants it and filled with whatever trinkets he desires.