Page 64 of Let You Love Me

God, even now the outline of his muscles and contour of his biceps are visible through the soft material of his shirt.

He steps closer, and the heady scent of citrus and spice hits me in the nose.

My mouth goes dry, like it’s filled with cotton. “I . . . uh . . .” I press my lips together and reach toward the cake. “You can have a piece. Sophie won’t care. She’ll still be thrilled in the morning.”

She can have cake for breakfast, and I’ll win mom of the year.

Teagan’s low chuckle rumbles through my chest as I step away from him, needing the space to breathe. I busy myself with grabbing a plate and utensils, then cut him a slice, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my hand shakes.

What the heck is wrong with me?

Teagan wants to be friends. Period. Do I not remember how friendship works?

You don’t ogle your friends and tell them they have a hot bod. Ugh.

I cringe.

He watches me with predatory eyes as I slide the slice of cake toward him. “You’re not having any?” he asks.

“Maybe later?” When he frowns, I add, “I’ll have some with Sophie tomorrow.”

I couldn’t choke anything down right now if I tried.

Thankfully, my explanation seems to appease him because he grabs the plate and takes a bite at the same time he notices the video monitor on the counter. “Is this Soph?”

“Yeah. I know she’s four, but sometimes she still wakes during the night, so . . .” I shrug off the rest of my sentence because “and I’m paranoid” doesn’t seem particularly attractive.

Not that I care about being attractive.

He swallows a bite of cake and grins at the black-and-white screen, then chuckles. “The only thing you can see is a lump and all that wild hair.”

My heart thrums at the affection in his voice, a warning to change the conversation to something a little more innocuous and less . . . heartwarming.

I clear my throat and pick the monitor up, motioning for Teagan to follow as I make my way into the living room. He follows me while I remind myself how to breathe and pretend I know how normal humans in this situation behave.

I sit down on the sofa and turn on the television, unsure of what to do with myself as Teagan joins me on the couch, his tone chipper. “What we watchin’?”

I glance over, gaze trailing the length of him from his broad muscular shoulders to his socked feet propped up on the coffee table. He’s completely made himself at home, and I can’t help but wonder if his easy confidence comes naturally or if he’s every bit as nervous as I am.

“Uh, justGrey’s Anatomyreruns,” I say, but when I glance over at him again, he’s not even looking at the screen. Instead, his gaze is focused solely on the smooth, wooden surface of the coffee table. Before I can even process what he finds so interesting about it, he bends forward and scoops up the stack of scrapbooks perched in its center.

“Oh, no. No!” I practically shout. “You don’t wanna look at those.”

“What? Why?” He yanks back, away from my grabby hands.

“Because they’re . . . they’re . . .”

A wolfish grin spreads his perfect mouth. “Are they embarrassing photos or something? Now Ihaveto look.” He turns, already cracking the top one open.

I make a play to grab it from him, but he easily shifts his giant body further so they’re out of reach.

“They’re not embarrassing.”Per se. “They’re just—” He hesitates in his perusal, glancing at me over his shoulder. “—I don’t know, boring, and okay, maybe there are afewpictures I don’t want you to see.”

“Not making me wanna look any less.” He chuckles, turning his attention to the photobooks in his hands, then: “Oh shit. Are these from when you had Sophie?”

I sigh and drop my arm, knowing I’ve likely lost this battle. His broad shoulders and muscular back might as well be a brick wall. Even if I got the scrapbooks off him, he’d easily overpower me and grab them back. I’m starting to realize in Teagan’s presence, I’m not in control of anything—my body, my emotions, my reactions, or my train of thought.

As if in agreement, a ball of fire unfurls inside my chest as I watch him turn the page, the muscles in his forearm twitching with the movement.