Page 69 of Newly Tied

“I’m leavin’,” I announced, turning to head down the sidewalk.

“No, no, wait,” he said, chuckling, darting around the car, slipping in front of me, moving to bar my path when I feinted left, then right. “Come on, I’m sorry.”

I crossed my arms.

“In other news,” he began, taking hold of my biceps, “you look really good in my white linen shirt, tan chinos, and wingtip boots.”

Hard to keep scowling at him when he was smiling at me. I could feel my face heat.

“You look really good,” he apprised me, his voice thick, guttural. “And I really appreciate you coming with me.”

“You’re welcome,” I managed to get out, and when he leaned in to kiss me, I eagerly closed the distance.

His lips slid over mine so perfectly, like we’d been kissing for years instead of not quite yet a full day. When his hands went to my hips, holding on, his fingers curling into the belt loops of my pants, making sure I couldn’t move, I realized again how much I loved his possessiveness. When no one had ever wanted you, finding out your best friend did was heady stuff.

“I’m sorry you had to wear your side holster because I have the other,” I told him.

“My shirt’s covering it. I’m fine.”

He had a white T-shirt on under a long-sleeve shirt, the back of it camouflaging the holster pretty well. He’d rolled up the sleeves, showcasing powerful forearms, and the jeans he was wearing were sinful, absolutely molded to his legs and ass, letting everyone see how beautifully the man was built. I had a hard time looking away.

I realized I’d been checking him out, looking down his body, when I lifted my head and met his gaze. His grin was wicked and heated his eyes.

“Knock it off,” I warned him.

“I feel the same,” he said with a sigh, kissing over my jaw. “Maybe there won’t be enough chairs and you can sit in my lap.”

I cleared my throat. “First, don’t tease, and second, if you need to tell your father that all I am is your work partner, I understand. It’s brand-new with us, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or⁠—”

“I appreciate that,” he said fast, like he was glad that was settled, hitting the button on his smart key to lock the car before starting up the sidewalk.

When he tipped his head but didn’t reach for me, I felt cold all of a sudden. It was stupid to regret my words—offering was the right thing to do; he needed to see his father without any other pressure—and yet, I felt untethered.

The clothes that were not mine weren’t helping. His shirt, his pants, his underwear for heaven’s sake, his socks, and shoes. I was covered in the man and yet unclaimed.

At the gate, I was going to tell him to go on in, I’d follow in a moment, but so many people called out greetings to him, and I didn’t want to bolt and look weak, or worse, make him come after me. I was his partner, after all. I needed to always have his back.

He held the gate open for me, and when I went through, he was there, beside me, and his hand was in a familiar spot, the small of my back. I realized that was normal for us. He’d always guided me places, steered me, touched me constantly. I had to wonder if he knew.

I took the stairs quickly, and since I was in front, when I reached the screen door, I opened it and held it for him. Normally, he was a stickler about doors. He liked being the one to usher everyone through, including me. Mostly me.

“Thank you, sir.”

It was nothing, but still, I felt flushed with just that much of his attention. I was thrilled that there were people there to greet us, two of his uncles clasping his hand and pulling him in close for that familiar clench before it was my turn. One after another, around the room he went, talking to more of his cousins, everyone smiling at me, the older men taking my hand as well, the younger ones greeting me with a hug. We’d spent so many Sunday dinners together already, as well as Easter. If Lang showed up, I was in tow. I’d told him many times that it was fine, I could stay home, but always, he was insistent that I should be at his side.

Now, he made sure I was following him, and when I got caught up, talking to his cousin Derrick, whom I’d always liked—he worked for ATF, so we had a lot to talk about—Lang took hold of my bicep and tugged gently.

“I’ll be back,” I promised Derrick and got a smile in return.

“I told you he’s weird,” Lang said under his breath, leading me farther into the house.

“He’s really nice. We played darts downstairs two Sundays ago, don’t you remember?”

“Why would I not remember that?” he asked curtly.

I would have said something, asked what irked him, but he was about to see his father, whom he hadn’t seen since he was eight and Talia five, so I let it go.

“Finally,” I heard Talia gasp, and then she was there, arms around my neck.