Page 50 of Claiming Pretty

Then reality slammed back into me.

I shoved him hard, staggering him back just enough to dart for the nearest weapon—a wooden spoon. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

I pointed it at him like a sword, glaring. “Do that again, and I swear I’ll shove you off the balcony.”

For a moment, I thought the threat might actually land.

To my surprise, Ty didn’t step closer. Instead, he turned and walked to the open balcony door, letting the soft evening breeze tousle his hair.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, spoon still raised.

He leaned out, glancing down.

“Checking to see how far I’d fall.” He pulled his headback inside. His strides were fast, deliberate, as he closed the distance between us again. “I’d probably die. But…”

Before I could react, he snatched the wooden spoon from my grip and tossed it across the room. “Worth it.”

His hands seized my head, fingers tangling in my hair as his lips crashed into mine again.

This kiss wasn’t soft—it was demanding, insistent, full of heat and illicit need.

His tongue pushed into my mouth, and his hands anchored me, pulling me closer as though he couldn’t stand the idea of space between us.

His determination, his cold fury, it shattered my resolve, all my thoughts.

And this time, fighting him felt like the furthest thing from my mind.

The front door handle jangled, breaking the spell. Ty whipped his head around, his predatory focus shifting to the noise.

I slipped away from him, breaking free and rubbing my mouth with the back of my hand just as the door swung open and Ciaran stepped in.

AVA

Ciaran, dressed in a navy IT guy’s uniform, closed the door behind him and paused. His sharp eyes flicked between me and Ty, lingering just a moment too long. Suspicion darkened his features, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle.

“What’s this doing here?” Ciaran asked, snatching something off the floor and holding it up.

The wooden spoon.

Fuck.

A wave of guilt and shame crashed over me, sharp and unforgiving. That stupid, innocuous piece of kitchenware had become the symbol of something I couldn’t take back—our forbidden kiss.

I hadn’t started it.

But I hadwantedit. I’d beenaboutto kiss Ty back, caught in the moment, before Ciaran had interrupted us.

The air in the room grew heavier, thick with unspoken tension. Ciaran’s gaze lingered on me, unreadable, and mystomach churned as the silence stretched taut, threatening to snap.

I crossed the kitchen quickly, a bright, forced smile on my lips as I snatched the wooden spoon out of his hand and wrapped my arms around him.

“Scáth. Hi,” I said, my voice a little too breathy, too eager.

His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, his fingers threading possessively into my hair. His lips crashed into mine, the kiss deliberate and claiming.

The force of it stole my breath, and I melted against him, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with passion and everything to do with fear.

Fear that this display—this obvious declaration—would hurt Ty.

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