Page 22 of Untethered Heart
“Thanks for the ride. I’m gonna make myself scarce.” Claire escapes with a lingering look at Lex, and then the door closes, leaving the two of us standing in silence. I can hear the crash of waves in the near distance and smell salt in the air.
“You’re pretty close to the beach here,” I say as I take a seat on one of the rocking chairs on the front porch. She keeps her distance, leaning back on the railing.
“Yeah, it’s just down the alleyway over there.” She points with her chin to an opening to my right between her house and the next one.
“Do you use it often?”
“Yep. Every morning.”
I smile, learning something new about her. It’s not within my framework to learn more about the women I sleep with. They’re not often around long enough to talk. I get in and get out, literally. But I like learning about Lex. I want to know more. I want to know everything.
“So, Caleb Heart,” she muses.
I hold my breath as I prepare for how this might go. If women know who I am when they meet me, they’re all over me. If they don’t already know, once they figure out I’m worth billions, they’re very quick to change their tune. I don’t know why my last name and bank account should matter, but one mistake from my past proved that they do. My heart actually hurts contemplating the idea that Lex might turn into the latter. I really want to be proved wrong.
“Am I right to assume you’re related to the Hearts that built Heart City?”
“Hazel Heart is my grandmother,” I confirm.
“And The Wayside is your brother’s bar?” She plays with a string from her frayed denim skirt, wrapping and unwrapping the length around her finger.
She seems distant. Normally, women start complimenting me by now. They get overly touchy, rave about how successful I am. But Lex isn’t doing any of that. If anything, she’s pulling back, and my immediate response is to pull her in closer, back to me.
“It is,” I say, confused.
She laughs, but it’s not real. It’s forced and awkward. “Mm. Well, thanks again for helping us tonight.”
Wait, what? This is taking a turn I wasn’t expecting. I rush to her side as she makes her way to the front door, stopping her hand before it lands on the handle.
“Hey,” I say gently, turning her to face me, but her gaze is fixed on the ground. She’s spent more time looking at her feet than at my face ever since Claire mentioned my last name.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head, wearing a pacified smile that doesn’t touch her pretty silver eyes. I catch her chin with a finger, halting her from avoiding my gaze once again.
“It’s been fun. Nice, really.” She says the words, but I can feel the way she doesn’t want to own them. I just can’t figure out why she’s saying them. Maybe she does know more about me than I realised. She’s at least figured out some pieces on the drive over here. Perhaps she doesn’t like those pieces. Oh shit, maybe she’s heard about my reputation with women. But she’s not anything like them. She’s different.
“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” I say, pushing my sincerity into the words. “I’d like—”
“Me too.” She laughs, but it’s coated in defeat. “Lots of fun. You’re good at fun.”
I’d find her rambling cute if it weren’t for all this fuckingfuntalk. I don’t want to be fun. I mean, I do with her, but not in the way she’s saying.
This is going disastrously. I feel dizzy as I’m thrown between the words she says and the way she says them versus the way her body reacts to me. I let her go when she pulls away this time, gently twisting the door handle, one foot inside when she turns back to me.
“It was really nice to meet you, Caleb.”
It’s a goodbye I don’t want to hear and one I know in my soul she doesn’t mean. I’ve never been on this end of things. What do I do? I’m utterly dazed as my feet drag me back to my car and my heart riots within my chest.
“Yeah. It was nice to meet you, too,” I say as the door slowly closes, her eyes hooked on mine until the last possible second, leaving my whispered “Siren” dancing unheard in the wind.
Chapter fourteen
“Could you please explain to our airheaded brother that equal partners means he doesn’t get to boss me around and call all the shots?” Beth says to me from across the dining table.
“I’m not trying to call all the shots. I’m merely explaining that what you see in your head isn’t always possible.”
It’s not unusual for Sunday night dinners at my grandparents’ to be filled with sibling banter, particularly between the youngest two. I watch as Mase scoops more peas than necessary onto his plate, wayward vegetables rolling around the table as he continues to pile them on. Gage swiftly snatches the spoon from him with a scowl, dishes himself a reasonable serving, then moves the bowl out of Mason’s reach.
