Page 43 of Untethered Heart
I give in for just a moment pressing my lips to the corner of hers. It’s quick, barely there, but it’s still enough to make butterflies crowd my stomach.
“Time for sleep.” With my words, she winds her arms around my neck and locks her legs behind my back.
“Am I to carry you?” I chuckle.
“Why not? It’s my dream.” I hoist her higher against my body, settling my arms under her arse to walk us back into her bedroom.
“You think this is a dream, Siren?” Having her in my arms certainly is.
“If you’re here, then yes.” I press my lips against her forehead before placing her down on the bed.
I unbuckle her black heels, smiling at another nautical tattoo, a seashell beside her ankle bone. My girl really is a siren.
“Where does this devotion to the sea come from?” Her eyes are closed when I look up at her, unbuckling the next shoe while I wait for her answer.
“From my dad.”
Her words are wistful, with a sad sort of admiration. I recall the first time I spoke with her brother. He mentioned taking over their tavern when their father passed away. My mind flashes again when I think of the photo I caught in the background of Dylan Morgan’s office. There was a redhead that had made my thoughts cast to Lex. It was her all along. The trident tattoo on his arm reminded me of the one on Lex’s shoulder.
“Does your brother like it too?” I ask. “You both have a trident tattoo.”
Her lips pull into an easy smile. “Killara Bay is a beach town. You have to love the sea to live there, it’s in the bylaws.” I chuckle at her playful tone. “The Morgans are all early risers. Dylan loves to surf, Dad loved to swim.”
She trails off as if stuck on the last thought. Memories of her dad. I don’t want to see her upset. I don’t like it.
“Let’s get you into bed.” I tap my hand gently against her thigh, urging her to move up the bed.
I pull the sheets back so she can crawl in, which she does with the grace of a baby deer. She collapses against the mattress, then twists to her back, burying her face under the blankets. Her grey eyes peer over the top as she mumbles into the sheets.
“What was that?” I ask, running my fingers through her long hair, brushing the strands away from her face. There’s a scrunchie on her bedside table, so I reach over and pop it on my wrist.
I pull Lex back up so I can gather her hair, scooping the tresses up. I twist and wrap it around itself before pulling the scrunchie into place. Her face looks so different when her hair is pulled back.
“It doesn’t smell like you anymore.” Her grey eyes peer up at me, still a little unfocused. Unsteady. “My sheets,” she whispers.
The pride that swells in my chest is like a dopamine hit. Imagining her curled up in bed, searching for the way my presence lingered in her space, makes me want to leave more pieces of myself behind for her. Mark my scent like a claiming beast.
I pull at the deep crimson tie around my neck, looping it over my head, and start unbuttoning my shirt. Lex watches my movements with slow blinking eyes as if the act is hypnotising. It feels nice to be on the other side of that feeling. Truth be told, I’m still just as enraptured by her even as she sits here, silent and calm.
I peel the shirt down my arms, then bring it around her back. Her dutiful gaze never leaves my face as I guide her arms into the sleeves one by one. Buttoning her into my shirt leaves me with a new and unexpected sense of possession.
With herculean strength, I manage to step back from her, encouraging her to snuggle back down into her bed. My lips stretch into a smile as I watch her burrow her face into the neck of my shirt.
“Better?”
She says nothing, just looks up at me with innocent eyes and a nod so small I would have missed it if I weren’t watching her so obsessively.
I tiptoe back into her bathroom and refill the glass with water. Bringing it back to her, I place it on the bedside table. Little silver rings are scattered on the surface in front of a photo frame. In the picture, Lex’s cheeks are full and rosy from the giant grin on her face as she holds an equally happy Claire to her, their cheeks pressed against one another. Her red hair looks long and wild. There’s a crowd of people behind them. It looks as though they were at some sort of festival.
The frame tucked behind it shows an older man with dark blond hair and familiar grey eyes. He’s sitting in a deck chair on the sand, squinting one eye with a crooked smile aimed at whoever was taking the photo. I pick up the frame for a closerlook. There’s a little girl sitting in the sand beside the older man. She wears a frilly red bathing suit and looks with wonder into a bucket full of shells. The same dark blonde hair as the man is fixed into two little buns on her head. I’m not good at guessing kids’ ages, but she looks to be around seven or eight years old.
A tingling sensation echoes from my heart to the tips of my fingers as I study the photo of a young Lex. It makes me think of moments with my own parents and siblings. Of future moments I might have with my own children. Will they be filled with chaotic, loud and loving family dinners and backyard games, just like my childhood? Will they be full of trips to the beach, collecting shells and building sandcastles?
I smile and put the frame back in place. When I look over to Lex again, her eyes are closed, face buried into the collar of my shirt. I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her as my weight sinks into the mattress, and I brush rogue strands of red off her forehead. Her face shifts into my hand, and I can feel her lips as they rest against my palm, burning me like a brand.
Just like the first time I was in this room, I’m finding it hard to leave. My body is begging me to stay, fighting the distance we’ve both placed between us.
I know I want more from her. She’s not just a hookup or my client. My heart sneers at the insulting way those words try to box her in.
