Page 41 of Fake Wife

Her lips press into a circle. Lush, pink lips. God. I need to get laid. Yanking my dick every morning isn’t doing anything to erase the lust that hits me every time we’re so close. “And the bad news?”

Specifically, Trey’s words were,“She’s fucking gorgeous and a smartass. You don’t want her for real, I’ll take my shot at her.”

Trey and I have come to blows dozens of times over the years, all over stupid shit. As soon as he said that, I’ve never wanted to punch him more. And then kick him when he was down.

Until this moment, I didn’t realize why. But it’s the same as last night, this unexplainable jealousy that makes me need to go to the gym and kick someone’s ass at the mere thought of someone else touching Teagan.

I’d growled a string of expletives over the phone, and Trey responded by laughing, saying, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” before hanging up.

I’m not telling Teagan a lick of it. I grin, gently guiding her toward the kitchen and out of the entryway. “There is no bad news.”

“Okay. Well, good, because I thought you’d be upset.”

“There was no point in trying to hide it from them. My friends are my life, the only people I have left who give a shit.” Fuck. I press my fingers to my eyes, squeezing them closed to release the tension. Cannon Bluffs had been too quiet this morning, too devoid of Eleanor’s praise and company while I worked in the pole barn. Every time I looked up expecting to see her sitting in a chair I’d made for her, empty, no hint of her hot tea or anything that was Grandma around, the pain hit me fast and hard.

“Corbin.”

Teagan’s voice is soft and I open my eyes. She’s closer now. Too close. There’s too much in me needing to be released, or pushed down into a black hole. I step back, putting space I don’t want between us.

“It’s fine.” I wave my hand and turn around, grabbing bottled water from the fridge. Her worried expression is as obvious as the water in my hand is cold. “I’m fine, Teagan. Honest. It just hits me sometimes harder than others, and when I’m at Eleanor’s sometimes it hits a little harder.”

“What were you doing out there, anyway?”

“Ah.” I scrub the back of my neck. Few people know. There’s only about four, now three people, I trust, and it’s not only a pride thing, it’s also out of caution. Dad would be pissed, not that I care about him or his opinions, but if he knew what I was doing, he’d find a way to shut it down. I don’twantthis business to expand, I need it. It fuels something hot in me, ignites me in a way that punching keys on a computer at work and drafting business plans will never do. “Working.”

“And you didn’t go to the office?”

“It’s not that kind of work.”

Teagan’s brows arch, a questioning look on her face, and when I think she’s going to ask, she instead moves to the refrigerator and begins digging through it, pulling out a bowl of carrots and freshly chopped broccoli.

Every one of her movements startles me. I’m used to everyone poking and prodding into my life like I’m not owed privacy simply because I was born into a wealthy, prominent family.

Teagan has a tendency to do the opposite.

Ironic. All the women in my life who try to find out everything they can about me, and the one I actually want doesn’t really give a shit.

“You’re not going to ask?”

She chomps off a chunk of broccoli. “Not my business.”

Her indifference annoys me. It simply won’t do. We were supposed to spend this weekend ironing out wedding details, lunching with my mom, and getting a ring for her. Is she really in this only for the money? Can’t blame her. She has lofty goals and dreams. But fuck if I’m not tired of people only wanting to be around me for money. Other than Caitlin and Trey, there’s no one to trust.

“We’re going to be married, Teagan. Don’t you think itisyour business to know what your future husband is doing, and where he is?”

She has a small carrot halfway to her mouth and freezes, looking up at me through her lashes at my words.

“We’re…we’re not…it’s different for us.”

“Is it?”

A blush heats her cheek, turns brighter than the peach-colored top she has on. And when she bends over, I see a hint of a matching colored bra.

Fucking hell. I want to tear her clothes off, throw her on the counter, and fuck her until she’s screaming her head off, and she’s casually chomping on fresh veggies.

Christ.

“Teagan,” I say, my voice commanding. “Are you telling me you don’t care what I do? Where I go? Who I’m with?”

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