Page 46 of The Contractor's Rose
Then I ran into Teagan.
She’d stepped out of the hallway like a ghost, shoulder-checking me before I even realized who it was. My daughter. Prowling a bar two towns over, wearing leather and clearly sporting a large dose of attitude.
“Teagan?”
She stopped mid-stride and looked up. That same twist of her mouth. Her mother’s chin. My eyes.
“Dad,” she said flatly.
“Haven’t seen you at the house in a few days. What are you up to tonight?”
She shrugged, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “What, do I need to check in with you now?”
Her tone was sharp. Not new—but it still cut. “I just didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all.”
She let out a humorless breath. “Well. Surprise.”
“Teagan—” I reached out gently, just a hand to her arm, but she stepped back like I’d burned her.
“Don’t,” she said. “Not tonight.”
And then she was gone—vanishing back into the crowd before I could say anything else. I was left with nothing but that same cold distance that had stretched between us for too long now.
Now I stood at the edge of the booth where Rose’s father sat nursing the same beer he’d had for half an hour. I cleared my throat and ran a hand through my hair as I approached.
“Harry,” I said, keeping my tone steady, “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
He looked up at me with a little surprise. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Just been a long day. We’ve made some good progress. I’ll take care of the check.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll follow up on Monday with what the budget and timeline might look like.”
Harry stood and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Appreciate your time tonight, Gavin. Hell of a place for business.”
I gave him a half-smile. “Yeah, well. The beer isn’t half bad.”
We shook hands and he disappeared into the crowd, completely unaware that the man he’d just been doingbusiness with had his hands on his daughter’s bare skin just a few minutes ago.
I dropped back into the booth, exhaling through my nose and pressing my fingers to my temples. The remnants of our beer pitcher sat untouched.
I pulled out my phone and thumbed open our thread. My thumb hovered over the screen for a second before I typed.
ME
You’re not wearing underwear, and all I can think about is dragging that dress up around your hips the second I get you alone.
Tell Elodie goodnight, sweetheart. I’m ready to take you home.
I hit send and leaned back, my fingers drumming against the table. Waiting. Wanting. Wondering if I could keep my hands off her long enough to get her to the damn truck.
My phone lit up on the table beside me, screen glowing with one perfectly chosen emoji.
ROSE
I dragged my thumb across the screen, smiling like a goddamn teenager. No words. Just that little red bloom. Bold. Sweet. She was a fucking weapon in the wrong hands—and in mine? She was lethal.
