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“You what? I begged?”
She nods, enjoying me looking like someone smacked the shit out of me. “And I said we’d recently had a fight because you wanted to continue hiding our relationship from the family. I said honesty was always best.”
She smiles like an angel instead of the devil I know she is.
“I said I’d asked you repeatedly to tell the truth and let me meet them, but you said no every time. Almost like…you were ashamed to have fallen for me.”
Tempest bites her lower lip like she’s truly upset about a situation that never happened.
My eyes widen. “That’s playing dirty.”
“Deliciously so.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
She shrugs.
I look around. “Was my mother here, too?”
“She was.”
Something about her tone pulls my attention back. “And?”
“She went to the store to buy the ingredients to make my favorite dish for tonight’s dinner.”
“What dinner?”
“The one I’ll be having at my future in-laws house.”
“Tempest, that’s not fucking funny. At all.”
“Right? That’s how one little lie can morph into something you can’t control.”
“I can control it because I will fix this.”
“No need to.” She steps closer and pats my chest. “Even with all the issues between our families, your grandmother was excited to hear that I’d love to have a whole lot of children with you. She longs for grandchildren.”
I can’t even think straight enough to give her a comeback to that because her palm is resting against my T-shirt and the warmth of it seeps through to my skin. How is it that this woman scrambles my thoughts like an egg? Why is it that because she’s touching me, I can’t look away from her lips?
She pushes them into a pout. “What’s on your mind, boyfriend?”
That word snaps me out of it and I step back. “I’m not anyone’s boyfriend. Especially yours.”
She clutches her chest dramatically, her lips quivering. “Are you…are you breaking up with me? Ohmygod….I need a tissue.”
“Dammit, Tempest, stop fucking with me.”
Her expression turns funny when I say that and her face reddens. She clears her throat. “Because of your grandmother’s health, regardless of whether or not you want to break up with me—”
“We aren’t dating!”
“I’m still going to your parents’ house for dinner,” she says without acknowledging my frustration.
It’s kind of funny but also not. By lying, I tied myself into a pretzel without thinking about potential consequences. “Why do you want to do that?”
“One, because I’ve heard your mom is a phenomenal cook. Two because it’ll give me something to do. Three because it drives you nuts, which is the best part.” She smiles tauntingly and motions me away. “Now step aside. I’ve got to get some things done before the dinner.”
I’m still wrestling with a cyclone of irritation mixed with admiration for her cunning when I notice she’s halfway up the ladder cleaning a large drop-down light fixture.
