“If? If I am your man? You are not certain yet?”
She bit her lip. Whoops. That wasn’t well thought out, not when he was the possessive type. “It’s all new,” she defended.
“New or not, you should be certain.”
“I need to call my grandmother.” Avoidance was the only real savior and she grasped at it immediately.
“So call.”
Yep. Still not happy with her. She pulled out her cell phone, happy for international calling. She couldn’t wait to call her grandmother. She needed to hear her voice. Already, she felt the eager anticipation she always got when she had been away from her grandmother for too long.
Andre didn’t let her go. If anything, his arms tightened, holding her to him while the phone rang.
“Teagan?”
There it was. Her grandmother’s voice. Her throat closed for a moment. She loved her so much. “Grandma Trixie? How are you? I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, girl. I wish you were home. Your sisters come round every day getting into my business. Sometimes all of them. Whispering. Staring at me. They think I’m totally batty.”
“You aren’t, Grandma Trixie. I know you aren’t. I’ll be home in three weeks or so. I want to take in as much as I can. And . . .” She took a breath. “I’ve met someone.”
There was a long silence. “Someone? As in a man?”
Andre’s hands tightened around her belly, pulling her closer into him. There wasn’t any room left, any place to go with the exception of his skin. She could just melt there and become part of him.
“Yes. A man. His name is Andre Boroi. He’s amazing. He’s going to come home with me so you can meet him.”
Again there was silence.
“Grandma?”
“This isn’t like you, Teagan. How did you meet him?”
“Remember Armend? He turned out to be not so nice. In fact it appears he’s kind of . . . um . . . a serial killer,” she said it fast. Really fast. Hoping her grandmother really didn’t notice. “Andre sort of rescued me.”
“A serial killer?”
Her grandmother screeched the words at the top of her lungs. Teagan held the phone away from her ear. Her hearing was acute enough as it was. There was no turning down the volume fast enough.
“You went into the mountains with a serial killer?” Grandma Trixie demanded.
“Well. Yes. But this time it wasn’t my fault,” she assured.
This time? Andre asked.
She tipped her head to scowl at him, hoping that would serve to shush him.
Grandma Trixie sighed. “Teagan, it’s never your fault, but you always get into trouble and still, you insist on traveling all over the world where I can’t get to you when you’re in trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble,” she denied. “I don’t get in trouble and if I do, I always get myself out.”
Clearly you do get into trouble, Andre observed. I should have been told about this or looked closer into your memories.
She glared at him. Her most fierce, practiced glare. Andre didn’t appear impressed.
Stay out of my memories and stop listening in on my conversation with my grandmother. I mean it, Andre. She hissed the order into his mind, using her famous “tone,” the one that sent her brothers-in-law scurrying to the other room to avoid any confrontation with her. She had a very carefully cultivated reputation of being the best at verbal battle.
He didn’t appear intimidated or impressed. She could have sworn his lips twitched, and for one moment amusement dared to light his eyes.