Fearless The King Series Book One - By Tawdra Kandle Page 0,33
dropped his head and chuckled again. “You. That you exist. That I found you. That I…” He raised his head again to look at me, but this time the laughter was gone. “That you let me kiss you. That you trust me.”
I had no words to reply, and the feelings rolling off him were too strong for me to comprehend at the moment. He sat up slowly, his gaze never leaving my face.
“Are you still listening to me? You know, like, listening, listening?”
“I’m… not getting precise words from you. Not complete thoughts, because I’m tuning into what you’re saying verbally. That’s normal. But I’m still getting waves from you.”
“Waves?”
“Yeah, even if I’m doing a good job of blocking actual thoughts, sometimes I still get these waves of feelings from people. Especially if they’re particularly strong feelings.”
He smiled broadly. “And what kinds of waves are you getting from me right now?”
I giggled. “Are you sure you want me to tell you?”
“No, on second thought, there are some things better left unsaid, right?” He stood up then and stretched. The sun was sinking ever lower behind us, and the puffs of breeze actually carried some chill. “Come on. I’d better get you home before the gators come out for their night time feed.” At my expression of abject terror, he laughed again. “Kidding, just kidding.”
He pulled me to my feet then, squeezing my hand as he gazed down at me. Hands still linked, we set out for home.
As we drove toward my house, Michael glanced at me with a twinkle in his eye.
“So,” he announced, “I just remembered that I actually do have some more questions for you.”
I might have been worried if I didn’t hear the direction of his thoughts. I looked at him expectantly. “Okay, shoot.”
“Do you always go by Tasmyn, or does anyone use a nickname?”
I laughed. “I can’t believe that’s what you want to know. Okay, well, most people just call me Tasmyn, but my parents call me Tas sometimes. I answer to either one.”
He nodded seriously. “Good to know. And by the way, you didn’t ask, but I only answer to Michael. My parents named me after an archangel, and they felt it was only right that I use the whole name all the time.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So no Mike or Mikey or Mick?”
He shook his head. “Never. You said you moved around a lot. Where have you lived?”
I cast my eyes upward thinking of the list. “Hmm… well, you know about Wisconsin… going backwards before that it was Texas, Massachusetts, California, Missouri, Texas again, Delaware, Washington State, Minnesota, Virginia…”
“Wow,” he whistled. “How come you’ve moved so much? Is your family military?”
“No, but my mom says we might as well be, with as much as we relocate. My dad is an engineering troubleshooter, and he works for a company with lots of different holdings, all over the country. They send him to a new location every time one of the plants is having a problem, or if they’re getting ready to update systems, stuff like that. It works out to be every two years or so, but sometimes less, sometimes more, depending on the work needed.”
“Huh.” Michael looked impressed, I thought. “That makes it tough on you and your mom.”
“I guess, sometimes. My mom is a freelance artist, so her work can be done wherever we live. And I just kind of go where they tell me we’re going.”
“Still.” Michael shook his head again. “Sometimes I wish I could get away from central Florida, but I like knowing where my home is, having those roots.” He reached over to take my hand and squeeze it gently. A steady warmth flowed into me.
I was still glowing when we pulled up to my house. I turned to Michael. “Would it be asking too much for you to come inside and meet my parents? Do you have time?”
Michael pulled up on the brake and turned off the car. “Absolutely. I would love to meet them. And I think it’s a good idea. I want them to trust me and feel comfortable when you’re with me.”
I led the way through the dwindling light to the front door and went inside. I could smell my mother’s spaghetti sauce from the kitchen.
“Mom!” I called.
“In here,” she answered, her voice coming from the back of the house.
Michael followed me into the kitchen. My mother was at the sink, rinsing a pot, and she looked up when we entered.