“You want all of me?” My pulse accelerates, and my voice cracks on a fragile breath. “What does that mean?”
“Just when I think I can’t possibly want you more,” Trace says roughly, heatedly, “this hunger, this gut-deep need I feel for you consumes me until I can’t imagine a future without you in it.”
My mouth dries, and the room spins around me, tipping me off balance.
“I don’t understand. All this time…” I slide off his lap and back out of his hold on my neck. I don’t know what this is, but something’s off. “You said you wouldn’t fuck me. You didn’t want the mess. Why would you lie?” I shove my hair away from my face. “Why are you telling me this now?”
He bends forward, dropping his head, and bracing his forearms on his knees. “This isn’t about sex.”
“Really,” I drawl, incredulous.
“Okay, yes, sex is… I want to be inside you. Desperately.” His eyes burn into mine. “But that’s not all.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
“I need to know, Danni.” Scraping a hand through his hair, he releases a breath. “If Cole was in this room right now, where would I fall? Would you shove me aside to get to him?”
“What kind of question is that?” Blood pumps hard and fast through my veins. “You wouldn’t be here, because I would’ve never left him.”
“But he left you, and I am here. What if we were both here? Who would you choose?”
“That’s not fair!” A chill sweeps over me as I pace through the room and power off the sound system. “Way to buzz kill my libido, by the way. You’re like your own cockblock.”
“Answer the question.” His glare doesn’t waver.
“There is no answer. Because one, Cole’s dead. And two…he’s fucking dead. Why are we even talking about this?”
“Am I your second choice?” His tone is angry and confrontational, but the creases around his eyes and the uncertainty in those blue depths halt my feet.
Is the right cup full?
If Cole were here, there wouldn’t be a choice. He’s my forever.
Was.
He was my forever.
Empty the cup.
“You’re not a choice.” I take a step toward Trace, and another, softening my expression. “You’re my second chance.”
“Not good enough.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Too bad. I’m not making a choice that doesn’t exist.”
“It exists to me.” He stands and charges into the kitchen. “I won’t live in his shadow.”
“His shadow?” I chase after him, voice rising. “What are you talking about?”
He grabs a water bottle from fridge and shoves it into my hand. “You can’t love me, because you’re trapped in another life with another man.”
Love him? Why did he go there? Why now? And I am not trapped!
“That’s not true!” I scream, slamming the water down on the counter. “I lost someone I loved. I miss him desperately, but I’m moving on. I am!” My breaths wheeze as I fight to rein in my temper. “What do you want from me?”
He reaches toward my face and slips his fingers beneath the hair hanging near my eyes. Without touching my skin, he slowly, tenderly, slides the strands back to expose my distressed expression.
“I need to know if you’re mine or his.” He lowers his hand, scrutinizing every twitch on my face.
What have I done to make him so fixated on Cole? Is it the shrine of photos in my bedroom? The motorcycle in the dining room? The ring I only just took off this morning?
They’re keepsakes. Memories. Fundamental pieces of my life. I would never be with someone who asks me to give that up.
Except… If I turned the tables, if I walked into his penthouse filled with physical reminders of another woman, I wouldn’t like it. My heart sinks. I’d lose my fucking mind.
I uncap the water bottle and drink, calming my sprinting pulse. “What about the woman on your lap two nights ago?”
“What about her?” He steps out of the kitchen and pauses in the hallway with his back to me.
“Were you thinking about how you can’t possibly want me more while you fucked her?”
Silence vibrates from his rigid posture.
Why is he just standing there? He can turn left toward the bedrooms. Or he can walk his sexy ass through the dining room and out the front door. Instead, he pivots right and grips the one doorknob in the house that I avoid.
“What’s behind this door, Danni?” He twists the glass knob, unable to open it.
I try to keep my voice casual, but it scratches. “The basement.”
He lifts his hand and tests the padlock I installed two years ago. “Where’s the key?”
My stomach knots. I pass that door countless times every day. I don’t look at. Don’t think about it. I certainly don’t want to open it. Everything Cole left behind—his personal things, our wedding, the life we lost—is on the other side.
I retreat into the kitchen and chug the rest of the water.
“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly behind me.
Tremors grip my limbs, and my throat seals up. I feel myself crumbling, and I hate it.
Trace slides around me, and for a second, I think he might hug me. I hope, I want, I ache for his arms to hold me.
“I need to think.” His keys jingle as he removes them from his pocket.
He’s leaving.
“Don’t go.” I grit my teeth at the pleading sound of my voice.
“I’ll send my driver to pick you up for work.” His mask falls into place, vanishing all emotion into oblivion.
Turning, he calmly strides through the dance studio, toward the back door. Always walking away. Always so fucking remote.
Anger quivers through my body, curling my lip. “Are you sure you don’t want to look around some more? See if you can find a personality that doesn’t suck?”
His detached gaze connects with mine as he steps outside. I follow, flexing my hands with the need to strangle him. His direct eye contact only pisses me off more. He sees how upset I am, and he’s unmoved. Climbing into his car without a care in the world.
“Fine. Go.” I shove my hands on my hips. “I was saving myself anyway. For Mark the siding guy. Remember him? Turns out the foreveraloner has a foot-long boner. And he’s not afraid to use it!”
What a childish thing to say. But the fury reddening Trace’s face? Worth it!
He slams the door, throws the car in reverse, and burns rubber out of the neighborhood.
Choking on fumes of frustration, I trudge back inside and stand before the mirrors. What does he see when he looks at me? A defeated, trapped, eternally grief-stricken woman?
Blonde hair hangs in waves around my face and down my chest. My cheeks glow with a pink flush, my lips swollen and parted. And my gray eyes are bright, unblinking, and full of yearning.
I look like I’m in love.
Because I am.
I’m in love with Trace Savoy.
“You get off on your own pain, don’t you?” I ask my reflection. “Love could bring you more agony. Are you willing to risk that again?”
The woman in the mirror doesn’t have the answers, but as my temper cools, it becomes easier to break down my confrontation with Trace. For the next couple of hours, I lie on my bed with a framed photo of Cole and me in front of a Christmas tree. Our first and only Christmas together.
He was in and out of my life in ten months. An infinitesimal amount of time for such a lasting impact. His love branded me, left its mark beneath my skin, like swirling colors of ink. I don’t need pictures or an engagement ring to be reminded of the euphoria, the fuzzy whirling dream state that swallowed us in those ten months. I feel his absence in my blood, in my thoughts, every day.
Because love doesn’t end with death. It doesn’t shrivel and disintegrate with the ashes. It hovers, follows, haunts the living.
But after months of missteps and drunken pity parties, I learned how to cope with it. I learned how to breathe again. And in the past four months, I rediscovered my smile in a man who scowls through every emotion.
As much as I bitch about Trace being cryptic and impersonal, I’m magnetically drawn to his confidence, his strength. He challenges me, pushes me, and I need that. Because I’m not without shortcomings.
He wanted to see the basement. I should’ve showed it to him. Hell, I should’ve cleared out the space a long time ago. But he didn’t ask me to do that. He didn’t ask me to get rid of anything, not even the seven-hundred pounds of steel and chrome sitting in the dining room.
Cole might’ve been my favorite smile, but once I discovered the emotional depth in Trace’s scowl, I realized I love it more than any smile. Cole’s charming, animated personality won me over instantly. Contrarily, Trace’s strict, reserved nature makes me appreciate how deeply sensitive he is beneath the suit.
All Trace wanted was reassurance that my heart didn’t belong to another man, and I didn’t give him that. If anything, I reinforced his doubts.
I really fucked this up.
But I have a plan to unfucktify it, and by plan, I mean a slight chance of success based mainly on hope.
He wants all of me? That’s what I’ll give him—the honest, barefaced, take-a-leap-of-faith answer to his question. Because he was right. I have a choice to make. A decision between the past and the future.
I choose the future. I choose Trace. And tonight, I’m going to tell him I love him.
When his driver picks me up for my three o’clock shift, my stomach twists into knots. I recognize this feeling, this vulnerability. I’m opening myself up, letting Trace in. He could make me blissfully happy. Or he could crush me beneath his shiny shoe.
At the casino, I let the restaurant staff know that I’m leaving early tonight. In the four months I’ve worked here, I’ve never taken time off. But waiting until midnight to talk to Trace is out of the question.
For five hours, I dance on the stage, wrapped in the moving beam of light. Every table in the dining is filled, and the usual crowd gathers outside the glass walls. Some are just passing by and pause to watch me before meandering on. Others linger through several songs, their eyes fixated on the swing of my hips, hypnotized.
My dancing has a similar effect on Trace. He watches me every night, if only for a few minutes as he passes through the dining room or from afar when he makes his rounds on the casino floor. But I haven’t spotted him once tonight. Neither in the restaurant nor the gaming area. By the time eight o’clock rolls around, my mind is a spinning tunnel of doubt.
“She’s incredible,” a man says from one the tables as I slip off the stage. “Unbelievably beautiful.”
“I come here just to see her,” another man replies from across the aisle.
I slip by several more compliments and dodge two propositions on my way out. Down the hall, I duck into my dressing room and spend the next hour showering, spritzing, and primping. Then I step back from the full-length mirror and scrutinize the result.
A silver strapless dress hugs my body from chest to upper thighs. The color makes my gray eyes look metallic and glitters against the gold in my hair. Matching stilettos complete the outfit. No panties or bra—I’m optimistic like that.
Frosted lip gloss, cheek blush, and smoky eyeshadow defines my face, and my hair ripples in voluminous beach waves around my arms.
I look pretty hot, but not overly made up. I also look like I’m seconds from hurling, but I can live with the nerves. What I can’t live with is chickening out.
“Go get him, Danni.” I square my shoulders and head out onto the gaming floor.
A small wristlet holding my phone and cash swings from my hand as I walk from one end of the casino to the other. Trace has been missing all night, but the cameras in the ceiling remind me that he might be watching me on his laptop.
I add a sexy sway to my hips on my way to his private elevator. When I started working here, he gave me a passcode to access the offices on the 30th floor. I’ve never tried to enter his residence alone. I assume he’s in his office, but I push the button for the penthouse on impulse.
The 31 illuminates, and my breath catches. As the elevator begins its climb to the top floor, I consider pressing 30 and stopping by his office first. But curiosity holds me immobile.
Why is his penthouse unlocked? He’s either there or the passcode he gave me unlocks it. I’ve had that code for four months.
I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.
Excitement buzzes through my veins, eradicating any lingering nerves. I love this man and his perplexing, mysterious ways. I love him, and I can’t wait to tell him. And kiss him. And… Holy shit, I’m totally getting laid tonight.
When the elevator opens on the penthouse floor, my thighs clench, and my blood hums wildly. I step out and breeze past the kitchen, dining room, and living room, searching, craning my neck, and starting to sweat. There’s no sign of him, and the silence is unnerving.
I enter the hallway, and the end is illuminated by the light in his bedroom. Maybe he’s in the shower. Maybe he’s waiting for me in bed, naked, and fully erect.
Grinning like a fool, I quicken my gait. The click of my heels sound my approach, but that’s not the only thing I hear as I reach the open door.
Heavy breaths.
A low moan.
My heart freezes in my chest, and I stumble on the threshold.
The bed is perfectly made and vacant, but I know he’s in here, and he’s not alone.
Sharp pain ignites behind my eyes as I follow the panting sounds to the sitting area by the fireplace.
Bent over the arm of the couch is a woman with long dark hair, her face pressed against the cushion and her hips skyward, held in place by the man standing behind her.
The man I chose.
The one I love.
Agony stabs my chest, ripping the air from my lungs and shaking my knees violently. I grip the door jamb to keep myself upright, frozen in horror, nauseous beneath waves and waves of horrendous pain.
He’s arched over her, his chest covering her back and his trousers around his thighs. They’re angled toward the door, both wearing suits, with her skirt ruched to her waist. I can’t see his dick, but it’s clear he’s buried inside her. He’s not thrusting, not moving. Because he’s staring right at me.
I thought he was detached before…
It’s like I’m looking at someone else. There’s no expression on his face. Nothing. No scowl. No hint of lust. Just…emptiness.
How could he do this? Everything he said was lies. He’s just a player. A liar. And I fucking fell for it. Hard.
I cover my mouth as heaving breaths break free from my lungs.
The woman stirs, wriggling her hips against him as she lifts her head and brushes the hair from her face.
The flawless face of Marlo Vogt.
Her eyes find mine, and she gasps. Her complexion pales. She reaches back to shove at him, her other arm yanking her skirt down. Embarrassed.
Not as embarrassed as I am. My skin burns with humiliation, disgust, and anguish.
I hurt so badly blackness dots my vision and strangles my throat. My feet stumble backward, carrying me ungracefully into the hall, turning, and running toward the elevator.
I feel like my insides are tearing, separating, and bleeding out. Like I’m grieving.
Like the day that destroyed my world in the most irrevocable way.