The cold wind whips through my hair and stings my cheeks as Cole zooms out of the neighborhood. He takes a corner, and I lean with him, plastered to his back and relishing the feel of gravity pressing the motorcycle toward the ground. There’s nothing in the world like the feeling of being wrapped up in Cole and putting my life in his very capable hands.
I’ve never been nervous or frightened riding on his bike. He’s proven his ability to maneuver through the physics of friction. And my God, he looks so damn sexy with all that raw power between his legs.
The way his strong fingers make quick twists of the throttle, the constriction of his muscles as he leans heavily into turns, and the heat of his body snug against mine on a cold day—it reminds me what it felt like to ride him.
As he shifts gears, the purr of the engine revs my excitement and fuels my senses. From the vivid green landscaping and the blinding blue sky to the architecture of old homes and the oily asphalt, the view from the bike gives me a renewed appreciation of the world around me.
It also puts me more in tune with him. I feel every twitch in his body, the tempo of his breaths, and play of his sculpted abs against my palms. I probably shouldn’t have slipped my hands beneath his jacket. But it feels so natural, so right, being with him in his element, on a bike, taking risks.
The smell of fresh bread tickles my nose as we approach Miller’s bakery. Can there be anything better? Only perhaps the scent of Cole’s skin after he’s made love to me for hours. But for now, I’m content with the bakery, and he seems to agree as he pulls into the parking lot.
We’re in a quiet area on the edge of downtown. Lots of old brick buildings and cobble sidewalks. I love this part of St. Louis, with its thriving population of family-owned businesses and diverse cultures.
He parks the bike and shuts off the engine, twisting at the waist to meet my eyes. “Sandwiches sound good?”
“Perfect. I haven’t eaten here since…”
“Since I brought you that day?”
I nod, smiling. “It was pouring down rain.”
“You were trembling and soaked and so fucking beautiful.”
I slide off the seat, ducking my head as a flush heats my cheeks.
He stores our helmets and laces his fingers through mine, leading me toward the entrance. Until something catches my attention at the far end of the parking lot.
“Wait.” I dig my boots in.
A young couple huddles around a small child, holding a cardboard sign. I can’t read the scrawled words from here, but I know the look—the defeated postures, dirty hair and clothes, overall desperation radiating from them.
I let go of Cole’s hand and jog toward them, with the sound of his footfalls trailing behind me.
When I reach the family, my heart sinks. The child—a girl around Angel’s age of four—holds a scroungy little dog against her chest. The sign in the man’s hand is the usual Will work for food, and the woman’s blank stare and deep frown suggests she’s given up on life.
“Hi there.” I hold out a hand to the woman. “I’m Danni, and this is Cole.”
Cole offers them a smile and a chin lift.
“Oh, um… I’m Holly.” She shakes my hand and tries to smile back, but it strains her face. “This is my husband, Frank, and our daughter, Aubrey.”
“That’s an adorable dog, Aubrey.” I crouch before her. “Do you like sandwiches?”
She nods, her gaze wary, skittish.
“We’re headed into the bakery.” Cole hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “You want to join us? My treat.”
They accept with enthusiastic nods, and I give Cole my biggest, most grateful grin.
Later, after our bellies are full, the little girl steps outside the bakery to untie the dog and walk along a grassy area.
I lean across the table and eye her parents. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
Frank explains their circumstances, a story I’ve heard countless times. He and his wife lost their jobs in California. Then they lost their house and everything they own. They came to the Midwest for the lower cost-of-living and had to sell their car along the way to feed themselves and put a roof over their heads. They’ve been staying in a motel and were forced to check out this morning. They’re out of money with no hope in sight.
“There’s a homeless shelter about ten minutes from here.” I soften my tone. “I can—”
“We appreciate your help. We really do.” Holly’s chin trembles as she gazes out the window at her daughter and the tiny mutt. “But that dog is all she has left. Homeless shelters don’t take pets—”
“This one does.” I grip her hand on the table between us. “It has private rooms for families, healthy food, and fantastic programs to help you find jobs and get on your feet again. I’m actually on my way there now.”
Cole arches a brow at me, his eyes asking, This is what you’ve been up to?
“It’s called Gateway Shelter,” I say to her and nod my head at Cole. “Cole’s never seen it, and I’m taking him there to show it off, because it’s such a great place.”
“Are you sure about the dog?” Her voice scratches with disbelief. “I’ve never heard of shelters allowing pets.”
It’s true. Most don’t because of the hassle and cost. As a result, many people—women specifically—tolerate abuse just so their cats or dogs will have a home. I come across homeless families all the time, just like this one, who refuse to seek shelter because their companion animals aren’t welcome.
A while back, I put a bug in Father Rick’s ear—the manager at Gateway—about modifying the no pet rule. Unsurprisingly, during the latest round of renovations, he made changes that would accommodate dogs and cats.
“I promise.” I squeeze her hand. “Your dog is welcome.”
Holly and Frank share a look, and their eyes take on a bright shiny glimmer.
“We’d love to check it out,” Frank says. “It’s ten minutes away?”
“A ten-minute drive.” I glance out the window, squinting at the motorcycle. I’ll have to call a cab.
“Give me a minute.” Cole steps outside and puts his phone to his ear.
“He’s really handsome.” Holly blushes, tucking a strand of short auburn hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “He really is.”
Frank, who isn’t hard on the eyes either, shakes his head.
When Cole strides back into the bakery, he pockets his phone and meets my eyes. “Trace is sending his driver. The car will be here in a few minutes.”
He called Trace? That’s so…expected. My chest feels like it’s filled with sunshine and dimples, and I have the sudden urge to dance. Like jump up on the table and shake everything I have. But I refrain myself, settling on a smile.
“Thank you.” I reach out and grip his hand.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the shelter. Father Rick welcomes the family with open arms and gives them a tour. Cole and I tag along, so he can see the scope of the renovations that have been ongoing for the last six months.
“Danni and her fiancé funded all of the expansion.” Rick beams as he guides us through one of the new shower rooms.
He shifts his eyes to Cole, and his smile slips. Cole stands behind me, his jealousy blatant in the glower lining his face. I elbow him in the ribs, and he grunts. Then he wipes a hand over his mouth and grins down at me.
Rick regards us suspiciously. What must he be thinking? He attended my engagement party with Trace, and now I’m here without a ring, flirting with another man. I need to clear things up before we leave.
Continuing the walk-through, Rick shows off the remodeled kitchen, massive pantry, private rooms for families, and finally the dining area, where everyone congregates.
No one hangs out during the day, since they’re expected to be out and about looking for jobs.
“The doors will open in…” Rick glances at his watch. “About thirty minutes, and it’ll be a mad rush to feed everyone and get them settled in for the night.” He turns to me. “Are you sticking around for a while?”
“Yep.” I walk toward the little girl and her dog and bend down. “Do you like to dance?”
A smile struggles on her lips and flickers in her green eyes. “Yes.”
“Wonderful.” Rick claps his hands together and motions at her parents. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Susie. She’s our job consultant. Then we’ll get you set up in one of the private rooms.”
They exit the dining hall, leaving Cole and I alone, grinning at each other.
“Did Trace give you hell when you asked for his car?”
“Nope. He was absolutely relieved to hear the sound of my voice.”
My eyes bulge. “Really?”
“No.” He grimaces.
“I hate that you two had a falling out because of me.”
“You’re worth it. He and I at least agree on that.” He looks around the large room. “When did you start volunteering here?”
“When you died.” My tone sounds more acidic than I intended.
I play it off and move to the table at the far wall where I had a stereo system set up.
“Danni.” He touches my lower back, his expression broken.
“It’s okay, Cole.” I power on the speakers and brace my hands on the table. “I was depressed and didn’t know what to do with all that negative energy. This place gave me purpose. I started volunteering in the kitchen. Then I got a wild hair up my ass to shake things up.”
“You dance here.” He takes in the small dance floor and music equipment.
“Line dancing.” I lift a shoulder. “I like giving sad people a reason to smile.”
“You’re pretty fucking amazing, you know that?” He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my fingers. “Whenever I’m with you, I feel like I’m flying. But you also scare the crap out of me.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re the best of everything. Your soul is so pure I don’t want to darken it.”
“Cole—”
“Beauty and love and freedom… That’s you, all wrapped up in a tiny seductive package. Christ, I want to indulge in every inch, inside and out.” He turns my hand over and presses his mouth against the inside of my wrist. “You taste like life.”
I step into him, hugging his waist and resting my cheek on his chest. “I missed you, Cole. So much.”
“I feel you, baby.” He embraces me tightly, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
A throat clears near the entrance of the dining hall.
Rick crosses his arms and cocks his bald head, probably wondering why I’m all up against a man who isn’t Trace.
“I never told him about you,” I whisper. “It was just too…hard. But I should—”
“I’ll talk to him.” Cole untangles from me and strides toward Rick.
I don’t mean to stare, but that predatory swagger, those low-rise jeans, the hard flex of his backside… Sweet sassy molassy, I can’t peel my eyes away. My legs twitch to chase him. My fingers itch to do things to him. Naughty things that shouldn’t be done in public, with a priest watching, or anywhere at all. Because we’re just dating. Without sex.
A groan sticks in my throat, but my gaze remains stuck to Cole’s ass. It doesn’t hurt to imagine him naked, to fantasize about the hard swollen length of him springing free as I unzip those jeans. I ache to feel him between my legs again, pounding, stretching, throbbing—
My eyes collide with Father Rick’s narrowed stare, and I turn away.
God help me, my mind is a slut. A fuckhappy, back-door Betty on the horizontal. Easy like Sunday morning.
But I want to be easy with Cole.
And Trace.
It’s the worst idea ever. I’ve banged more than one guy within the span of a few days, but they were just flings. Sleeping with two men who hold my heart is a whole other level of free love. I’m not sure I have the emotional dexterity for it, so I need to just get it out of my sluttenous head.
I distract myself with the stereo system, setting up the line dance song I’ll play on repeat for the next couple hours. Then I wait.
Cole returns just as the doors open, and the hall clamors with the shuffle of disheveled, hungry bodies. The shelter sleeps two-hundred homeless now, and it still fills to max occupancy every night.
It takes an hour to get everyone checked in and guided through the food line. Cole and I assist where needed, but the volunteers have a well-oiled system in place.
“How did your conversation go with Rick?” I lean against the wall beside Cole in a vacant corner of the dining hall.
“I told him the truth about us. How we met. Our engagement. My deployment and disappearance.”
“Then you gave him the cover story?”
He nods. “It has to be this way, Danni.”
“I know.” I release a breath. “It’s fine.”
“For a priest, he sure is smitten with you.” He forehead wrinkles. “And Trace.”
“Rick is not smitten with Trace.” I laugh.
“He admitted it took a while, but he eventually warmed up to Trace. He said your other fiancé spends a lot of time and money here.” His mood sours. “The Trace I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.”
I think back to Trace’s conniption fit when I gave Rick that first ten-thousand-dollar check. “People change.”
His lips flatten.
“Don’t read anything into that, Cole.” I rest a hand against the zipper on his leather jacket. “I love you just the way you are.”
His mouth bends into something beautiful and gentle, and I know my words bring him relief because I feel his happiness deep in my bones.
“Are you ready?” I walk backward toward the speakers, swaying my hips to a soundless tune. “’Cause it’s about to go down.”
“Last time you said that, you straddled my lap on the bike and molested me.”
“Poor baby.” Grinning mischievously, I press play on the stereo and flick my wrist above my head to the mellow, catchy beat of Uptown Funk.
I choreographed an easy-to-learn line dance to this song, using a variation of the electric slide, with fun booty shakes and sexy hip twists. The dance sequence is the tits, if I do say so myself, and Cole’s going to be my first victim.
I move into the taped-out section on the floor in the dining hall and raise my voice to the crowd of two hundred. “Hi, I’m Danni. When you’re finished eating, come on over. I’ll teach you the steps.”
Then I turn to Cole and crook my finger.
He shakes his head, less in defiance and more because he thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But he’s already on his way over here to be crazy with me.
Shrugging off his jacket, he tosses it next to mine and rolls his neck. Someone catcalls from the crowd, and I laugh because that was definitely a man’s whistle.
“I think you have an admirer.” I wink at Cole.
“We already exchanged numbers.” He prowls around me, wearing a straight expression. “He promised me a special evening tonight.”
“Good for you, but first, you’re gonna groove with me.”
“Nuh uh.” He taps my lips. “First, you’re gonna say the magic word.”
I put my hands on my hips and inject some attitude into my voice. “Please?”
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “I’m imagining you doing something completely and wildly inappropriate while panting that word.”
I smack his rock-solid abs, making his eyes blink open and his mouth bow in an adorable dimpled grin.
“I’m going to show you the steps.” I move into position. “Focus on my feet. Then I’ll help you move your hips.”
At his nod, I travel through the routine, sliding right then left, easing into an oscillating descent toward the floor while shaking my backside. Another hop, a twist, with a hip tilt and lift. Add in some arm movements, and bam! This is my jam.
As I repeat the steps, I glance over my shoulder and narrow my eyes.
The pervert isn’t watching my feet. His hooded gaze is fixated on my rear.
“Cole.” I snap my fingers until he lifts his head. “Do you have it?
“No.” He rubs the back of this neck. “But I want it. The way those pants stretch across your ass…”
Oh for the love. I slip in front of him, pressing in with my butt brushing his groin. “Do what I do, okay?”
His hands instantly fall to my hips. Perfect. I wait for the song to restart, give it a few counts, then we’re moving.
It’s clumsy at first. His boots are too bulky. His legs are too long, and he seems nervous and uncomfortable. But after a few iterations, he starts to get the hang of it. He might not be a dancer, but he has rhythm, and he’s never afraid to let loose with me, no matter who’s watching or where we are.
Once he has the steps memorized, I swing around and move in behind him. With my hands on his hips, it’s my turn to study his backside.
I nuzzled and licked every inch of him during those ten months we spent together. But I’m an ass girl, and that round firm part of Cole’s body is mac-a-licious, like a honey bun. I want to nibble, munch, and sink in my teeth, passively or carnally. Any manner of biting would do. Because I’m hungry.
Focus, you hussy.
I shimmy up against his back, guiding his hips with the grind of mine. I try to keep it PG-rated, but Cole has other ideas. Ideas that involve his hands roaming along my faux-leather leggings and reaching back to cup my butt.
Spinning away, I dance around him, sharing his smile and savoring the ripple of his muscles as he adds extra gyrations to the routine.
If I ever decide to become a full-time line dancer, I’m totally going to hire him. His charisma and energy is contagious. People are already congregating along the edge of the dance floor, nodding their heads to the beat.
I wave them closer and spot Aubrey, the little girl from the bakery, hovering in the crowd.
Holding my arms over my head, I boogie toward her.
“You want to try it?” I hold out a hand. “I’ll teach you.”
She glances back at her dad, who sits at a nearby table, holding the little dog. Returning to me, she bobs her head and smiles.
That smile… Despite everything this little girl has been through and the hard road she faces ahead, she manages a smile that’s pure and genuine, and that is why I come here.
She curls her tiny fingers around mine, and for the next hour, she stays at my side, laughing with me, dancing with me. It’s a moment of mindless joy, one I hope she hangs onto when life feels impossible.
When she starts to yawn, I lead her back to her parents and bend down to whisper in her ear. “Whenever you feel sad, do a little dance. Shake it out.”
She purses her lips, looking skeptical.
“That’s what I do.” I shrug. “It always makes me feel better.”
“Okay.” She climbs onto her mom’s lap and snuggles in.
“Thank you.” Holly runs a hand over Aubrey’s head. “For all of this. I can’t express how much—”
“You’re welcome.” I give her a watery grin and turn away to find Rick watching me from the other side of the room. So I head that way.
Cole seems to have everything under control on the dance floor, guiding thirty-some women effortlessly through the dance. Their ages range from late teens to grannies, and they all follow him with googly, heart-shaped eyes.
I share their fascination. Over six-feet of rough-and-ready brawn clad in a white t-shirt and frayed jeans, he exudes coarse intimidation. But that warm light in his eyes softens his gruff bearing, makes him approachable, magnetic, and oh-so handsome. So insanely handsome, in fact, it’s impossible to look away.
“I like him,” Rick says as I approach.
“He has that effect on people.” I smile as Cole reaches out to steady the middle-aged woman shuffling beside him.
“What are you going to do, Danni?” Rick crosses his arms and lifts a hand to smooth his gray mustache.
“That’s the million-dollar question.” I sigh. “Got any priestly advice?”
“You love them both?”
“Is that wrong?”
“No, not wrong. But God’s plan for marriage is one man for one woman. Otherwise, He would’ve created more Adams for Eve.” He gives me a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to choose one and set the other one free to find his own wife.”
I won’t correct him on his religious views of marriage, but if I believed in a god, that god would accept all variations of genders and sexual orientations in a relationship. I do, however, agree with him on one thing.
“I know I need to choose.” I hug my waist and lift a hand to clutch my dry throat.
“Take some time and truly assess your feelings for both of them. You’ll find that you really love and have more of a connection with one of them.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Until then, prepare yourself for double the highs, double the lows. A relationship with one person is a lot of work. But with two?” He pats my back and stares at me like a father would a daughter. “I don’t envy you, young lady.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, and it sounds more like a groan. “Thanks.”
“Anytime you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
“I appreciate that.”
I return to the dance floor, giving Cole a reprieve to sit and watch. And watch he does, reclined in a chair, legs spread, and eyes like liquid fire as he devours every move of my body.
His face is hard, cut in a lethal way that conjures seedy hotel rooms, guns in his hands, and a cigarette perched between his lips. I don’t know what his job looks like, but as I watch him watch me, I realize he’s probably a very dangerous man. Not dangerous to me. But I have a gut feeling he’s killed people, and I don’t know how to process that.
So I do what I always do and let the music eclipse my thoughts. I shake and twirl and move in sync with dozens of smiling people who have very little to smile about.
Later that night, I ride home on the back of Cole’s motorcycle, both invigorated and tired, but also a little worried.
He’s going to put the moves on me when we get home. I just know it. I saw it in the melty way his eyelids fell at half-mast while he watched me dance. He waited for me for over four years, and he’s not the kind of man who goes without sex.
With a hand on the gas and the other on the clutch, he’s the epitome of power and seduction. That sounds so silly and girly, but I’ve always had this reaction to him. Like I’m sixteen all over again, crushing on a boy to the point of foolish obsession.
But that’s not all this is. Our love runs deep, enduring miles and years and even death.
I hug his broad back, relishing the proximity of his strength, his life. I love this man, and I want to show him with every inch of my body. But I can’t. Because Trace…
I stop myself at that thought and make a personal vow. When I’m with one of them, I won’t think about the other one, until which point I can’t help myself. Then I’ll know. If I’m longing for the one I’m not with, I’ll know which one I want more.
As we motor out of downtown, a light drizzle forms in the chilly air, hovering like a spook-white mist against the black sky, lifeless, motherless. I nuzzle into Cole’s warmth and remain there long after he shuts off the engine in my driveway.
“Danni?” His gravelly voice rumbles through me.
I snuggle closer. “You’re so warm.”
“I’ll make you warmer inside.”
“So will a hot shower.” I reluctantly peel myself off his body and head indoors.
We take turns in the bathroom, and I’m surprised he doesn’t suggest we shower together. Maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought.
I lie in bed, finger combing my wet hair and listening to the rattle of the pipes as he finishes in the bathroom. When the shower shuts off, I sit up and stare at the closed door to my bedroom.
We didn’t say goodnight, and it’s only nine o’clock. Will he go to the basement or try to seduce his way into my bed?
Nervous energy has me reaching for the drawstrings on my pajama pants. I double-knot them, as if that’ll keep him out.
Then I grab my phone, looking for a distraction. There’s a few missed texts, probably from Trace. I ignore those and pull up my playlist, selecting a mellow song on low volume.
As Lust For Life by Lana Del Rey trickles in the background, I close my eyes and sway to the melody.
I don’t know what I expected from spending the day with Cole. It’s too early to make a decision, but I feel more lost than ever.
No, not lost. I’m more certain about my feelings for him than I was this morning. Spending my life with rugged, sexy Cole Hartman would be as epic and passionate as I always imagined. No woman in her right mind would walk away from him.
I press my face in my hands and try to keep my emotions under control. I need time, and that’s okay. As long as he and Trace aren’t miserable, I can forgive myself for being indecisive.
A knock sounds on the bedroom door, and I whip my head up.
I’m going to open that door, and he’s going to weaken me with the look. The one I can’t refuse. And he’s going to smell clean and yummy with his hair all wet and tousled.
Shitty, shit, shit. I draw in a deep breath just as Lana launches into the chorus about taking off clothes. That won’t give him the wrong idea or anything.
I slide off the bed and crack the door wide enough to slip out. Then I shut it behind me and lean against the heavy wood before lifting my eyes to his.
Damn. The hallway is dark, but his gaze is darker. Shadowy black, like a mysterious cave, luring me in with its promise of dangerous thrills and reckless adventure.
Beads of water trickle along the grooves of his chiseled chest. I want to follow those glistening trails with my tongue, around his hard nipples, down the corrugated steel of his abs, and lower, below the low-slung waistband of his workout shorts. The material is so thin I can see the long hard shape of him jerking to be released.
“Are you going to bed?” He rests a hand on the doorframe above my head and angles toward me.
“Mm hmm.” My pulse kicks up.
“I want to taste you.”
My knees wobble. “Not on our first date.”
“Remember our last first date?” He bends closer, sliding his whiskered cheek along mine and whispering into the space beside my ear. “I was inside you the entire night. We didn’t make it to the bedroom until we christened every square foot of this house.”
My thighs quiver in memory. “It has to be different this time.”
“I know.” He eases back, just enough to look at me. Or rather, my mouth. “I’ll settle on tasting your lips.”
A kiss. That’s perfectly acceptable for a first date.
Except Cole kisses like he fucks—deeply, intensely, with the most fulfilling, raunchiest, kinkiest techniques known to man, and he does it with his soul engaged while stealing every hollowed-out corner of mine.
I might die if he puts his mouth on me. I’ll surely die if he doesn’t.
“Close your eyes.” He runs his nose alongside mine, his breaths warm and minty clean.
I let my lashes flutter downward, my fingers digging against the door at my back.
The first brush of his lips stops my heart. The second caress shocks my system into a vibrating funnel of blood and desire.
He tilts his head, pressing harder, deeper, parting my mouth and sinking his tongue. I tremble and pant, wrapping my arms around his neck and meeting every tantalizing rub and lick.
His mouth is made for this, designed and sculpted to bring a woman the kind of slow-burning pleasure that melts beneath the skin and lingers like a fantasy.
Bowing into and around me, he crowds so close I have nowhere to go. But I’m exactly where I want to be as he holds me on the cusp of madness in the cradle of his body.
We kiss for an hour and a minute, tangled in the fabric of eternity. My hands slide through his hair, over his shoulders, down his biceps, palming and scratching his pecs.
He’s hard everywhere, and the hardest part of him feels like an iron bar, jabbing against my stomach. He doesn’t grind. He’s just so big and close I feel every thick inch, like an urgent plea for entry.
Then he goes wild, feverish, sucking, nibbling, and making up for lost years. The door rattles in the jamb with the press of our bodies. A picture frame falls off the wall. Friction, skin burns, bite marks… Holy lordy, what a kiss.
Eventually he edges back and lets me catch my breath. Ghosting his lips along my jaw, he pauses at my neck.
“We’ll take it from there on our next date,” he breathes against my skin. “Sweet dreams, baby.”
Then off he goes, prowling toward the basement door and vanishing behind it.
I must be every shade of aroused, staring after him. God knows, I’m a hot wet mess between my legs.
Because that kiss was perfect. The kind of kiss I can’t live without.
My heart drums a battle of emotion as I worry about how long I can draw this out.
In my bedroom, I turn off the music on my phone and open the text messages.
Trace: I’m lost without you.
Trace: You are my smile.
Trace: I never thought love was worth fighting for. Until I met you. I'm ready for war.
Trace: I miss you.
The texts came over the span of the day, letting me know I haven’t been far from his mind. I feel an overwhelming need to soothe him, so I send a quick message.
Me: I’m tucked in for the night, alone and missing you, too.
Then I turn off the light and count my blessings. I’ve been alone. Agonizingly, helplessly stuck in the isolation of mourning and depression. I’m not in that place anymore.
As impossible as my love life feels right now, it could be so much worse.