My thoughts lump together in a jumbled mess as I follow Trace out of the basement. Maybe he didn’t fuck Marlo. Maybe my feelings for him haven’t been completely demolished. But that doesn’t make him any less of a manipulative bastard.
At the top of the stairs, he closes the door and fidgets with the padlock. “Why did you keep this locked?”
“It leads somewhere that no longer exists.”
He rests his lips against the top of my head for a silent moment. Then his hand catches mine and leads me away.
In the kitchen, he turns on the coffee maker and rummages through my cabinets while making a phone call.
“I’ll do this.” I nudge him to the side and grab the coffee beans.
“Yes,” he says into the phone and walks to the fridge. “Miss Angelo and I won’t be back to work until Friday. Make the appropriate arrangements.”
What? Friday is…four days away. I whirl around, glaring at his back as he digs out packages of eggs and bacon.
“Send someone to Miss Angelo’s house with an overnight bag for the week.” He turns and gives me an uncomfortable smile. “Jeans and t-shirts.”
I lean against the counter and fold my arms. “What are you doing?”
“That’ll be all.” He stares at the floor for a second and pulls in a breath. “Marlo, wait.” His hand goes to the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about last night. I used you. It was wrong and—” He closes his eyes, listening for several seconds. “Understood.”
He disconnects the call and meets my waiting gaze. “Marlo turned in her two-weeks after you left last night.”
I don’t blame her for quitting and can’t help but feel selfish relief. “She could sue you for sexual harassment.”
“She took the severance package, which required her to sign a release that frees me from potential lawsuits.”
“Lucky you.”
I drum my fingers on the counter as unease chews holes inside me. I’m not comfortable with his treatment of her. Maybe I should let it go, but that’s not my style.
“You think it’s okay to treat women like that?” I straighten my spine, meeting his glare head-on. “I mean, she worked for you, and you told her to masturbate for you in some disgusting game that had nothing to do with her. That’s not okay.”
He slides his hands in his pockets, stares at the floor, and releases a breath. “Marlo isn’t what she seems.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t just want to hook up.” He looks up at me, his eyebrows gathering. “She’s infatuated with me to the point of delusion. I came home and found her, not once but three times, naked on the couch in my living room.”
“What? When?”
“It started around the time I hired you. I removed her security access and fired her.”
“Then why was she still working for you?”
“She brought in a team of lawyers, threatening sexual harassment—of which she had absolutely no grounds.”
“With all your money, you couldn’t fight that?”
“I could.” He scratches his jaw. “But I chose to teach her a lesson.”
“By watching her masturbate?”
“By waiting for the right moment to record her touching herself willfully, consensually, in my bedroom.”
Oh. “You showed her the video footage?”
“Yes, right after you left. She didn’t hesitate to drop her threats against me and take the severance.” He narrows his eyes. “I told you I’m a vindictive son of a bitch.”
He could’ve sued her for trespassing in his penthouse…naked. He could’ve destroyed her career, her livelihood. Instead, he apologized for using her and paid her to quit.
He calls himself vindictive, but his actions hint at compassion. In a depraved, fucked up way. But still, it’s compassion, and it warms me from the inside out.
I blow out of breath. “What’s with the overnight bag?”
“We’re stuck in a toxic cycle, and I’m committed to resolving that.”
“It can’t be fixed in four days.”
“I know that, but I’m not leaving your side. I assume you’d rather be anywhere but the penthouse. We can spend the week here. Or in Hawaii, Paris, Australia…”
He’s lost his ever-loving mind.
I prepare the coffee, forcing myself to think about this logically. I don’t know if I should spend the day with him, let alone a week on the other side of the world. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“We’ll stay here then.” Stepping behind me, he touches his brow to the back of my head. “I won’t leave you, Danni. Ever.”
My heart latches onto those words while my brain screams, Lies, lies, lies.
He grips my hip and pulls my backside tight against him. “You’re not quitting the casino.”
The command in his tone raises my hackles, but there’s no sense in denying it.
“I’ll stay,” I say. “Until you fuck up again.”
“I won’t.” He steps back. “Where are your light bulbs?”
I point toward the hall. “Closet. Why?”
“I’ll be right back.”
As I pour our coffees and start the bacon, the front door opens and shuts. I angle toward the kitchen window and watch Trace stride next door to Virginia’s house, carrying a light bulb.
I smile, thinking about how much hell she’s going to give him. If he wants to win her over, he’ll have to do a lot more than change her lights. But it’s a good start.
If he wants to win me over, well… He can start by proving he’s worth the risk. He needs to convince me to think of him in terms of regardless and in spite of and anyway. Because right now, he’s a huge fucking if.
He returns as I start cracking eggs in the bacon grease.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“She’s a stubborn woman.”
“That bad, huh?” I laugh.
“I have bruises on my legs from that damn cane.” He grabs the spatula from my hand and sets his open laptop on the counter. “The video is loaded. Just push play.”
As he finishes the eggs, I climb onto the counter and move the device to my lap. The video begins when he and Marlo enter his bedroom. There’s no audio, but I sense the awkwardness between them. He doesn’t look at her, his mouth moving and finger pointing absently at the couch where I found them. On screen, Marlo touches her throat, tracking his pacing steps with infatuation in her eyes.
“Jesus.” My mouth dries. “She really wanted you.”
The spatula in his hand pauses. “The attraction wasn’t mutual.”
Maybe not, but it’s still painful to see him move behind her on the video, to watch her lift her skirt and touch herself for him. He doesn’t look down, his attention flicking between his watch and the door. His slacks are lowered, but his underwear stays on. With her face buried in the cushion and her hand working between her legs, she doesn’t seem to notice he didn’t take his cock out.
Thirty seconds into the recording, I walk in. He doesn’t grip her hips until that exact moment.
He wanted to hurt me, and the impact is written all over my face on the screen.
I’ve seen enough. My hands tremble as I close the laptop and set it aside.
He slides the skillet off the burner and steps between my legs. Torment contorts his expression, and his arms fold around me. With a hand gripping my nape, the other bites into my spine, holding me so tight I feel the remorse coiling his muscles.
“I love you.” His mouth presses against my shoulder. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
“I’m scared, too.” I let myself hug him back, thawing in the exquisite warmth of his embrace. “One day at a time, okay?”
He exhales heavily. “Okay.”
We eat side by side on the couch in the front room, sipping our coffee and lost in our thoughts.
He finishes first and leans back, watching me. “You don’t have a TV in here or your bedroom. But there’s a nice one in the basement.”
“It was Cole’s.”
“But it works?”
“Yep.” I collect our plates and walk to the kitchen.
He trails behind me. “I don’t understand why it’s in the basement.”
I set the dishes in the sink and brace my hands on the counter. “I moved all of his things down there.”
“Except the Harley.”
“If I could roll it down the stairs, I would have.” I smile, and it feels like a grimace. “Seeing his stuff every day wasn’t helping my grieving process. I had a rough few months after he died. Kind of lost myself there for a while.”
Rather than offering condolences or useless words, he gives me exactly what I need. Framing my face in his huge hands, he rests his lips against my forehead. I slip my arms around his waist, and we stay like that until the doorbell rings.
He greets his driver at the door and collects his overnight bag. Then, with his hand in mine, he leads me to the bathroom. “Shower and a nap. Sound good?”
Sounds perfect. I only slept a couple of hours last night, and I doubt he slept at all in his sports car.
In the bathroom, he wedges into the tiny walkway between the sink and tub. Does he intend for us to shower together? My belly flutters at the thought, which is ridiculous after what we did together last night. But I haven’t seen him nude from the waist down.
He grips the back of his t-shirt and yanks it over his head. His hands fall to his pants, releasing the fly and shoving them off with his shoes and socks. Then he turns to me, wearing tight black briefs and nothing else.
All that flawless skin and sculpted muscle makes my mouth water and my insides throb. His beauty is the stuff of legends, and he exudes the kind of vibrating power one would find amid a Viking siege.
Every mythical god began with a story, based on a person and a series of events. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Norse divinities of war, beauty, and sexuality began in Trace’s family tree. He’s so damn gorgeous and tall and insanely intense I can’t stop myself from trembling.
And it’s my turn to remove my clothes. I’m not a shy person, not even a little, but stripping while he watches suddenly feels like I’m stepping off a plank.
“You’re nervous.” He touches a finger beneath my chin, lifting my face.
My nipples tighten, and I bite my lip.
All drama and heartache aside, I’m undeniably attracted to him. I went so long without sex, and now that I’ve been with him, it’s like all these dormant cravings have been jarred loose. We had angry sex—hateful, bitter, pound-me-into-the-floor sex, and it was mind-blowing. I can’t stop wondering what other kinds of sex would be like with him. Gentle, playful, kinky… Jesus, after the spanking and choking, I know he’s a kinky bastard.
I might not be able to forgive his heartlessness, but I can’t ignore this snarling, relentless hunger he’s unleashed in me.
“I’m just going to wash you.” He runs a hand through my hair, his voice soft and scratchy. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I slowly release a breath.
He slides the shower curtain back and stares at the tiny green tub with wide eyes.
“You had that exact expression when you drove my Midget,” I say.
“I imagine Cole experienced the same claustrophobic horror when he saw this green coffin.”
A swallow sticks in my throat. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Include him. Talk about him.”
“Yes, I do. He’s part of you, and I don’t want you to ever close off that part, or any part, of yourself from me. If you need to talk about him, I want to be the one you come to.”
He’s trying, and gratitude tingles through my limbs. But there are some things I won’t share, like how many times Cole followed me into that tub and fucked me against every square inch.
“But I require something from you,” Trace says. “If and when you forgive me, I need you to make room for me”—he taps my chest—“here. Understood?”
“Yes.” My heart pounds, devouring his words and the vulnerability in his eyes.
I reach for the hem of my camisole, but he brushes my hands away and lifts the top over my head. Then he slides off my boyshorts, his fingers caressing my skin with tenderness.
Any nervousness I felt about being nude is muted the instant he removes his boxer briefs. A different sensation grips my body as I take in the glorious shape of his. Appreciation, amazement, desire—all of it expands my chest with a heavy intake of air.
The strength and definition packed into his shoulders and arms, the grooved washboard of abs, and the heavy cock hanging hard and long between powerful legs makes me weak in the knees. I reach out and brace an arm on the wall.
Chin angled down, he raises a brow. “Get in the shower, Danni.”
I move my feet, and he follows me in. Then he takes over, lathering his hands and massaging my neck, my toes, and everywhere in between. He’s thorough, gentle, and sinfully seductive.
He cleans my hair and turns me toward the wall, gliding soapy fingers over my breasts and between my legs. I drop my head back on his shoulder, not even trying to muffle my moans.
“You’re making it impossible to keep my word.” He slides his lips down my neck, his breaths hot and hungry. “You and your tight little body.” He slams a palm against my ass then rubs the hurt with wicked pressure. “I want to do things to you. Things that should be illegal.”
I spin in the circle of his arms and grip his face. His lips part, and his eyes search mine. Then he kisses me—a deep breathless kiss, full of fire and need. Tongues tangling, hands grasping, we fall against the shower wall, locked in a frenzy of desire.
His swollen cock presses against my belly, and I curl my fingers around it, stroking up and down and wrenching a choked groan from his throat.
“I said I was just going to wash you.” His hands plunge through my hair, and he rocks his hips, sliding his length in my grip.
“You washed me. Now you need to put your massive cock inside me.”
“Danni.” His hand covers mine around his girth, halting my movements. “I want more than sex with you.”
I slide my free hand through his hair, marveling at how the thick wet strands fall perfectly tousled over my fingers. “We’re spending the next four days together?”
“If I don’t make anymore mistakes,” he says, brushing a kiss against my wrist, “we’re spending the rest of our lives together.”
My heart hiccups. “If you’re staying here, we’re going to have sex. Does it matter if it’s now or a week from now?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, it matters.” He steps back and grabs the shampoo. “I know what I want, and your heart isn’t there…yet.” His biceps contract as he lathers his hair. “I will not trade long-term desires for short-term impulses.”
His voice is rough, his scowl formidable. It’s obvious how difficult it is for him to refuse me. His short-term impulse looks painfully engorged between his legs.
I back off, keeping my caresses chaste as I help him soap up. Ten minutes later, we lie in bed, naked, legs entangled. His body wraps around my back, spooning me from behind, with his thigh wedged between mine. He’s still hard, but he doesn’t grind against me. He seems content to just hold me. In the bed I shared with Cole.
The thought is unwanted, but I can’t block it out. Cole bought this bed for me when he moved in—the wrought iron headboard, foam mattress, gray linen bedding. His scent lingered in this room for months after he left.
“Tell me about him,” Trace says quietly.
Can he read my thoughts? I crane my neck and find his gaze on the picture frames across the room.
“I should probably put those away.” My hand fists in the sheets.
“Don’t do it for me.” He pries my fingers from the bedding and entwines them with his. “I intend to make myself at home in the house you shared with him. I’m going to make love to you in the bed I assume he once slept in. If I can’t handle seeing a picture of him, our relationship is doomed.”
My ribcage stretches with cautious happiness, and I tighten my hand around his. “You really want to hear about him?”
“Please.”
I start with how we met then share highlights of the ten months we spent together. His design and construction of the dance studio, the road trips on his motorcycle, his hatred for Nikolai. Trace doesn’t speak or tense up, and his arms stay around me, cradling, comforting.
My voice chafes my throat as I explain Cole’s job, the reason he left, and the explosion that took his life.
“You sound angry,” Trace says. “You can’t blame him for—”
“He chose his job.”
“Sounds like he didn’t have a choice, Danni.”
“You’re right.” With a sigh, I shift in his arms to face him. “I hold onto the anger like a crutch. It’s just…it’s easier. So let me have it, okay?”
“I’m finding that I’ll let you have whatever you want.” He kisses my lips.
“Is that right?” I reach down and wrap my fingers around his thick erection.
“Except that.” Groaning, he moves my hand from his cock to his back. “Tell me about your family.”
“You want me to talk about my parents while you have a hard-on?”
“I want you to talk about them,” he says, tucking me closer against his chest, “to get rid of the hard-on.”
We chat for hours about everything and nothing. Family and work. Likes and dislikes. We stay away from conversations about the past or the future, satisfied to simply immerse ourselves in the present.
I don’t know when we fall asleep, but I wake to a startled gasp in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Shit!” Bree spins away, shouting into the hallway. “Everyone outside!”
Footsteps sound through the kitchen, presumably David and Angel making a swift exit.
Trace lies on his back beside me, unabashedly nude with an arm bent behind his head. His lips aren’t smiling, but the glimmer in his sleepy eyes is unmistakable. The man has no shame.
“I’m confiscating your key,” I say to Bree’s back and sit up.
“You can have it.” She blindly tosses the keyring toward the dresser and sends it flying to the floor. “Mr. Savoy…uh, Trace…I’m sorry I saw your…um…”
“Cock?” I pull the sheet over his hips and against my chest. “We’re covered now. You can turn around.”
A flush sweeps up her neck as she faces us, and her gaze lands on his bulge beneath the thin cover. “I didn’t stare. It’s like…I saw it and looked away really quick. I’m not even sure that I actually saw that much. Maybe just a—”
“You’re rambling and staring.” I grin and place a hand on his chiseled chest. “Trace, this is my sister, Bree.”
He holds the sheet in place and rises to the edge of the mattress with his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, umm…” She stares at his hand for a beat before shaking it. “The pleasure’s all mine.” Her eyes widen, and her cheeks turn bright red. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, it is a pleasure, but not that kind of pleasure—”
“Bree.” I snap my fingers.
“Hmm?”
“Give us a minute?”
“Right.” She grabs the door and shuts it behind her.
Trace yanks off the covers and climbs over me, guiding me to lie back while nuzzling my neck. “She’s…”
“Awkward?”
“I was going to say delightful. But yes, definitely awkward.”
“She deals with first-graders all day, not gorgeous naked men.” I splay my hands over his muscled backside and squeeze. “Though, I’ll admit I’ve never seen her that nervous. I think you intimidate her.”
“She’s hot for me.” He peppers a trail of kisses along my collarbone.
“She is not.” I push at his jaw, trying not to laugh at the tickling scrape of his whiskers.
“She couldn’t stop eying my massive cock.” He echoes my earlier compliment with a smile.
I’d say that’s the last time I’ll ever inflate his ego, but I’d be lying. Because that smile… it’s a shockingly sexy curve on his lips, stretching his cheeks, lighting up his face, and making me light-headed.
“You should smile more often.” I trail a finger along his mouth. “This is potent stuff right here.”
He parts his lips and bites my finger hard enough to make me gasp. Chuckling, he kisses a path from the ticklish spot beneath my ear, across my throat, to nibble the other ear.
I squirm beneath the wicked stimulation. “They’re waiting on me.”
“Do they always stop in unannounced?”
“Yeah, but I kind of knew they were coming and forgot. David’s here to fix my brakes.”
“Then I better get out there and help.” He slides off the bed and strides toward his overnight bag, the muscles in his perfect ass flexing with each step.
“You know how to work on cars?”
“I used to be an auto mechanic.”
“Really?”
“No.” He snorts arrogantly. “But anyone with a dick knows how to change brakes.”
Ten minutes later, I recline on the loveseat outside with Bree, sipping on a Bud Light.
“I saw the fancy car in your driveway.” She stares at Trace where he crouches beside David and the MG Midget. “I assumed you were doing ballroom lessons with one of your rich clients.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“I know, but I never imagined I’d walk in and find you in bed with…that.” She gulps. “I’m so jealous of you right now.”
I follow her gaze to the blond, blue-eyed tower of hard muscle in my driveway. He stares down at a greasy part he pulled off my car, leaning his weight to one hip and working those jeans like they were designed for a Viking.
The t-shirt is white, fitted across his shoulders, and showcasing the ridges of definition beneath. He’s the epitome of well-honed beauty, the kind that dilutes my brain cells and fucks my common sense into quivering mush.
Even Angel is captivated by him. She hasn’t left his side since we stepped outside. When she tips her scowl up at him, he scowls down at her, and they connect on some devious, calculating level I don’t understand.
She was only a year old when Cole left, so Trace is the first man I’ve introduced to her. Watching them interact is surprisingly enjoyable. In fact, seeing him with my family spreads a comfortable warmth through my chest.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall into a swirling, consuming abyss with this man. A frightening thought, because I don’t trust him. I can’t.
“Don’t get too excited, Bree.” I keep my voice too low for his ears. “We have a lot to work through.”
“What do you mean?”
As the guys change the brakes out of hearing range, I recap everything that happened after she left yesterday morning—the lap dance, the argument that followed, the drama with Marlo then Jason, the angry sex, and his plan to spend the week with me.
“You packed up the basement?” She touches her throat, eyes watering.
“Yeah.”
“You emptied the cup!”
Oh my God. “You’re so damn cheesy.”
“Cheddar is cheesy. I’m sentimental.” She tackles me in a hug. “I’m so very proud of you.” Leaning back, she holds tight to my hands. “You have to forgive him.”
“What?” My neck stiffens, and I pull away. “No, I’m not—”
“He’s helping you. Can’t you see that?”
I see a gorgeous asshole with a fine ass clad in denim, his muscles bunching and flexing as he bends under the car.
“I don’t mean with the car. He’s helping you move on.” She lowers her voice. “Besides, with a Johnson like his—”
“Please don’t call it a Johnson.”
“—I’d forgive anything that man did.”
“You would not.” I stretch my toes, tracing the design on the brick pavers. “Seeing him with Marlo really hurt me.”
“Because you hurt him.”
“I didn’t do it deliberately. That’s the difference. He’s vicious.”
“He’s in love, and you know firsthand that love makes people desperate and crazy.” Her attention drifts to the man in question, and she licks her lips.
“You just want me to keep him around so you can ogle him.”
“Totally.”
“Not helpful.” I droop against the back of the loveseat. “I’m trying to be smart about this.”
She mirrors my posture, casting me a side-long smile. “You love him.”
“So?” I lift a shoulder.
“You always said there’s no real choice in love.”
“I never thought I’d fall in love twice,” I whisper.
“Everyone deserves a second chance.”
Her double-meaning settles through me.
He deserves a second chance, and so do I.