Two weeks later, I lift my face to the sun and stretch out my legs along the bench seat in Cole’s boat. Sitting in the V of his thighs with my back against his chest, I absently play with the hem of his baggy swim shorts. The sadness hasn’t waned. It feels duller, maybe, but it takes up just as much space inside me as the day Trace left.
When Cole died, I only had to deal with my own loss. Somehow that was easier than…this. I like to tell myself Trace is moving on just fine. He’s stronger than me, after all. But I know better. He’s alone in St. Louis, stuck with our memories and no shoulder to lean on.
I need to stop this. Channeling any kind of energy, time, or thought into Trace feels like I’m emotionally cheating on Cole. So I push away images of blue eyes and blond hair.
Cole anchored the boat in a quiet cove, out of view of the active part of the lake. It’s just him and me and the sounds of lapping water.
I’m wearing bikini bottoms and a long sleeve shirt. It’s a warm April day, but when I dipped a toe in the water earlier, the chill went straight to my bones.
In lieu of swimming, we decided to sunbathe. Not that he needs more color. He spends so much time outside his golden skin glows as bright as the sun.
“Tell me eleven things I don’t already know.” I twist around on his lap, facing him with my bent knees bracketing his sides. “Eleven things about anything.”
“Eleven?”
“No more. No less.” It’s the same response I gave him the morning we met. If I can recreate that feeling, that playfulness that connected us so quickly, maybe it won’t hurt so much to breathe.
“Your eyes remind me of storm clouds. Deep and gray. Always swirling. Threatening. Like thunder and lightning. Torrential downpours and puddles. I hated the rain. Until I met you.”
My chest heaves with a hicupping inhale. “Cole…”
“I speak seven languages with excellent fluency. I once strangled a long-haired man with his ponytail. I won’t drink from a straw while driving because I’m afraid it’ll stab my throat on a sudden stop.”
I gape at him. “Can we go back to the man with the—?”
“Trace called me this morning.”
My heart crashes against my ribs, but I repress my excitement and keep my tone casual. “He did?”
“This isn’t how we’re going to do this.” A muscle flexes in his jaw. “You will not hide your feelings from me.”
He nudges me off his lap and stands. I straighten my spine, holding my breath. The tension is his posture tells me he’s gearing up for a conversation, and I owe it to him to listen.
Bent over the steering wheel, he messes with the stereo. A moment later, the gentle texture of guitar chords stream through the speakers, the melody unfamiliar. Definitely not his usual punk rock noise.
“Do you know this song?” He moves to stand before me.
I shake my head. “What is it?”
“Where’s My Love by SYML. I heard it the other day. Made me think of you.”
It’s hauntingly beautiful, full of longing. A plea for love gone astray.
He kneels between my legs, wedging his muscled frame in the small walkway. His hand lifts, cradling my face. “Trace called to see how you’re doing.”
“How is he?” I search his warm brown eyes.
“He’s Trace. Cold and barren as ever. It’s like having a conversation with Antarctica.”
“What did you tell him?” My neck tenses. “About me?”
“Told him you turned into a nympho.” His cheeks dent with dimples. “Can’t get you off my dick.”
I sigh. Cole and I haven’t had sex since the night the three of us were together. Guilt has kept me away. It doesn’t make sense, because I’m with Cole now…exclusively. Maybe I’m punishing myself, pushing away all means of enjoyment while Trace tries to start over alone.
“I know you miss him, and I don’t like it.” Cole trails his thumb across my cheekbone. “But you chose me. You chose me to be the one to pick up the pieces, to be the ear for your sadness, to be the arms to hold you up. Don’t bury your pain, Danni. Give it to me.”
My face falls, and I lean toward him, touching my lips to the corner of his. “I love you.”
“I love you.” He fits his hand inside of mine and presses something small and round against my palm.
I pull back and uncurl my fingers to see what he gave me.
My engagement ring.
I don’t have to angle it to see the inscription. The words are written in the cracks of my heart.
One Promise ~ One Forever
My pulse accelerates, and my mouth dries. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see this ring again.
He takes it from me and slides it on my finger. The wrong finger. “When you’re ready, move it to your left hand. Then I’ll know.”
My brow furrows. I don’t want to make any more decisions about love. I want him to put the ring on my finger and not give me a choice. I don’t want to control this. I want to surrender to it.
“What?” His voice snaps, sharp and deep. “Why do you look pissed?”
“Are you unsure about us?” I lift my eyes to his. “Is that why you’re not demanding I marry you immediately?”
His nostrils flare, and his jaw turns rock-hard as he climbs to his feet. Then he scoops me up and tosses me into the lake.
I land with a shriek and plunge deep, swept under by the shocking cold. With wild kicks toward the surface, I come up with a gasp.
“Fuck!” I angrily punch the water. “You fucking prick!”
Oh my tits, it’s cold. My joints freeze up as I paddle, swimming in a circle until I face the boat.
He stands on the edge, staring down at me, arms folded across his bare chest with a gleam in his eyes.
“I can’t believe you did that.” My teeth chatter.
He grins. “You need a man who will dunk your head in cold water and shut you the fuck up.”
I pin my lips together, properly shut up. Because he’s so very right.
“Come on.” He crouches, extending his hand.
I kick my legs, reaching for him, and he pulls me out of the water like I weigh nothing. As I climb into the boat, the air chills my skin, prickling my body with goosebumps.
“We have to work at this relationship.” He grips the hem of my wet shirt and yanks it over my head.
“Yeah.” I shiver, soaked to the bone and frozen in the skimpy bikini.
“It’s going to be hard.” He unties the string on my back and removes my top.
I hug my nude chest, shoulders curled forward, and scan the isolated cove. My brain doesn’t register his comment until I look down at the swollen bulge in his shorts. My breaths quicken as I trail my gaze over the cut indentions of his hips, the ripple of honed abs and pecs, and the sexiest lopsided grin I’ve ever seen.
“Those puns are only funny if you’re a boy.” I try not to smile. “A twelve-year-old boy.”
“Ask me how hard it’s going to be.”
We’re definitely not talking about our relationship anymore. Not with that heated look in his eyes.
“How hard?” A shifting feeling stirs near my heart, trickling warmth through my body.
He grabs my hand and presses my palm against the steely length of his cock, trapped by his shorts.
A delicious shudder raises the hair on my arms and nape, and I clamp my fingers around him. He grunts a heavy breath and hooks his arms around my back, lifting, then lowering me to my back on the bench seat.
He kneels beside me, crowding in, a hand beneath my thigh, fingers feathering against the crotch of my bikini bottoms. His other arm slides behind my shoulders. Then he’s kissing me, licking inside my mouth, and panting hungrily. The hand between my legs grows bolder, presses harder, anchoring me to the man I chose, the one I was always meant to marry.
I grind against his touch, melt into his kiss, and thaw from the inside out. My legs fall open. My nipples harden, exposed and needy. “I need you.”
He smiles against my mouth and pulls the crotch of my bikini to the side, baring me. “Say it again.”
“I need you, Cole.” I moan as a finger enters me slowly, deeply.
His mouth doesn’t leave mine as he pumps his hand and strokes me to orgasm. Then he removes the last of my clothes and kisses every inch of my body, caressing, teasing, worshiping—all while holding my gaze.
When he finally climbs between my legs, I bury my hands in his hair and stare into his hooded eyes. We make love like that. Pressed hard against each other. Hips moving languorously together. Connected on every level. Never looking away.
He has beautiful eyes. Wild and passionate. I see my future in them. Him and me.
As we peak together in groaning ecstasy, I wonder what he sees in my mine.