I wake the next morning to find Trace staring down at me, shirtless, hair tousled, and blue eyes illuminated by the sunlight crashing rudely through the windows.
I groan. Too early. Need sleep.
Cole’s side of the bed is empty. Maybe it’s later than I thought. I peek at the clock on the nightstand.
6:57 AM. Seriously? Why can’t mornings happen after noon?
“Word of advice.” I roll over and bury my face in the pillow. “If you’re waking me, it better involve morning sex, coffee, or Beyoncé. Preferably all three.”
Trace yanks the pillow out from beneath me and flips me onto my back.
His dominant energy precedes him. He doesn’t even need to open his mouth to communicate his intention of controlling every breath I take today. His gorgeous face and steady glare kick my heart against my ribcage. Add to that, the memory of yesterday’s punishment, of his drugging kiss swirling with his bold masculine taste, and I could be coaxed out of bed. Or rather, into bed.
“Morning.” He smiles a barely-there smile that shines with more intensity than anyone should be capable of at this hour.
“You know what rhymes with morning?” I stretch, yawning. “Fuck off.”
He lifts a mug from the nightstand and brings it to his lips, sipping with a smirk.
Coffee! I lurch to my knees, reaching for his cup. He lets me have it, but a glance at the pitch-black contents has me passing it back with a grimace.
“You should know,” I say grumpily, “I totally judge you on the way you take your coffee, you un-creamy freakshow.”
“Someone left the bag of whiners open this morning.” He drinks the coffee, eyes dancing.
“You opened it,” I huff, “with your lack of creamer and flirty eyes and… Wait. You just made another joke.”
“Get up.” He stands and strides toward the closet, his crisp khaki slacks hanging deliciously low. “Your creamy coffee is waiting in the kitchen, princess. We have things to do.”
I tilt my head, watching him slide on a starched collared shirt. “Where are we going?”
“Walmart.” His fingers move deftly over the buttons. “We need groceries.”
An hour later, I sit in the front seat of Cole’s Range Rover as Trace drives along the winding road through the woods. Cole took the boat out to go fishing this morning, and I’ve yet to see him.
Slurping coffee from a travel mug, I watch Trace out of the corner of my eye. “Did Cole make himself scarce for a reason?”
“We’re dividing up our time with you.”
“Care to enlighten me on the schedule?”
“No.” He adjusts the heat controls, directing those captivating eyes at the road.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll obsess over it.” He scratches his clean-shaved jaw, gaze straight ahead. “I only want you obsessing about one thing.”
I don’t need him to draw a picture. He wants me thinking of him and nothing else. I want that for him, too, and I hate myself for not being able to give it to him.
“Why are you putting yourself through this?” I stare at the windshield, voice quiet. “There are so many other ways to go about it, including not bothering with me at all.”
“If I don’t bother with you,” he says in a biting tone, “I shouldn’t bother pursuing anything in life.” His nostrils flare, and his hand clenches on the steering wheel. “Or maybe my heart is too stubborn for the kind of woman who thinks her lover shouldn’t fight for her.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake, I didn’t mean to piss him off. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then do a better job of explaining yourself.”
Heat flushes my face. “You’re the type of man who doesn’t wait around for a woman to make decisions about your future. I’m just wondering why you’re not demanding I kick Cole to the curb. Or why you haven’t thrown me in your car, driven me back to your penthouse, and made the decision for me.”
“I refuse to force your hand on this.” His eyes, cold and hard, shift to me before returning to the road. “I’m patient, Danni. When you choose me, I want the realization clawing at your insides without coercion or doubt or the pressure of time. I want your heart to beat for me and only me, not because I command it, but because we’re meant to be.”
He wants pure, undeniable love. He deserves that and so much more.
An ache tightens my chest. “I’m afraid one day you’ll realize I wasn’t worth it.”
“I’m afraid one day you’ll ask me to leave.”
A vehement denial jumps to the tip of my tongue, but I trap it there. I can’t make promises I don’t know how to keep.
I used to think forever was the only thing I wanted. Then I met Trace, and my heart filled with tiny moments, each one worth so much more than the whole of a lifetime.
But how can I cherish every moment written with his touch while my veins continue to burn for Cole?
I don’t care if they orchestrated this arrangement. It feels like cheating, and the gravity of that is heavy enough to crush my bones. I can’t drag this out for six months. My sanity won’t survive it.
As if Trace senses my tension, he reaches over the console and rests a hand on my thigh. The heat of his palm penetrates my leggings, warming me, comforting me, until the anxiousness fades away.
“Tell me something about you.” I lace our fingers together. “A truth you never share with anyone.”
He slows the SUV at a cross street, the first one I’ve seen in the fifteen minutes we’ve been on the road. Veering right, he enters a small town, lined with run-down stores, a gas station, and lo and behold, a Walmart.
Without acknowledging my question, he motors toward the parking lot filled with a dozen or so cars. He parks toward the back of the lot, turns off the engine, and faces me.
“You know my parents died in a car accident.” He stares at our hands, where they intertwine on my lap.
“You said their deaths changed your perspective on life.”
“Yes. They were killed because of my job.”
“What?” I whisper as a chill spreads through me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I can’t change what happened.” His eyes lift to mine, stark and unblinking. “And I can’t share the details.”
“I’m so sorry, Trace.” I cup his face, stroking my fingers through his soft blond hair.
“Don’t be sorry. If it hadn’t happened, I’d still be married to that job.”
I nod, mind racing. Were
his parents killed by an enemy nation state? Or an internal threat like the woman who threatened my life? The specifics are irrelevant. It’s what happened after that makes my throat swell.
“That’s why you agreed to watch over me when Cole left.” I rest my fingers on the sharp angles of his face.
“I didn’t want the same thing to happen to you.” He caresses my cheek, my jaw, my lips, the kiss of his touch jump-starting my heart.
“Cole knows how your parents died?”
“He’s one of the very few.”
“He knew and still asked you to protect me?” I drop my arm and ball my hand on my lap. “I kind of hate him a little for that.”
“Why?” His brows pull together.
“What if I died on your watch, Trace? You already lost your parents because of that job. I’m sorry, but that was selfish of him to put you in that position.”
He makes a noise that resembles a laugh and swipes a hand over his mouth. “I should just let you continue thinking that.”
“What do you mean?” I squint at him.
“Danni, he did me a favor.” He leans back and gazes at the cars glinting in sun-soaked parking lot. “My parents’ murder wasn’t my fault, but I accepted that job knowing full well it put everyone I loved at risk. After they died, I carried the guilt for years.” He pulls in a deep breath. “Cole placed you in my charge because he knew I would do anything to prevent that from happening again. He also knew if I committed to a year of protecting you—”
“Four years.”
“Right.” He smirks. “After four years of protecting you, he hoped I might find atonement for the mistakes I made with my parents.”
“Did you…did it ease the guilt?”
“Yes,” he says hesitantly. “Until I asked you to marry me.” He releases a humorless laugh. “Falling in love with my best friend’s fiancé introduced a whole new level of guilt.”
I angle toward him and rest my forehead against his. “Do you regret it?”
“Never,” he says fiercely, his breath whispering against my mouth.
“You didn’t just save my life.” I press closer, brushing our lips together. “You gave me life when I had nothing left to live for. Thank you.”
His hand catches the back of my neck, and he slams his mouth against mine, swallowing my gasp and chasing my tongue. He kisses me with a fire that could burn forever, weaving its heat into my skin and melting our souls into one.
Every organ, muscle, and molecule in my body strains to be part of him instead of me. The need to be closer, to nuzzle up against his heart is a physical ache. I don’t know how I existed without him. I’m certain I won’t be able to again.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me as if he can’t fathom letting me go, not now, not at the end of the road, not ever. I clutch him just as hard, falling fast and deep into the trance of his kiss, drunk on his love and high on my own. He can bleed my veins, drain me dry, and hold my desires in captivity. There’s no limit to what I would give him.
Except the other half of my heart.
I can’t give up Cole. Not easily. Not without losing the very essence of my soul.
Trace breaks the kiss, his lips swollen and damp as he searches my eyes. “You’re thinking about him.”
My breath catches, and my heart shrivels with shame.
“You don’t have to say it.” He brushes my hair from my face. “You look at me and see one of two choices. I look at you and see absoluteness. But we have time. Someday, we’ll look beyond the question marks and just see us.”
“I love you.” I lean in for another kiss, desperate to hold onto to the connection.
But he shifts away and climbs out of the car. Circling the front bumper, he opens my door and grips my hand. “Ready for Walmart?”
“On a scale of maybe to definitely…” I slide out and shut the door, the air cool yet tolerable without a coat. “I’m going with never.”
He locks the car with the keyless remote and leads me across the lot, holding my hand. “It has a certain appeal.”
“Like what?”
“It’s the only place you can get a prescription filled, an eye exam, a bag of popcorn, and an oil change, all while watching a real-life episode of What Not To Wear.”
“Speaking of what not to wear…” I take in his white button-up and tailored khakis and feel lightheaded at how damn arresting he looks. “You’re a little overdressed, aren’t you? You’re going to cause some serious whiplash in there.”
“I won’t be the one turning heads.” He stops abruptly in the middle of the parking lot, yanking me to a halt. “Wanna play?”
“Always.” I grin. “What did you have in mind?”
“A bet.” He looks at me expectantly.
My eyes widen.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He gives me a smoldering once-over. “I’m in the business of gambling.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What are the stakes?”
“You’ll get propositioned first, and when that happens, I get to do whatever I want to do to you.”
I glance down at my black leggings, knee-high boots, and slouchy sweater. Not a lot of sexy going on here. Besides, he gets to do anything he wants regardless of a bet, so what do I have to lose?
“And if you get hit-on first?” I ask. “Do I get to do whatever I want to you?”
“Sure.” His eyes laugh, arrogant and breathtaking.
“Deal.”
I want every hard, long inch of him in my mouth. Just thinking about it awakens a throb between my legs.
We step into the store, and he grabs a cart. I intend to scope out the female shoppers in anticipation of their blatant staring, but I can’t peel my eyes away from Trace Savoy pushing a squeaky Walmart cart. The belly laugh that follows can’t be helped, either, and before I know it, I’m doubled over, covering my mouth to muffle my cackling.
He pauses a few paces ahead of me and glances back, not amused. His dark scowl and rigid jawline only makes me laugh harder.
I reach for the phone in my back pocket and fire up the camera. Bree will appreciate how priceless this is. Hell, Cole probably will, too.
As I lift the phone to snap a picture, it vanishes from my hand.
He slips it in his pocket and gives me a hard smack on the ass, making me yelp.
I glance around at men and women of every age spilling out of the aisles to watch the show.
“There’s more of that coming when I win the bet.” Trace grips the cart and strolls toward to grocery section, like he didn’t just spank me in the entrance of Walmart.
We fill the cart with produce, dairy, and whatever. He has a list—one he typed out on his phone. Who does that?
Every time I toss a package in, he stops and rearranges the basket. Evidently, there are rules for stacking shit in a cart. Something about organizing the way the groceries are bagged and put away, yadda, yadda… He lost me at organizing.
Twenty minutes into our shopping spree, it occurs to me that no one here would ever hit on him. Oh, the women are definitely looking—teen girls, mothers with screaming kids, and blue-haired grannies. They stumble and stare, necks craning and mouths gaping, like they can’t come to terms with the sight of a gorgeous Viking god pushing a cart down the cereal aisle.
I get it. He stands out in such a shocking way I find myself gawking right along with them.
But they don’t approach, not even when I trail at a distance and pretend we’re not together. I should’ve known. As recklessly impulsive as I am, I’m not sure I’d have the balls to initiate a conversation with such an intimidatingly beautiful man.
The bet is a total bust. So I wander off to check out the music section while he heads toward the auto department to get lawn mower oil.
I don’t make it two steps down the pop music aisle before a passing employee stops in his tracks and flashes me a toothy smile.
Don’t come this way. Don’t come this way.
He prowls straight toward me, eyes fixed on mine. Ugh.
I turn on my heel and hurry down the aisle. But he catches me in the next row over.
Short black hair, lean build, he’s probably early-twenties. Too young to grow a beard or comprehend the danger lurking nearby in the form of a possessive, scowly male.
“Do you need help finding something?” His gaze makes an audacious journey over my body. “I’m at your service.”
“Nope. All good here. Thanks.” I pivot away.
He sidles around me and strokes a thumb across his bottom lip, grinning. “You’re so fine I had to come over and tell you. You must be new in town.”
“Yeah, so I’m going to sit this one out.” I duck around him.
He chases. “What’s your name?”
“Not interested.”
“Give me a chance.” He races past me and steps into my path. “Let’s go out tonight.”
“Let’s not and stick with that story.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.”
Blatant verbal disinterest apparently doesn’t work with this guy.
“I have a confession.” I arrange my face into pained embarrassment. “I have a raging yeast infection going on. With all the itchiness and discharge, I just can’t tonight.”
“Tomorrow night then.” He searches my eyes, not a flinch in his expression. “Seven o’clock. Where should I pick you up?”
I got to hand it to him. He’s smart enough to see through the lie and persistent to boot.
“Look, you seem like a nice guy…” I glance at his Walmart name tag. “Max. I’m sure you’ll go far in life”—and I really hope he stays there—”so you should probably run along and get going on that.”
I’m really not judging him for working at Walmart. At least he has a job. Can’t say the same for myself.
But he’s earning major creeper points every second he stands here, eying me up and down.
His perusal freezes on something over my shoulder. Given his backward shuffle and paling complexion, it doesn’t take a brainiac to know Trace is standing behind me.
“I’ll…uh…” Max continues his retreat out of the aisle. “Catch you next time.”
I wait until he vanishes around the corner before turning toward Trace.
My breath hitches. Damn, he looks murderous. Sharp blade-like eyes, deep-set scowl, shoulders back, and hands behind him, he stands a few feet away, glaring like a giant with a gym-honed physique. It’s no wonder he’s so confident. His towering stature allows him to stare down anyone who crosses his path. Including me.
“Stop scowling at me.” I breeze past him. “I had that under control.”
“Sounds like we should swing by the medicine aisle.” With long-legged strides, he easily catches up. “Pick up something for your itchy problem.”
“How on earth did you hear that?” I reach the cart, where he left it sitting in the main walkway, and lean on the handle. “Were you eavesdropping one aisle over? Or did you bug me?”
“I’m aware of my surroundings. This way.” He crooks a finger and leads me toward the back of the store.
“I thought we were finished?”
“I won the bet.”
“Nobody likes a gloater. And it was hardly fair with that don’t-talk-to-me scowl you wear.”
“Nobody likes a poor loser. Leave the cart there.” He gestures toward a corridor in the rear of the store.
I park the cart. “What are you—?”
He grabs my arm and walks me forcibly down the hall toward the bathrooms.
“Wait.” I yank on his grip and lower my voice to a whisper. “We are not getting dirty in a Walmart bathroom.”
Pulling me to a stop, he glares at an employee who skitters by. The poor woman casts her gaze to the floor and hurries out of the corridor.
“I don’t want a scene,” he says at my ear, “but I’ll carry you if I have to.”
“You can keep your threats to yourself.” I relax in his hold. “I don’t need them.”
With a hand on my bicep, he guides me to the bathrooms at the end of the hall. The door to the women’s room is locked, so he pulls me into the men’s single-stall bathroom and locks us inside. Then his crystal blue eyes knife in my direction.
His demeanor shifts from intense to ravenously intense as he stalks toward me. I back up, heart fluttering and stomach swarming with nerves.
“I know you won the bet, but I need to understand the rules.” I circle him as he circles me, and we move together in a vibrating dance of sexual tension. “Are you going to fuck me? Is that allowed?” I’m desperate for it, clenching and trembling from the inside out. But… “I’m not going to sneak behind Cole’s back.”
“I’ll honor the guidelines Cole and I set.” He prowls around me, drifting closer with each step. “You’re more than welcome to tell him all about it when we get back.”
My chest collapses. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
He pauses behind me and runs his fingers through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. “Cole understands the principles of love.”
I’m not sure I understand. “What are the principles of love?”
“Pain.” He squeezes his hand in my hair, yanking on the roots. “Risk. Self-destruction.”
“Ow.” I clasp his wrist, stumbling in my attempt to loosen his grip. “What about effort? Sacrifice? Trust? Kindness?”
“Do you want kindness right now, darling?”
I laugh at the endearment. “I wouldn’t mind keeping some of my hair.”
He releases me. “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”
And there it is, the brutally beautiful command of a man whom I love to the ends of self-destruction. His dominance repeatedly draws me back to him, the strength of our love fused into two bodies that ache to align the way we’re supposed to.
But my heart is divided.
If this is a war, Trace and Cole aren’t the enemies.
I am.
I’m the betrayer who loves them both. The persecutor who will rip us apart. The executioner who will snuff the light that burns so brightly between us.
Sex isn’t the solution, but it’s too late to have a conscience. I’m already committed, flattening my palms against the wall.
I don’t want to control this. I need Trace to do it, whatever it is.
Punish me. Wreck me.
Tear down my ruins.
Excavate me from my sins.
Hurt me. Spank me. Set me on fire.
Make me burn.