Chancing my own death, I trace a finger over her high cheekbone. The feel of her is enough to unravel me. “I missed your face like hell, Trouble.” The old nickname makes her flush, and she tries to step away, but I hold tight. “Don’t call me that.” I ignore her. “Come home.” “For Dakota?” “No. For me,” I rasp, deciding to be honest. Anger and something like pain flare in her eyes. “If you wanted me home, you had your chance.” I frown. “What are you—” “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I see you already have one.”
Aww!!
