“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
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