One is a Promise (Tangled Lies, #1)

by Pam Godwin

He stares at me as if he just staked his claim, and God help me, that notion awakens such a deep-seeded need inside me it takes all my strength to not surrender to it.

“Trace.” “Do all your employees refer to you by first name?” “None.” Only his lips move, his eyes steady as ever, drilling into mine. “Do you treat your employees with personal visits to their homes?” “No.” He bites the word. I fold the contract, set it aside, and lean in, drifting so close the mint on his breath tingles my lips.

The moment has come to an end, and I know it’s just the beginning.

“You’re messy.” He glares at my hand where I twist the silver band on my right finger. I drop my arms to my sides as outrage spikes through my blood. “I’m not—” “I could fuck you right now, right here, and give you more pleasure than the son of a bitch who gave you that ring.” His arm snaps up, and his hand wraps around my throat.

I want to be annoyed by it, but instead, I find his social ineptitude oddly addictive.

He snatches the box from my hands, grips the back of my neck, and pulls my mouth to his. “I fucking love you,” he breaths into the kiss with so much adoration it makes my heart hurt.

“My life began the day we met. There is no before. Only you.”

“Where’s your ring?” He glares at my left hand with murderous accusation. Shit, I forgot to put it back on. “Bathroom counter. I took it off to wax my—” “Don’t ever take it off!” His roar echoes off the walls.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He lifts his hands, cupping them around my face.

“I asked you a question.” He grips my chin, forcing my eyes to his.

“Except mine’s a lot longer. Sleeker. More powerful.” He punctuates every word with a heated growl. “Are we still talking about cars?” “You tell me.”

“You get off on your own pain, don’t you?”

Love isn’t a choice. Nor is life. We connect, or we don’t connect. We live, and we die. There is no forever. The real fight is in making the best of it, making a difference, and appreciating the small glimmers of happiness.

He’s worn me down with his patience and consistency. But in the end, it’s his dedication that’s my undoing. He’s no longer an if but a when.

Love means different things for different people. For me, love is when his happiness is vital to my own.

Before I met him, I lost the ability to dream. If I’m dreaming now, I want to stay awake for it. I want to feel every fucking minute of it.