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“Danni, you must be asking yourself… What if he doesn’t show up for the wedding? It’s only a week away.”
He was supposed to be home a month ago. Something’s happened. I feel it like a gaping jagged hole in my gut, but I refuse to examine it. I can’t. I need to focus on the wedding. It’s the only thing keeping me from crumbling.
But the last four months of silence, not hearing a word, not knowing if he’s okay is like a poison, dripping into my organs, spreading toxins of doubt, and making me ask all the questions Bree has finally worked up the nerve to voice.
“Yes, the oil terminal. An explosion killed several contractors.” He sits taller, adjusts the drape of his tie. “I’m sorry, Miss Angelo. Cole didn’t make it.”
“Four months ago. His remains were exhumed from the wreckage, returned to the States, and identified.” As Robert stands, he seems to make an effort to soften his voice. “His body was cremated and his financial assets will be transferred to you, per his request. Someone from our office will be in contact to help you make funeral arrangements.”
When the booze doesn’t numb, I break things. Like the mirror I just shattered with an empty fifth of whiskey.
God, I’ve made a mess of my life. How did I go from loving one man to loving another? I didn’t even date in between them, didn’t shop around and weigh my options. I just… Fell madly, sickeningly, desperately in love. Again. I love two men, and I lost them both.
Well, fuck that, and fuck being alone. I’m angry enough, fucking revengeful enough to finally put an end to three years of celibacy.
He’s casual, relaxed, and looks nothing like the two men who broke my heart.
He’s not intimidating enough. Not tall enough. Not sexy, cocky, or scowly enough. He’s not Trace.
I hope it was worth it, because tomorrow, he’ll be looking for another foolish girl to dance on his stage.
When his mouth parts, I drive a knee into his groin. He grunts, and the hand on my throat loosens just enough for me to twist away. But I only make it two steps.
Cool air brushes against my bare bottom right before his palm slams down, igniting my skin with fire. “Fucking…God, fuck!” My arms and legs give out beneath the shocking pain, and my wail echoes through the room. “Why—?”
He spanks me again and again, and the sound of his hand slapping flesh punctuates the ungodly burn.
With every strike, the pain dissolves into languorous curls of heat. It seeps through my pleasure centers, soothing, stroking, and coaxing my inner muscles into a spasm of need.
him. I yank his mouth against my pussy. Then I shove him away, crying, spitting, “I fucking hate you.” He licks a path up my slit, breathes deeply against my mound, and looks directly in my eyes. “I love you.”
if he loved her, he wouldn't be with another woman though
He just fucked Marlo Vogt, and I let him lick me to climax. He’s no good for me, his intent manipulative, his desire poisonous.
God help me, I forgot what this feels like, the exquisite sensation of being taken, dominated, and fucked into mindless oblivion. It’s been three years.
His hand clenches at his side and releases. A jagged breath, and he strides out the door.
why does he leave? i'm so confused
I wanted sex tonight, and now that I’ve broken that crippling dry spell, I feel worse. Because intimacy is what I desperately crave—intimacy with a man who loves me.
Cole would’ve never done this to me. He was nothing if not faithful and one-hundred-percent devoted.
Funny how she snubbed Cole every day he lived here, and now that he’s gone, she can’t stop singing his praises.
“If you knew I was coming to find you after work, why were you with her? I saw you fucking her, Trace. She was naked from the waist down and moaning.”
“I haven’t been with a woman since we met.”
“We’re stuck in a toxic cycle, and I’m committed to resolving that.” “It can’t be fixed in four days.”
Gentle, playful, kinky… Jesus, after the spanking and choking, I know he’s a kinky bastard.
“Yes, I do. He’s part of you, and I don’t want you to ever close off that part, or any part, of yourself from me. If you need to talk about him, I want to be the one you come to.”
aww
“If I don’t make any more mistakes,” he says, brushing a kiss against my wrist, “we’re spending the rest of our lives together.”
“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.”
We chat for hours about everything and nothing.
yay!! every romance novel needs this at least once
“No.” He snorts arrogantly. “But anyone with a dick knows how to change brakes.”
LMAO
“I never thought I’d fall in love twice,” I whisper. “Everyone deserves a second chance.” Her double-meaning settles through me. He deserves a second chance, and so do I.
Trace makes me wait three weeks for sex.
It’s the ballad of us, and I know he agrees when his head lifts, eyes seeking mine.
He could die, abandon me in grief, but I accept that risk. Because I’m decidedly, irrevocably committed to fighting for a future with him.
“I love you.” His breath catches, and he tightens his arms, burying his face in my neck. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear you say that.”
“Get the fuck out!” I gasp as a hot air balloon blooms from a basket tied to the ground. “We’re doing that?”
It doesn’t come. The restaurant is packed, and most of the diners return to their meals. Others watch with curiosity.
I THINK HE'S GOING TO PROPOSE LOL
But as I exhale slowly, it feels like a rebirth. The inception of something extraordinary. A new beginning. A second chance. With Trace.
“Our engagement party.”
don't u wait a little longer to have an engagement party?
“A month ago.” The hot air balloon ride was a month ago. The first time I told him I loved him. The man doesn’t waste any time.
Cole’s face flashes through my mind, and my heart gives a heavy thump. That achy feeling will never go away, because I will always love him, always miss how happy I was with him, even if I found someone I love just as much.
The dream I just woke from starred a man who can’t miss me. It isn’t physically possible. Not anymore.
Trace proposed two weeks ago, and since that night, Cole’s been less and less in my thoughts.
Sweet lord in heaven, he has a great ass. Hard and round, it sits high and clenches tight, forming deep cleavage I love to play with.
Now that I’ve seen his hotter-than-Johnny-Castle dance moves, I can’t not choreograph a routine that will put us in the history books of best-ever wedding receptions. But choreography takes time. So does all the practice I’ll be putting him through. I’m thinking a Spring wedding.
Until then, we need to figure out living arrangements. He wants me to move into the penthouse, and I refuse to sell my house. I still officially run a dance company, even if I’m not teaching anymore. Who knows? I might go back to that someday.
He looks like Cole. Thinner. Slightly longer hair. His gait a little more cautious. It’s a mirage. The density of the fog is playing tricks on me. But his eyes… Dark, warm, unforgettable Cole eyes.
Except there are no tattoos.
