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I don’t know whether I’m shocked or impressed. Perhaps a bit of both. I’ve never been rejected before and definitely never been spoken to like that.
The sun’s reminder of what I have lost. I hate my hand without his ring. I hate my life without his love.
“Goodbye.” She walks off through the crowd, and I stare after her. All right . . . I’ll admit it. That woman is insanely fucking hot.
He rushes me and grabs my face in his hands and kisses me. His tongue swipes through my lips, and he pushes me up against the wall. “Believe me, Claire Anderson . . . the last thing I feel when I look at you . . . is pity.”
That man is the devil and as tempting as sin.
Tristan Miles is chocolate. Rich, delicious, and dreamy, he offers a high . . . but in the end, he is detrimental to your health and bad to the bone.
“Be a good boy, and you might get what you want.” He smiles darkly. “Or be a bad boy, and take it anyway.”
When I’m holding her in my arms like this, intimacy is running between us like a river, and just for a moment . . . She is mine.
My heart breaks into a million pieces, and I want to run after him and beg him to stay. But I won’t . . . because he was going to leave anyway. I can’t give him the life that he wants. He was never mine to keep. My forever man died. Tristan Miles was just on loan.
I’m in love with a beautiful man.
“I love you.” He kisses me softly. “And to be honest, I’m glad I went, because it proved something to me . . . my mother’s got it all wrong.” He takes my face into his hands, and I stare up at him through tears. “You and the boys . . . are saving me. Not the other way around.”
Tristan Miles is here, the takeover king. The take-no-shit, get-what-he-wants man whom I used to hate is here batting . . . for us.
