by Pam Godwin
“Except you didn’t make it right. You punched my date, fucked me like a deranged animal, and left. You left me on the floor like discarded trash.”
His hands tighten on his nape, and his chest heaves. “I came here last night to apologize, to throw myself at your feet. Then I saw you with him, heard what you did with him.” His breathing grows louder, harsher. “I fucking lost it.” He lowers his arms, flexes his hands between his spread legs. “It’s no excuse, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He releases a self-depreciating laugh. “I’m not good at this. Christ, I’m a fucking nightmare. I know this, but I’m trying.” His eyes, tormented and bloodshot, find mine. “I want to be the man who deserves you.”
My breath leaves me, and my shoulders sag. “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.”
“Marlo works for me, and she’ll do any damn thing I tell her to do. Including touching herself while I watch.”
My teeth slam together.
“I didn’t watch,” he says quickly, furiously. “I wasn’t even hard.”
“You’re a real piece of work.” I pace away, trying to make sense of his words. “If you wanted a relationship with me, why sabotage it by fucking another woman?”
“I didn’t fuck her!” He shouts then lowers his voice. “I have cameras in my room. The video feed is recorded. I can prove it. Hell, you can watch the last four months of footage. You’re the only woman who’s been in my bed.”
“I don’t believe you.” Even though my foolish heart feels like it’s floating out my chest. “You told me you never sleep alone.”
“That was the first day we spent together, and it was true at the time.” He frowns and rubs his forehead. “I haven’t been with a woman since we met.”
I’m too emotionally drained for this. He’s messing with my head and breaking down my resolve.
“What about the woman on your lap at the casino?” I stand taller, bracing my fists on my hips. “Or the dozens of others I see you flirting and drinking with?”
“Last night, with you, was the first time I had sex in four months.”
“Whether or not that’s true, you wanted me to believe you fucked Marlo. It doesn’t make sense.”
“When I was here yesterday, I wanted you to choose me. I needed you to say it.” He slouches on the cushion, dropping his head back and staring at the rafters. “I left here thinking I was nothing more than a rebound, a way for you to bounce back from the only man you’ll ever love.” He glances at the wedding dress beside him and closes his eyes. “When you left work early, I assumed you would seek me out to give your two-weeks notice.”
He couldn’t have been more wrong. I lower onto the futon and massage my temples. I need coffee.
“I’m accustomed to getting exactly what I want.” He looks me in the eyes. “But with you, I’m at a complete loss of control. The feelings you stir in me, the goddamn pain I felt yesterday when I thought you didn’t want me… I wasn’t prepared for this. Jesus, Danni, I’ve never put myself in such a powerless, vulnerable position.”
“Sounds like love,” I say softly.
He stares at me, with something akin to desperation in his eyes.
“Love isn’t a choice, you know.” I finger the fabric of the wedding dress. “You can’t control it. It just…happens, and you better hold on for dear life, because you never know when you’ll lose it.”
“I shouldn’t have demanded you make a choice.” A pained smirk twists his lips, there and gone in a blink. “But I did, and your non-answer was incapacitating. I was hurt, wounded…”
“So you set up the thing with Marlo to hurt me back.”
He nods. “I’m a jealous, vindictive son of a bitch.”
I scoop up the dress and walk to one of the boxes by the stairs—the box that holds the engagement ring. Then I pack the gown away, folding and tucking and keeping my hands busy while I think.
Any trust I had with Trace is broken. It would take a long time to reach a healthy place with him. That’s if we’re both willing to put maximum effort into some kind of future together.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Moving on.” I close the box, straighten to my full height, and stare down at my progress.
He rises from the futon, his eyes softening as he approaches me. “The gravity of that statement isn’t lost on me.”
My brows furrow, and I hold still, waiting for him to continue.
“If anything happened to you…” He stands behind me and places a hand on my shoulder, guiding me to lean back against his chest. “If I lost you, if you died, I’m not sure I would be able to move on.”
I draw in a frayed breath, shivering at the heat of his body against my back. “Relationships don’t always hurt like this. When it’s good, it’s the best feeling in the world. Those are the moments to fight for.”
His mouth lowers, exhaling a warm sigh against my neck, as if my words give him hope for us.
“We’re stuck, Trace. Stuck in a toxic cycle of poisonous mistrust, jealousy, misunderstandings, and closed-off emotions. None of that works in a lasting relationship.”
He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his brow against my temple. “Please, don’t give up on me.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I won’t give in. We have so much shit to wade through, first of which is your relationship with Marlo.”
He spins me around and cups my face. “I’ve never had sex with her.”
Trust. Broken.
I grip his muscled forearm. “I want to see the video footage from last night.”
“My laptop’s in the car.” He grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs.
My thoughts lump together in a jumbled mess as I follow Trace out of the basement. Maybe he didn’t fuck Marlo. Maybe my feelings for him haven’t been completely demolished. But that doesn’t make him any less of a manipulative bastard.
At the top of the stairs, he closes the door and fidgets with the padlock. “Why did you keep this locked?”
“It leads somewhere that no longer exists.”
He rests his lips against the top of my head for a silent moment. Then his hand catches mine and leads me away.
In the kitchen, he turns on the coffee maker and rummages through my cabinets while making a phone call.
“I’ll do this.” I nudge him to the side and grab the coffee beans.
“Yes,” he says into the phone and walks to the fridge. “Miss Angelo and I won’t be back to work until Friday. Make the appropriate arrangements.”
What? Friday is…four days away. I whirl around, glaring at his back as he digs out packages of eggs and bacon.
“Send someone to Miss Angelo’s house with an overnight bag for the week.” He turns and gives me an uncomfortable smile. “Jeans and t-shirts.”
I lean against the counter and fold my arms. “What are you doing?”
“That’ll be all.” He stares at the floor for a second and pulls in a breath. “Marlo, wait.” His hand goes to the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about last night. I used you. It was wrong and—” He closes his eyes, listening for several seconds. “Understood.”
He disconnects the call and meets my waiting gaze. “Marlo turned in her two-weeks after you left last night.”
I don’t blame her for quitting and can’t help but feel selfish relief. “She could sue you for sexual harassment.”
“She took the severance package, which required her to sign a release that frees me from potential lawsuits.”
“Lucky you.”
I drum my fingers on the counter as unease chews holes inside me. I’m not comfortable with his treatment of her. Maybe I should let it go, but that’s not my style.
“You think it’s okay to treat women like that?” I straighten my spine, meeting his glare head-on. “I mean, she worked for you, and you told her to masturbate for you in some disgustin
g game that had nothing to do with her. That’s not okay.”
He slides his hands in his pockets, stares at the floor, and releases a breath. “Marlo isn’t what she seems.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t just want to hook up.” He looks up at me, his eyebrows gathering. “She’s infatuated with me to the point of delusion. I came home and found her, not once but three times, naked on the couch in my living room.”
“What? When?”
“It started around the time I hired you. I removed her security access and fired her.”
“Then why was she still working for you?”
“She brought in a team of lawyers, threatening sexual harassment—of which she had absolutely no grounds.”
“With all your money, you couldn’t fight that?”
“I could.” He scratches his jaw. “But I chose to teach her a lesson.”
“By watching her masturbate?”
“By waiting for the right moment to record her touching herself willfully, consensually, in my bedroom.”
Oh. “You showed her the video footage?”
“Yes, right after you left. She didn’t hesitate to drop her threats against me and take the severance.” He narrows his eyes. “I told you I’m a vindictive son of a bitch.”
He could’ve sued her for trespassing in his penthouse…naked. He could’ve destroyed her career, her livelihood. Instead, he apologized for using her and paid her to quit.
He calls himself vindictive, but his actions hint at compassion. In a depraved, fucked up way. But still, it’s compassion, and it warms me from the inside out.
I blow out of breath. “What’s with the overnight bag?”
“We’re stuck in a toxic cycle, and I’m committed to resolving that.”
“It can’t be fixed in four days.”
“I know that, but I’m not leaving your side. I assume you’d rather be anywhere but the penthouse. We can spend the week here. Or in Hawaii, Paris, Australia…”
He’s lost his ever-loving mind.
I prepare the coffee, forcing myself to think about this logically. I don’t know if I should spend the day with him, let alone a week on the other side of the world. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“We’ll stay here then.” Stepping behind me, he touches his brow to the back of my head. “I won’t leave you, Danni. Ever.”
My heart latches onto those words while my brain screams, Lies, lies, lies.
He grips my hip and pulls my backside tight against him. “You’re not quitting the casino.”
The command in his tone raises my hackles, but there’s no sense in denying it.
“I’ll stay,” I say. “Until you fuck up again.”
“I won’t.” He steps back. “Where are your light bulbs?”
I point toward the hall. “Closet. Why?”
“I’ll be right back.”
As I pour our coffees and start the bacon, the front door opens and shuts. I angle toward the kitchen window and watch Trace stride next door to Virginia’s house, carrying a light bulb.
I smile, thinking about how much hell she’s going to give him. If he wants to win her over, he’ll have to do a lot more than change her lights. But it’s a good start.
If he wants to win me over, well… He can start by proving he’s worth the risk. He needs to convince me to think of him in terms of regardless and in spite of and anyway. Because right now, he’s a huge fucking if.
He returns as I start cracking eggs in the bacon grease.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“She’s a stubborn woman.”
“That bad, huh?” I laugh.
“I have bruises on my legs from that damn cane.” He grabs the spatula from my hand and sets his open laptop on the counter. “The video is loaded. Just push play.”
As he finishes the eggs, I climb onto the counter and move the device to my lap. The video begins when he and Marlo enter his bedroom. There’s no audio, but I sense the awkwardness between them. He doesn’t look at her, his mouth moving and finger pointing absently at the couch where I found them. On screen, Marlo touches her throat, tracking his pacing steps with infatuation in her eyes.
“Jesus.” My mouth dries. “She really wanted you.”
The spatula in his hand pauses. “The attraction wasn’t mutual.”
Maybe not, but it’s still painful to see him move behind her on the video, to watch her lift her skirt and touch herself for him. He doesn’t look down, his attention flicking between his watch and the door. His slacks are lowered, but his underwear stays on. With her face buried in the cushion and her hand working between her legs, she doesn’t seem to notice he didn’t take his cock out.
Thirty seconds into the recording, I walk in. He doesn’t grip her hips until that exact moment.
He wanted to hurt me, and the impact is written all over my face on the screen.
I’ve seen enough. My hands tremble as I close the laptop and set it aside.
He slides the skillet off the burner and steps between my legs. Torment contorts his expression, and his arms fold around me. With a hand gripping my nape, the other bites into my spine, holding me so tight I feel the remorse coiling his muscles.
“I love you.” His mouth presses against my shoulder. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
“I’m scared, too.” I let myself hug him back, thawing in the exquisite warmth of his embrace. “One day at a time, okay?”
He exhales heavily. “Okay.”
We eat side by side on the couch in the front room, sipping our coffee and lost in our thoughts.
He finishes first and leans back, watching me. “You don’t have a TV in here or your bedroom. But there’s a nice one in the basement.”
“It was Cole’s.”
“But it works?”
“Yep.” I collect our plates and walk to the kitchen.
He trails behind me. “I don’t understand why it’s in the basement.”
I set the dishes in the sink and brace my hands on the counter. “I moved all of his things down there.”
“Except the Harley.”
“If I could roll it down the stairs, I would have.” I smile, and it feels like a grimace. “Seeing his stuff every day wasn’t helping my grieving process. I had a rough few months after he died. Kind of lost myself there for a while.”
Rather than offering condolences or useless words, he gives me exactly what I need. Framing my face in his huge hands, he rests his lips against my forehead. I slip my arms around his waist, and we stay like that until the doorbell rings.
He greets his driver at the door and collects his overnight bag. Then, with his hand in mine, he leads me to the bathroom. “Shower and a nap. Sound good?”
Sounds perfect. I only slept a couple of hours last night, and I doubt he slept at all in his sports car.
In the bathroom, he wedges into the tiny walkway between the sink and tub. Does he intend for us to shower together? My belly flutters at the thought, which is ridiculous after what we did together last night. But I haven’t seen him nude from the waist down.
He grips the back of his t-shirt and yanks it over his head. His hands fall to his pants, releasing the fly and shoving them off with his shoes and socks. Then he turns to me, wearing tight black briefs and nothing else.
All that flawless skin and sculpted muscle makes my mouth water and my insides throb. His beauty is the stuff of legends, and he exudes the kind of vibrating power one would find amid a Viking siege.
Every mythical god began with a story, based on a person and a series of events. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Norse divinities of war, beauty, and sexuality began in Trace’s family tree. He’s so damn gorgeous and tall and insanely intense I can’t stop myself from trembling.
And it’s my turn to remove my clothes. I’m not a shy person, not even a little, but stripping while he watches suddenly feels like I’m stepping off a plank.
“You’re nervous.�
�� He touches a finger beneath my chin, lifting my face.
My nipples tighten, and I bite my lip.
All drama and heartache aside, I’m undeniably attracted to him. I went so long without sex, and now that I’ve been with him, it’s like all these dormant cravings have been jarred loose. We had angry sex—hateful, bitter, pound-me-into-the-floor sex, and it was mind-blowing. I can’t stop wondering what other kinds of sex would be like with him. Gentle, playful, kinky… Jesus, after the spanking and choking, I know he’s a kinky bastard.
I might not be able to forgive his heartlessness, but I can’t ignore this snarling, relentless hunger he’s unleashed in me.
“I’m just going to wash you.” He runs a hand through my hair, his voice soft and scratchy. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I slowly release a breath.
He slides the shower curtain back and stares at the tiny green tub with wide eyes.
“You had that exact expression when you drove my Midget,” I say.
“I imagine Cole experienced the same claustrophobic horror when he saw this green coffin.”
A swallow sticks in my throat. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Include him. Talk about him.”
“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.”
He’s trying, and gratitude tingles through my limbs. But there are some things I won’t share, like how many times Cole followed me into that tub and fucked me against every square inch.
“But I require something from you,” Trace says. “If and when you forgive me, I need you to make room for me”—he taps my chest—“here. Understood?”
“Yes.” My heart pounds, devouring his words and the vulnerability in his eyes.
I reach for the hem of my camisole, but he brushes my hands away and lifts the top over my head. Then he slides off my boyshorts, his fingers caressing my skin with tenderness.
Any nervousness I felt about being nude is muted the instant he removes his boxer briefs. A different sensation grips my body as I take in the glorious shape of his. Appreciation, amazement, desire—all of it expands my chest with a heavy intake of air.
