A sense of relief sweeps through me. Sex is the gray area. I don’t want the responsibility of making rules around it and enforcing those rules. Even if that means I won’t always get what I want.
“Trace?”
“Hm?” His deep voice reverberates in his chest.
“I’m sorry about Cole.” I close my eyes. “Sleeping with him and not you wasn’t a conscious choice or any kind of choice. It would’ve been you if—”
“You warned me it would happen, and I already told you I don’t blame you.” He grips my jaw and angles my head back to meet my eyes. “This is the last time we discuss it. Understand?”
“Yes.”
He releases me, and I relax against his chest, burrowing into a snuggly closeness that rivals any kiss. Here, I can feel his heartbeat, smell the faint scent of cologne on his collar, and watch his pulse jumping along the vein in his throat.
And that’s how Cole finds me when steps inside a few minutes later.
My eyes lift, and my head follows, as if everything inside me is pulled toward his presence, as if my very soul knows its mate is near, and I need to go to him. That has to mean something, right? Do I feel the same way with Trace? Or am I fabricating signs that aren’t really there?
Cole approaches the couch and holds out a hand to me. “I want to show you something.”
“I should’ve let her kiss me.” Trace unwraps his arms from around me and slides me off his lap.
I step back, glaring at him. Why would he say that? Is he trying to pick a fight?
To my surprise, Cole laughs and grabs my hand. “Lost your chance, pal.”
“Pricks like you are the reason I drink.” Trace lifts the scotch to his lips, smirking.
Cole laughs harder and turns toward the hallway, leading me in that direction.
“What just happened?” I glance over my shoulder and find Trace reclined on the couch, following me with his eyes.
He doesn’t look upset or bothered. If anything, there’s a calculating glimmer in his expression, and that confuses me as much as it concerns me.
“I know the way to your heart.” Cole winks and guides me around the corner and out of view.
“Hang on.” I pull my hand from his. “Is this a competition?”
He pauses in front of the first door in the hall and meets my gaze head-on. “This is a war, Danni.”
My breath catches. “But you said—”
“We said no fighting,” a colder voice tiptoes behind me.
I didn’t even hear Trace follow. As I turn to face him, he’s already at my side, holding his glass of scotch.
“No secrets,” he says. “No brawls. No manipulations. But we both want the same thing.” His gaze drifts down and up my body in an I-own-you-you’re-mine way that trembles my legs. “And we both intend to win.”
Everything’s been so nonchalant today I feel sideswiped by this. But they warned me it wouldn’t be easy, and even without the warning, I know better. This is Cole and Trace. They’re not going to just sit back and let this play out on its own.
Does that change my resolve to stay and finish this? Definitely not. We’re in this together.
“What’s behind the door?” I ask.
“Enter your passcode.” Cole points at the keypad, his expression indecipherable.
When I punch in the code, he opens the door.
My hand flies to my mouth as I gasp. I don’t know what I expected, but polished wood floors, mirrored walls, and custom-built ballet bars wasn’t it.
“When did you build this?” I take a hesitant step into a dance studio that’s five times larger than my last one.
Cole lingers on the threshold and rests his hands in his pockets, his voice quiet. “I started the construction two years ago.”
“Two years ago?” I whirl toward Cole, my screech echoing through the dance studio. “How is that possible? You were on the run and—”
“Hiding.” He steps into the room and approaches the wall of windows, staring out at the sunset glistening across the lake. “When my cover was blown, this is the first place I came. It was the safest place to regroup and plan a counterattack.”
“Did you know he was in Missouri two years ago?” I ask Trace.
He leans against the wall in the hallway, his head tilted down, and a frown in his brow. “I recently found out about it.”
I turn back to Cole. “You said you couldn’t return to the States until you knew I was safe.”
“The woman,” he says, “the traitor, didn’t know about this house. Nothing here connected me to you or St. Louis. That said, I didn’t stay long. Others in my unit used to come here, and I didn’t know who I could trust.”