“Danni.” Trace’s voice muffles through the door, unnervingly composed. “Let me in.”
“Are you mad?” A smile dances through my question.
The handle wriggles, and something metal scrapes against it. Uh oh. He must have a key. As he works the lock, I send another text to Cole for the hell of it.
Trace: I really want to kiss you. Passionately. While Danni watches.
The door bursts open just as the phone vibrates in my hand with an incoming call. Cole’s ID flashes across the screen, and I bite back my grin.
“It’s for you.” I offer the phone to the scowling man in front of me.
“What did you text to him?”
“It’s top-secret.”
His scowl deepens, doing dirty things to my libido. He grabs the phone and paces into the bedroom. I trail behind him as he accepts the call.
“Whatever message you just received—” He tilts his head, listening. “What?” He turns and shoots me an appalled look.
I hide my amusement behind pinched lips and hold out a hand for the phone. He tosses it to me, like he can’t get rid of it fast enough.
The device bounces off my fingers and clatters to the wood floor. I stare at it for a second, wondering why I didn’t catch it. My coordination is off.
Trace’s brows pull in, probably thinking the same thing.
“I must be coming down with something?” I bend to pick it up, swaying against a sudden wave of dizziness.
He catches my arm and snags the phone, handing it over. “Make it quick. I want you back in bed.”
I nod and lift it to my ear. “Hey.”
“He wants you back in bed?” Cole growls.
I guess my texts didn’t lighten the mood. “Were you really going to break into the king’s castle?”
“Danni.” He grunts. “I’ll take down God himself to get to you.”
“Somewhere, lightning just struck.”
“How are you feeling?” The hostility drains from his voice, leaving raspy concern. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m just tired. Probably picked up a bug.”
Trace perches on the bed, his arresting eyes firing with threats, the kind that promise if I don’t hang up soon, he’ll bend me over his knee and pommel my ass.
I lower beside him, giving him an innocent look as I speak into the phone. “I have a question.”
“If it’s about my heart, don’t worry,” Cole says. “It’s still yours.”
My chest rises, filling with warmth. “Are you off work tomorrow?”
“Yes. I aligned my schedule with yours, so I’m off when you’re off. When are you coming home?”
I reach over and clutch Trace’s hand on his lap. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
As expected, Trace tenses, and I squeeze his fingers. I’ve spent twice as much time with him as I have with Cole, not that I’m keeping track.
“We’ll see how you’re feeling,” Cole says. “But if you’re up for it, I have something planned.”
“That sounds great.” Now comes the hard part, and my insides twist. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He’s going to say the words, and I’m going to repeat them back. While Trace sits next to me. If I leave the room to say it, it’ll be obvious, and it’s too late anyway, because Cole just sighed, which means…
“I love you.” His voice reverberates through me, full of commitment and honesty—the only way to love.
I close my eyes as the potency of three syllables swells the chambers of my heart. Then I turn my head and meet Trace’s gaze, speaking to both of them. “I love you, too.”
The next day, Trace takes me to brunch in his Maserati GranTurismo, with its metallic charcoal paint and Italian leather seats. I don’t give a shit about sports cars, but I’d have to be dead to not appreciate the view of him driving it.
With a hand draped over the steering wheel, he works the gear shift with sleek confidence. His blond hair combs back in a textured style that somehow looks both windblown and photo-shoot ready. A brown suede jacket hugs his upper body in all the right places, and fitted black slacks accentuate the bulge of his groin so distractingly I can’t stop myself from reaching over to feel the shape.
His fingers capture my wrist before I make contact.
“I’ll pull this car over right now.” His hand tightens, twinging my bones. “And fuck you on the hood, on the side of the road, in front of God and everyone.” He releases my arm. “Try me.”
I click my tongue. “That sounds illegal.”
“What you’re doing to me should be illegal.”