Two is a Lie(74)

There goes my heart, swooping and thumping and gobbling up every word. He makes me greedy and thirsty. I suck on his lips, sipping and drinking, unable to quench this craving. “I’m crazy in love with you, Cole Hartman.”

With a deep groan, he holds my gaze and slides his hands around my breasts, massaging, caressing, his touch like velvet magic.

“Feel me inside you? You’re as far as I go.” He buries himself to the root and grinds while tasting my lips. “Now until forever, you have all of me.”

I have his heart, his breaths, and every hard inch that pulses against my inner walls. It’s more than I deserve, and I can’t let go.

I glide my hands down the lines of his back, following the hard-sloping curve of his ass and slipping beneath his jeans where they hang low on his hips. And that’s where I hold on, gripping handfuls of solid muscle as he rides me languorously into orgasm.

When I fall, he chases me over the edge with a muffled grunt against my mouth. Connected in ecstasy, lips fastened, and hearts roaring as one, we reach for each other, lost in the rhythm of our breaths.

It’s only after I come down from the blissful high that I start to panic.

“Was I loud?” I glance at the door and wonder if it’s hollow or insulated. “Oh God, I moaned, didn’t I?”

“Shh.” He kisses my lips and steps back, tucking himself away. “No one heard us, and we’ve only been gone ten minutes.”

Knowing Trace, he started a search party thirty seconds after he lost sight of me. I slide off the vanity, straighten my clothes, and slap cold water on my flushed cheeks. I should probably try to clean the come from between my legs, but every second I dally is a risk.

“I’m going out first,” I whisper, reaching for the door. “Give me a few-minutes head start.”

He narrows his eyes, and his mouth curves downward. I lean up and kiss that pout. Then I hit the light switch, blanketing the bathroom in blackness.

With a deep breath, I swing open the door and stride into my sister’s L-shaped bedroom. As I round the corner, Trace enters from the hall, and dammit, I freeze up like bugged-eyed, guilty-as-fuck deer in headlights.

“Where have you been?” His head tilts, seeing too much in his millisecond glance over my body.

“Bathroom.” I walk past him, head high and heart thundering. “I’m ready to go. To your place.”

I expect him to jump on that suggestion and follow me. Instead, he continues into the bedroom and leans around the corner, staring in the direction of the bathroom.

Panic, fear, shame—all of it crashes through me in breath-shaking waves. I’m going to confess everything about Cole, but not like this. Not here. Bree and her family don’t need my selfish drama unraveling in their home and spoiling their Thanksgiving.

Trace straightens and folds his hands behind his back, his head angled down and brows pulled in. Then he paces back to me and laces his fingers through mine. “Let’s go.”

Composed as ever, he leads me into the hall with confident, relaxed strides.

I’m not relieved. If anything, his unflappable dispassion makes me nervous as hell.

As we say our goodbyes in the kitchen, Cole enters with my coat, slipping it over my shoulders and pressing a lingering kiss on my brow.

If Trace saw Cole in the shadows of the tiny bathroom, he doesn’t mention it on the drive to the casino. Doesn’t say a word as we enter the penthouse. Doesn’t stop me when I head to his master bathroom and take a shower.

I dress in the button-up shirt he left on the vanity. By the time I step into his bedroom, I’ve worked myself into a gutless fog of misery and guilt.

He sits on the foot of the bed, still clad in his handsome suit. Knees spread and head down, he’s bent over his lap, staring at his hands. In the background, the mournful vocals of Say Something by A Great Big World croon about giving up.

It’s not a song in my playlist. He chose it deliberately, knowing that music is one of the ways I communicate. His expression is blank. His mouth doesn’t move, yet he’s telling me exactly how he feels through the heartbreaking lyrics.

The sad piano melody shivers through me, raising the hairs on my neck. It’s an end-of-the-rope song. A last-chance, this-is-goodbye, I’m-walking-away song.

He’s done with me.

My knees buckle, and my hand flies to my quivering lips.

No, Trace. Please, no.

Tears rise hard and fast, blurring my vision. Dread twists my stomach, and I can’t breathe. Can’t find my voice.

Say something. Say something. Say something.

Cold, emotionless, he lifts his arctic eyes to mine. “Say what you came here to tell me.”

He already knows.