Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,1

and me, taken at Busch Stadium three years ago when he surprised me with tickets to see the St. Louis Cardinals.

“Damn, that’s badass.” Mark approaches the dining room.

“Hmm?” Shoving away memories of baseball and Cole, I trail after him.

He circles the motorcycle and raises a brow. “You know how to ride this?”

I know how to ride on the back of it, clutching tightly to the man who left it behind.

“No.” I arrange my mouth in a smile. “Just holding it for someone.” Straightening my spine, I inch toward the hall. “I’m going to go slip on some shoes and—”

“I was thinking…” He steps toward me with his hands in his pockets. “Maybe we could hang out here? Order in some food and…” The corner of his lips crook up. “Get to know each other without trying to talk over the noise in a bar or restaurant?”

“Oh. Um…”

I actually prefer staying here to going anywhere with a man I don’t know. If this date goes to hell, it would be easier to kick him out of my house than try to catch a ride home.

Other than the blatant way he checked me out, he seems polite and unassuming. But what if I’m missing an undertone in his suggestion? Does staying here mean he expects sex? God, I need that. Like really, really need the hard, consuming sensation of a man inside my body.

Emotionally, however, I’m not prepared for that. The idea of intimacy with anyone but Cole feels like betrayal.

“It was just a suggestion, Danni.” His green eyes search my face. “If you’d rather—”

“I haven’t been on a date in three years.” I touch my flushed forehead, cursing myself for admitting that out loud.

“I didn’t know.” He gives me a gentle smile. “I should definitely take you out then.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” I run my fingers through my hair, holding the blonde mess away from my face. “I’m just nervous and a little rusty at this. Or maybe a lot rusty. How does this work? Is sex expected on a first date?”

He chokes and covers his shocked grin beneath the cup of a hand. Then he clears his voice and sobers his expression. “You’re a straight shooter, huh?”

“So I’ve been told. You want a beer?”

“Sure.” He follows me into the kitchen. “To answer your question, I’m not expecting sex tonight. But I’m not gonna lie. I’m crazy attracted to you.”

With my head in the fridge, I glance over my shoulder and catch his eyes on my ass a half second before he looks away. It doesn’t bother me. I work hard to keep my body fit, and it feels nice to be appreciated.

I hand him a Bud Light and open one for myself. “There’s a cozy place to sit out back. Beer and conversation without the noise. I can order pizza. No promise of sex. Sound good?”

“Perfect.”

Grabbing my phone, I lead him through the narrow walkway between the parallel kitchen counters and head toward the door at the other end.

“Love the style in here.” He taps his fingers on the green stove top and turns in a circle to take in the matching retro green cabinets, green tiles, and yellow-flowered wallpaper.

Five years ago, I bought the house from an old lady who hadn’t updated since the seventies. Room by room, I slowly remodeled but ran out of money to tackle the kitchen and bathroom. The vintage green in both rooms has grown on me.

“I like it, too.” I hold the door for him and step into the addition on the back of the house.

Once upon a time, this was my favorite room. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors, wall-mounted ballet bars, and varnished wood flooring were installed during the happiest year of my life, every screw and bracket set by the strongest, most loving hands I’ve ever known.

Mark chugs a gulp of beer and looks around. “So this is where the magic happens?”

A lot of magic happened in here, but that was before my entire world was ripped away. “I run a dance company out of this room.”

Cole made love to me tenderly, viciously, panting and grinding against every inch of this space. Now, the creaks in the floor, scratches in the wood, the shattered hole in one of the mirrors, every echo and dust mote is a painful memory scraping at the wound inside me. On the worst days, it’s impossible to walk in here without doubling over with grief. Tonight, I just feel…lost.

“No way.” Mark’s attention zeroes in on the