Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,12

each other, greeting, exploring, and connecting in a moment of silent fascination, where time and words are inconsequential. I hear the crescendo of possibilities, feel the vibrations answering inside me, and everything just…clicks.

His grin, complete with dimples, grows impossibly wider as I drink him in. Golden complexion, pillowy lips, straight white teeth, square jaw—every symmetrical feature renders a sculpture of masculine beauty. Carved to perfection, rebellious around the edges, and flirtatious without opening his mouth, oh baby, he’s all that and a lit fuse on dynamite.

“I expected the black jacket, shit-kickers, and faded jeans.” I step close enough to feel the heat of his body. “But those dimples…”

“If you pinch my cheeks and tell me I’m adorable, you’ll never see them again.” Amusement gleams in his eyes, but something else sifts through his gravelly voice, something dark and sinful. “Christ, your smile is beautiful.”

“Thank you for giving it to me.”

He gives me more than a smile. The look that follows marks the before and after in my life. The air ceases to exist, and the only thing between us is the anticipation of what is coming. In that flicker of time, with something as inconceivable as a look, he claims me, owns me, and ruins me for all others. It’s a look so defining it puts quotation marks around mine, his, us, and forever.

My pulse pounds. My skin tingles, and a cocktail of desire circulates and multiplies in my blood. This is it, the suspended moment I will forever remember. The one that determines my ultimate happiness or demise. The pinnacle point that reveals who I am and what I want.

He releases the chin strap of his half-helmet and lets it dangle against his neck. “You’re shivering.”

Am I? I snap out of my daze and lift the mug to my lips. “Are you married?”

“I will be.” Resting a leather-sleeved forearm on the gas tank, he leans in. “Does five o’clock tonight work for you?”

I sip the coffee and hum. “Is that a proposal?”

“It’s a foregone conclusion.” He rubs his jaw with a gloved hand. “I always wondered what you would look like.”

“You wondered what I would look like?”

“My forever.”

His response triggers giggly chemicals in my brain, but I do my best to behave like a twenty-four-year-old woman.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sincere or fucking with me.” I wish the coffee would kick in so I could keep up. “I’m leaning toward mental patient. Did you escape the hospital on your bike?”

“Mental patient? You’re the one standing in the street, freezing your ass off, and smiling like you were waiting for me.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his gaze transfixed on my mouth.

I bounce on my toes, trying to work some blood into my iced-over muscles. “We need to talk.”

His eyes fly to mine. “Is that right?”

“Yep.” I roll back my shoulders. “It’s about to go down.”

“I can’t wait.” He grins.

“Hold this.” I hand him the mug and reach for the lapels of his motorcycle jacket.

He lifts the coffee to his lips, watching me with curiosity as I slide down the heavy zipper and expose his black t-shirt beneath.

Tendrils of ink snake along the side of his neck and disappear beneath the cotton that stretches across his wide chest. My fingers itch to feel the carved ridges of those pecs, so I surrender to it, flattening a palm against the cement wall of his torso and gliding over the rippling terrain of his abs.

Broad through the shoulders, narrow at the waist, he’s all testosterone-fueled muscle wrapped in leather and denim and heat. I’m definitely going to curl up against that. For warmth, of course. Not because I’m under the hormonal influence of holy-shit-he’s-sexy.

“You make a damn good cup of coffee.” He takes another sip, smiling around the rim as his eyes follow the movement of my hand.

“Thank you.” I hook a leg over the bike, slide onto the wide spread of his thighs, and straddle his lap, chest-to-chest. Oh my, he’s big…everywhere.

He doesn’t balk at my boldness, and instead balances the mug in one hand so he can wrap the heavy jacket around my back. “Better?”

“Way better.” I sigh at the heat radiating from his shirt and grip his biceps, folding my legs around his waist and making myself at home.

We could fuck in this position, with our chests pressed together, groins aligned, and his steel-hard thighs flexing beneath me. He only needs to pull himself out and thrust his hips. My hunger for him pulses, hot and reckless,