Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,126

noticing me, not at first.

Hugo greets him with one of those manly back slaps and a French expletive. “A nineteen eighty-five Chablis? It’s truly indecent the volume of great wine we’ll enjoy tonight.”

Sutton takes a few steps into the penthouse and freezes. His expression is blank, which must be what surprise looks like on him. There’s no indication whether he’s happy to see me or whether he wishes he’d never come. No indication whether he likes this white gauzy evening gown, which was included with a few other dresses in the box that Avery sent.

She’s thorough, that girl.

I would have said I had no desire to see either Sutton or Christopher so soon after our country club confrontation, but I can’t deny the beat of pleasure in my veins. Colors seem more vibrant when Sutton’s in the room. The strains of piano through the door more bittersweet. This must be what Hugo meant, that he’s more alive than everyone else. More feeling.

“Harper,” he says, cautious the way he might be around an animal. Careful not to spook me. Do I seem so wild to him? There’s definitely something inside me that wants to be soothed by his large hands. It’s too dangerous, though. He’s too close to Christopher to be safe.

“You already know each other?” Hugo asks. “This is fortunate, then.”

“Fortunate,” I agree, though my voice is faint.

“She’s going to be working with us on the Tanglewood Library restoration.”

“I thought it was going to be more of a teardown and rebuild?”

“She’s changing that,” Sutton says, his voice warm with approval. And gratitude? Somehow I’ve gone from being the troublemaker to the guardian angel. “We’ll need the buy-in of the upper crust if we want to gentrify the west side.”

That snaps me out of my Southern-drawl-induced haze. “The west side? I haven’t spent a long time in Tanglewood, but isn’t that a really dangerous part of town?”

“You won’t be going there unescorted,” Sutton says.

Even though I have no desire to stroll through dark back alleys, I don’t want Sutton to worry about protecting me. It’s too close to what Christopher has done. “I can take care of myself.”

Sutton advances toward me, making my stomach clench. He leans over me, resting one hand on the back of the sofa. He’s not touching me, not anywhere, but I can feel the heat of him. I can scent the male essence of him. It’s an intimate position, his body hovering over mine.

“Don’t mistake me for him,” Sutton says, his voice low.

“Then don’t act like him. No one has to save me.”

“Save you? No, sugar. I want to peel that sexy little dress away from your body and make love to you so hard and so long you’re going to beg. You can’t take anymore, that’s what you’ll say, and if I were a better man, one who wanted to protect you and keep you in a safe little box, I would stop. Except I won’t be done with you for a long time.”

A sound escapes me. It should be a protest, an outrage, but instead it’s a moan. God, he’s making me want this. “You’re making Hugo uncomfortable.”

Sutton gives a rough laugh. “He’s pretending he can’t see anything except his fancy French sauce, but if he thought you didn’t want me, he’d have already given me a black eye. And I’d have deserved it. Do you know why he hasn’t done that?”

Because he always knows what women want. It really is a curse.

I’m tired of having Sutton pursue, not because I don’t want this, but because I do. Why am I holding myself back from him on account of Christopher? It’s in this moment that I can admit that I still want him. Still love him. That’s the only reason I could be thinking about him when another man stands right in front of me. It hurts to admit that, even privately. My fortress of protection against men and their transience, torn down in an instant of self awareness.

The heart is fickle. It doesn’t listen to reason.

But I don’t have to obey my heart when I know it’s wrong. There’s no loyalty I owe Christopher Bardot, and none he would want from me anyway.

I grasp the red silk tie in my hand and pull. A grunt of surprise, and then he’s falling forward. His lips meet mine without any semblance of softness. We’re all determination in this moment, which is more potent than a thousand sweet caresses. More real than a hundred whispered promises.

He