Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,29

A reputation that got him laid. A lot. I think he’s full of shit. His sex appeal alone drops panties everywhere he goes.

My playlist switches to the next Rihanna song, We Found Love. The quicker tempo lifts my cheeks and revs my body into a faster pace. I twirl through the room, bagging construction scraps and storing unused tools. I’m so lost in the music I barely feel the summer heat.

The A/C ventilation isn’t finished in the new room—a task in an endless list of tasks to complete before I can start teaching in my very own studio. Just thinking about that opportunity fills me with so much love for the man who gifted it to me.

I spin and bounce to the music, dripping with perspiration. I’ve been vigorously shaking my ass through the last five songs. So I pull off my shirt and fling it like I’m doing a striptease.

The sound of the drill screeches to a dying halt.

“Shit.” Cole rubs a finger over the errant hole he stabbed in the wall and narrows his eyes at me. “That was your fault.”

“Mine?” Standing before him in a white lace bra, ratty short-shorts, and oversized work boots, I give him an innocent look. “Why?”

“You know why.” His gaze drops to my chest, and he runs a hand over his face. A look of contemplation crosses his features, and he points at the far corner. “Bring me the tool box.”

I drag the heavy metal container to him and kneel beside it. “What do you need?”

“You.” His eyes flash.

“You have me. What else?”

“There’s a small box at the bottom.” He fiddles with the attachment on the drill.

A small box? I dig around, and my hand bumps something soft and square. Something out of place amid the metal edges of his tools. As I lift the tiny package, my heart catapults to my throat.

A black unmistakable box that can only contain one thing.

“Cole?” My voice croaks.

“Open it.” He inches toward me on his knees, and as his shadow falls across my face, I feel washed in blinding light. It’s his smile. My very own ray of happiness. The first and last thing I ever want to remember.

My fingers tremble as I open the lid, and a ring glimmers beneath the overhead lights. A plain silver band without diamonds or stones. My chest constricts, and my throat catches fire, burning with unshed emotion.

“I didn’t get a diamond because of something you said once. For every finger to receive a ring, another finger must pull a trigger.” He cups my face, his eyes searching mine with unnecessary worry. “You said you abhorred the human price of precious gems.”

“I did,” I whisper. “I do.”

“I researched and found that even non-conflict diamonds come from corrupt industries that do horrible crimes against humanity.”

I nod, hands shaking, eyes welling with grateful tears. “You’re right, Cole. Thank you.” I reach for his hand. “Thank you so much for taking the time to understand that. This ring is… It’s perfect.”

He releases a held breath and rises on his knees, pulling me against him, chest to chest, heart meeting heart. His hands slide around me and splay over my backside. Then he lowers his forehead to mine and issues the command I yearn to hear. “Marry me, Danni.”

Tearful laughter bubbles up as I repeat his words from the day we met. “It’s a foregone conclusion.”

“It is.” He grins wickedly. “But I need you to say the appropriate response.”

“Yes.” I smile with tears in my eyes. “I’ll be your Mrs. Hartman.”

He snatches the box from my hands, grips the back of my neck, and pulls my mouth to his.

“I fucking love you,” he breaths into the kiss with so much adoration it makes my heart hurt.

I say it back, but the plunder of his tongue garbles my voice, steals my air, and scrambles my brain.

I’ve kissed a lot men in my twenty-four years, and every kiss applied the same mechanics. Parting lips, swiping tongues, and the dreaded sharing of spit. Since meeting Cole, I realize a real kiss is more than the motion of mouths. It’s an inspiration. A creation of something unfathomable and timeless. And the art of kissing begins and ends with Cole Hartman.

He kisses like his mission in life is to devour every breath I take and give it back with an infusion of love. His lips are firm, his hands active, his entire body bunching and rocking against me. Intensity lives in his blood, dominating his emotions and attitude.