Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,36

know the real reason he showed up. Checking in, he said. What in the ass does that mean?

Is he wandering through my house right now? Other than Cole’s bike and the spare room crammed with dance costumes, I don’t have anything of value. Not that I’m worried about a man of his wealth stealing anything.

But he can steal information, can glean my weaknesses from the shrine in my bedroom.

Which is exactly where I find him after I shower and wrap myself in a towel.

Perched on the unmade bed with the sheets tangled beneath him, he holds a photo of Cole and me in his hands.

I yank it from his grip and return it to the dresser where countless others clutter the surface.

“What are you doing in here?” I storm toward the closet, collecting bras and panties from the dirty clothes scattered across the floor.

“Waiting on you. It’s become a dirty habit.”

I glance over my shoulder and find him lifting a black thong from the floor. I dash toward him and snatch it from his hand right before he presses it to his nose.

“Add panty-sniffing to your list of dirty habits.” I tighten the towel around my chest and return to the closet. “Really, Trace. Why are you here?”

The closet is deep enough to stand out of his line of sight as I slip into a white lacy tank top and a pair of denim cut-offs.

“The new Bissara is almost finished. It opens next week, and I want you to see it.”

“You could’ve called.” I slide my feet into gold flip-flops and exit the closet, running fingers through my wet blonde hair.

He watches my approach, his eyes shockingly unguarded and wild, like a snow storm in hell. Then slowly, they dip, tracing my hips, my legs, and lifting to linger on my breasts.

My nipples tighten against the thin fabric, and my chest feels heavy and itchy. “Trace.”

He blinks, shifts his focus to the shrine of Cole pictures on my dresser, and clears his throat. “Are you waiting for your fiancé to return?”

Air whooshes from my lungs, and I clutch the engagement ring that hasn’t moved from my right hand since the night I met Trace.

“I waited for him for a long time.” My chest squeezes with ugly emotion. “He’s not coming back.”

Ask me why, Trace. Make me tell you why I’ve been so lonely.

He stands and breezes out of the room. “Let’s go.”

I flinch, wobbling at his sudden change in mood.

“Go where?” I follow him through the kitchen. “I have plans today.”

“Change them.” He grabs my phone from the counter and hands it to me. “Where’s your purse?”

“I don’t carry a purse, and I’m not changing my plans.” I pull a ponytail holder out of the junk drawer and twist my hair into a knot on my head. “Maybe I’ll swing by the casino later. Maybe I won’t.”

I squeeze by him in the narrow walkway between the counters, pass through the dance studio, and step outside.

“Where are you going?” Blond eyebrows form a V above impatient blue eyes.

“Errands.” I circle the yellow MG Midget and remove the key from the pocket beneath the seat.

His eyes widen, and he flattens a hand to his forehead. “You keep your car key in your car?”

I shrug and unlatch the convertible top, folding it back as the sun beats down on my shoulders.

“Did you even lock up the house?” he asks, exasperated.

“No, Dad. I won’t be gone long.” I climb into the driver’s seat.

“Where’s your house key?”

Under the flower pot beside the door. “I have it.”

As I roll down the windows, he strides inside the house. He’s gone a few seconds, presumably locking the front door, before returning to lock the back door.

My smile comes with a heavy rush of nostalgia. His paranoia is so much like Cole’s. It should be unnerving, but instead I find comfort in it.

“You live minutes from downtown.” He grips the driver’s side door, bending over it to glare down at me. “You’re going to get robbed.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I don’t have anything to steal.” I slide the key into the ignition. “I don’t even own a TV.”

Unless I count the one Cole left behind, which is locked in the basement.

“You have an expensive motorcycle in your dining room,” he says. “And what’s stopping a thief from waiting inside to take you when you return?”

He sounds just like Cole.

I slip on a pair of cat eye sunglasses and drop my head back on the seat. “I need to