Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,54

for the night. It would be so easy. I did it too many times to count before I met Cole.

Except one-night-stands lost their appeal after I discovered what it feels like to be adored, worshiped, and loved by a man who holds my heart.

I won’t ever go back to grunting and groping in the dark with a passive man.

Maybe that’s a lie. Maybe that’s exactly what my future holds. But not tonight. I haven’t reached that level of desperation.

By the time I arrive at my car, my eyes are dry and my hands are no longer trembling. I stare at the crumpled concert ticket, warring between ripping it up and straightening out the creases.

My excitement about going is squashed, but do I really want to be a petty brat about it? He gave me a gift, not a promise to be my boyfriend.

Before I lose my nerve, I type out a quick text.

Me: Thank you for the concert ticket.

Seconds later, a text buzzes my phone.

Trace: I’ll pick you up at 7PM.

He’s going with me? I should’ve guessed as much. Maybe he’ll bring the brunette who’s currently on his lap. Make it a threesome.

A whimper escapes my throat, and I drop my forehead against the steering wheel. Why in the fresh hell do I care?

Because I’m stupid.

And lonely.

And I might be falling for him.

Startled by the direction of my thoughts, I lift my head and press a hand against my racing heart as a violent mix of emotions roils in my gut.

I’m falling for Trace.

Chapter Thirteen

THREE YEARS AGO

Time’s run out, and it’s an incendiary feeling, leaching the strength from my body and burning the air in my lungs.

A taxi cab idles in the driveway, glinting in the dim glow of dawn, waiting to take Cole away from me.

For an entire year.

Before the sun rose, in the early hours between dreams and reality, I woke with him moving inside me, with a promise on his breath. Through every long drugging stroke of his cock, he stared into my eyes and vowed that he’ll return. That he’ll marry me. That he’ll always love me.

His promise for forever.

It was goodbye in the rawest, most pleasurable, most harrowing sense of the word.

Now we stand on the front porch, tightly wrapped in each other—our arms, our thoughts, our hearts refusing to let go. Every part of us tangles and melds together. One soul. One future. Distance be damned.

He cups my face and kisses me, his tongue rubbing against mine, our breaths fusing tenderly, passionately. But the heartache is overpowering, striking against my breastbone and shooting pain to the deepest reaches of my being.

Staring into his eyes, I seek, interlock, and connect with him on a soulful level. Like it’s the first time I’m seeing him.

Or the last.

I feel like I’m losing him. We’ve only known each other ten months, and he’s going to be gone a year. Will our newborn love withstand this separation? What if he finds someone else? An exotic beauty to pass his lonely nights with?

“Let me transfer my income into your account,” he says at my ear.

“No.”

We’ve been over this. He wants to pay my living expenses and cover the wedding deposits while he’s gone. I want to put all our money together when he returns. When we’re married. My way makes more sense.

“So fucking stubborn.” He kisses me tenderly. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive a year without you.” His lips whisper against mine. “I won’t do this again.”

“Again?” My pulse jolts. I’ve been so focused on getting through the next year, I hadn’t considered there would be more deployments after this one.

“No.” His hands flex against my jaw. “This is my last job. I’m quitting when I get back.”

“Quit now.” Hope rushes through me. “Don’t go. You can find a new job and—”

“Shh, baby.” He rests his lips against my hair, holding my cheek against his pounding chest. “I’m under contract for the rest of the year. But when I return, I won’t renew.”

My shoulders sink, and the cab driver lays on the horn. We both tense.

I hug him harder, my sinuses flaring against the assault of tears. But I refuse to cry. Not yet. This is hard enough for him. I won’t make him leave a sobbing, miserable wreck of a woman.

“Call me when you arrive at the al-Bashrah oil terminal.”

“I’ll try, Danni, but we went over this.”

My fingers sink against his back as my worry for his safety courses and spikes anew.

Americans live in converted cargo