Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,55

containers at one end of the oil platform. Their meals are delivered from the main ship. Access to a satellite phone is limited, and Internet is spotty. It could be months before I hear from him.

At least I don’t have to share air time with his family. His mother left when he was a child, and he hasn’t spoken to his drunk of a father in years. I’m his only phone call, as well as his next-of-kin in case of an emergency.

The taxi driver honks again, smacking the horn in rapid succession.

“By the grace of God, give them a minute,” Virginia shouts from her open window next door.

Cole smiles down at me, popping those dimples, and I commit every detail of him to memory. The soft scruff on his jaw, the deep chocolate of his eyes, the snake tattoo that coils around his strong neck, and his proud posture clad in black leather and denim.

“Say it again.” I kiss his full lips.

“I promise to return to you.”

“In one year, Cole.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders, blinking back the burning ache in my eyes. “I’ll be waiting at the altar.”

“My beautiful bride. My Mrs. Hartman. It’s all I’ll think about.” He untangles himself from my hug and steps back. “Keep the doors locked.”

“Yeah.” I glance back at the deadbolt he installed. “Okay.”

“I love you,” he whispers softly, achingly.

“I love you.” I fade into his adoring gaze, barely holding myself together.

The moment he turns away, the tears spill over. I swipe at them, but there’s too many coming too fast. By the time he’s in the cab, my face is drenched and my vision is blurred.

As the car shrinks and disappears in the distance, I force myself to stand taller, stronger.

He’ll be home in a year.

I have a year to plan a wedding.

Most girls dream about the cake, the flowers, the dress. This girl dreams about choreographing the first dance, and it’s going to be the biggest production in the history of wedding dances.

My heart feels like a trampled, miserable pile of shit at my feet, but I have a sure way to channel the pain. For the next twelve months, Beyoncé will help me through it.

The lyrics to XO swirl through my head, and I see a crowded reception hall with Cole and me at the center. Him, holding me in his arms, rocking his sexy ass to the beat. Me, sliding through Lambada Zouk steps with flowing body waves, hair flicks, and sensual footwork. Together, we’re smiling, twirling, lost in the intimacy of our eye contact.

No one’s going to out-dance us at our own wedding.

Chapter Fourteen

PRESENT

The roar of thousands of concert-goers echoes through the dome. The lights, the music, the energy of Beyoncé’s dancers pulls me into the moment, gripping my hips like a lover’s hands and leading me through the rhythm.

I harbored doubts on my way here, sitting beside Trace in the back of his fancy sedan and squirming in the uncomfortable silence.

Spending time with him, being casual with him, pretending like he didn’t spend the prior evening with another woman—all of it twists me up and turns me inside out. But now that I’m here, I intend to enjoy the experience to its fullest.

We have the suite to ourselves, and Trace keeps his distance. Reclined in the back row of the balcony seats, he rests an ankle on a knee, a hand against his jaw, and watches me in that way he does. Intently. Unnervingly. Compulsively.

I haven’t asked about the brunette, and he’s made no attempt to explain his actions. Why would he? We’re not a couple. Are we even friends?

Standing in the front row of the closest balcony to the stage, I hold onto the railing and shake my ass to the thumping beats. Over the years, I’ve created dance routines to all of Beyoncé’s songs, and while I don’t have a lot of space to work with, I make use of every square inch.

But every time I glance back at my audience of one, it takes a few moments to catch my breath. That isn’t the look a man gives a woman he doesn’t want. His gaze trails over me like a blistering fire that melts through my skin and sizzles in my blood. It’s the kind of look that brings two bodies into complete union, a wild uncontrollable fusion of kissing, licking, and fucking.

If he were to step behind me and lift my dress, would I try to escape? Would I fight him?