Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,6

I want to pursue this…this crazy possibility. But if my job is going to be entangled with him, I can’t. I don’t even know him, for Christ’s sake.

When Mark pulls away from the curb, I head toward the back door and pick up my pace at the sound of footsteps trailing behind me.

“You’re not going to see that schmuck again.” His silken voice kisses down my spine.

That’s exactly what Cole would’ve said, and the familiar possessiveness wobbles my knees. I hurry inside the house and spin on the threshold, forcing my gaze to the intruder’s flinty stare.

“My dance company is listed online, along with my phone number. Goodnight, Mr. Savoy.” I shut the back door on his beautiful brooding expression and lock it. “Fucking fuck, that was…just…fuck.”

I lean my back against the wall, thankful there aren’t windows in the dance room. Because his eyes… Holy hell, he has that look. The one that makes my blood run so hot everything inside me melts and trembles. It’s the same look Cole gave me the day we met. The You’re mine, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it stare that owned me instantly and completely.

Soft shivers of yearning flow through me as I head toward the bedroom. I consider calling Bree, but I’ll wait until morning. Conversations about Trace will be better with a clear head. As it stands, I’m drowning in a jumble of nonsense and conflicting emotions.

It’s been so long since I’ve been this affected by a man I question how much of it is my desperate imagination. After the lackluster make-out session with Mark, anyone could’ve strolled down my driveway and captured my attention.

But Trace isn’t just anyone. He’s the epitome of eloquent power and affluence, intimidation and mystery. A modern lord at ease with commanding and conquering, and for a knee-weakening moment, his sights were trained on me.

Jesus, what am I doing? He probably looks at every woman with the same burning focus, and right now, he’s driving away with Marlo Vogt, his gorgeous colleague. He could be taking her back to her place this very second with his hand between her legs and his name gasping on her painted lips.

Shutting down those images, I change into a purple camisole and cotton pajama pants with black-and-white polka dots. Then I pad into the kitchen, twisting my messy blond hair into a knot on my head. I need something to mellow my brain and put me to sleep. A full bottle of Riesling should do it.

Filling my largest wine glass to the rim, I gulp down half and carry it back to the bedroom. As I pass through the hall, something moves in my periphery beyond the dining room.

I spin toward it, and my line of sight narrows on the sitting room and the arrogant suit reclined on the couch. A yelp freezes in my throat.

“What are you doing in my house?” I charge toward Trace, sloshing the wine in my mad dash.

He glances down at the picture frame in his hand. “If you’re engaged to this one, what are you doing with the foreveraloner with a boner?”

Foreveraloner? “Mark wouldn’t be alone right now if you hadn’t shown up. And what gives you the impression I’m engaged…?” Following his gaze to the engagement ring on my left hand, I curl my fingers.

“Are you cheating on him?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“No.” My stomach knots with irrational guilt. “How did you get in here?”

“The heavy-duty deadbolt on the front door is useless when it’s unlocked. A tiny woman living alone should never—”

“I’m not helpless.”

“Never leave your door unlocked.” He sits forward, eyes flickering with blue flames. “How can you be so careless?”

My nostrils flare. “An unlocked door isn’t an invitation to walk in.”

This conversation is unnervingly familiar. I need to stop comparing guys to Cole, but seriously, Cole reamed my ass every time I forgot to lock up.

Trace holds up the photo. “What would your fiancé think about the dipshit you were with tonight?”

He would’ve smashed Mark’s face for a thousand reasons but first and foremost for leaving me unprotected with an invasive suit-wearing Viking.

I snatch the picture frame from his hand and return it to the side table. “Is trespassing a habit for you?”

“Never. I’m also not in the habit of waiting.” Icy blue eyes flick over my pajamas and sharpen when they reach my bare feet. “I told you to put shoes on.”

“Mm.” I rest a hand on my cocked hip and sip