Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,84

heels. It’s my night off work, and I’ve spent the last hour doing my hair and makeup.

I step into the dance studio and cue up a song that expresses everything I haven’t had the courage to say to Trace. As I check my reflection in the mirror, Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur streams through the speakers.

Mouthing the words, I gently sway my hips, lift my arms above my head, and close my eyes. By the time the chorus hits, I’m singing aloud and traveling through improvised steps. The music, the lyrics, the emotions I feel for Trace resonate inside me and accelerate my breaths.

When I open my eyes, I catch his reflection in the mirror and slow my movements to a graceful stop.

He leans against the doorframe behind me, chin down, one hand in the pocket of his khaki pants, the other holding a blue necktie. He’s a heart-stopping sight, scowl and all.

“I’m ready. I’ll just…” I move toward the stereo.

“Don’t.”

I freeze, pinned by the force of his gaze, and that’s where I stay as the last half of the song plays.

The lyrics are a slow-burning confession of love, the push and pull of commitment, a plea to never let go. It’s the ballad of us, and I know he agrees when his head lifts, eyes seeking mine.

As the song ends, I release the air from my lungs and wait for his reaction.

“I’ve never seen you dance to that.” He doesn’t move, his eye contact oh-so steady.

“It’s one of those songs…” I drag a hand through my hair. “I wasn’t ready to feel it before.”

He straightens from the doorframe. “You feel it now?”

I feel so many things, but chief among them is acceptance. Acceptance of his mistakes and imperfections, his bad days and bad moods, and the scariest of all, his mortality. He might look like a god, but he’s not invincible. He could die, abandon me in grief, but I accept that risk. Because I’m decidedly, irrevocably committed to fighting for a future with him.

“I feel it.” My feet carry me forward, one shoe sliding before the other.

His lips part, and the necktie in his hand slips through his fingers, slowly pooling on the floor.

When I reach him, I flatten my palms on his chest, caressing the soft fabric of the button-up and savoring the rhythmic pound of his heart.

“Say you won’t let go.” I peer up into his crystal blue eyes.

“I won’t let go, Danni.” His arms envelope me, lifting me up his chest to touch his forehead to mine. “You’re stuck with me.”

Tension loosens inside me, replaced by waves of warmth, hope, promise.

I hug his shoulders and hook my legs around his hips. “I love you.”

His breath catches, and he tightens his arms, burying his face in my neck. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear you say that.”

“The hard-won victory.” I smile and stroke the trimmed hair on his nape.

He leans back and stares at my mouth. “These are the moments worth fighting for.”

“The moments of utter madness.”

He captures my mouth in a kiss that transports us into passionate communication. The trembling slide of our lips confesses our fears. The rub of our tongues promises we won’t take advantage of each other. The clash of our teeth vows we will fight for this, for us.

Fingers clutching, heads tilting, we plunge deeper, faster, into a boundless place where souls touch and dreams swell. Entwined together by an untamed force, we lick and moan and fuse with belonging and commitment.

It’s a kiss that defines love, and when our lips separate, I feel it everywhere, stretching beneath my skin, growing, protecting, and persevering.

“Wow.” He pants against my mouth. “That was…”

“As real as it gets.” I lower my feet to the floor, rubbing my tingling lips.

His stunned expression makes me laugh. Then I laugh harder, because he just looks so perplexed.

“Are you ready to hit the road?” I ask.

“I’m rethinking that plan.”

“Oh, no. You promised me a date without panties.”

A growl vibrates in his chest. But rather than arguing, he snatches the necktie from the floor and holds it up. “With or without?”

“I don’t like casual sex. You should wear the tie.”

With a smirk, he moves to the mirrored wall and lifts his chin, efficiently tying the knot at his neck. “You assume we’re having sex tonight.”

“Don’t fuck around with me, Trace Savoy, or I’ll kick your ass.”

“All I heard was fuck and ass.”

“Dangerous words. Shall I pull out the thirteen-inch dildo for