I never thought I would.
“Where’s Carter?” Daniel asks Declan, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me in more just slightly, but still easy and casually. His thumb hooks into my jeans and gently caresses my hip as he talks to both brothers.
I try not to make it awkward.
It takes everything in me not to cry upon seeing both of them.
I’m surprised when Daniel loosens his grip on me and whatever they were talking about comes to a halt.
I’m even more surprised when Jase leans in close.
“It’s good to see you, Addie,” Jase says and hugs me hard, so hard that Daniel has to take a step back. Finally letting my hand go as Jase pulls me to him. It’s been a long time since someone’s called me Addie. They all did back then. All of them but Daniel. I was always Addison to him.
The hug is short-lived and I’m still numb from it along with the shock of everything when Daniel asks for a minute. As soon as his brothers turn away, I press my palms to my eyes and try to calm myself down. It’s emotionally taxing to see those you’ve mourned because you thought you’d lost them forever.
“I’m okay,” I tell Daniel weakly as he rubs my back.
“I promise I’ll love you forever.” Daniel whispers words that frighten me. Words that threaten to take him from me one day. I hesitate to say it back and he adds, “Just stay with me.”
It’s a plea from the lips of a man who could destroy me.
Sometimes when you walk into a darkness, a place filled with both what terrifies you from the past and what will forever haunt you in the future, you get a sick feeling that washes over you.
Like you know bad things are coming.
“I love you too,” I whisper to Daniel and let him take my hand.
He squeezes lightly as I step further into the Cross estate.
It’s brightly lit, but it doesn’t fool me. The darkness is here.
There’s a certain feeling in the pit of your stomach. I felt it when Tyler brought me to his home all those years ago.
It’s a feeling that tells you you’re doing something wrong. Something you know you shouldn’t, but it tempts you and whispers all the right things; it promises you that you’re meant to be here.
Not unlike what I’ve felt since the moment I met Daniel. This force of needing to be with him. Of knowing I was supposed to be his all along.
Even if the very thought of being his was enough to send a chill over me each time he dared to breathe near me.
That feeling is supposed to warn you, to keep you safe.
Daniel kisses the underside of my wrist as I let the feeling settle through me.
Sometimes that feeling is terrifying.
Sometimes that feeling is home.
Read Carter’s story next in Merciless, currently free!
Willow Winters is so happy to be a USA Today, Wall Street Journal and #1 Contemporary Bestselling Romance Author. She likes her action hot and her bad boys hotter. She certainly doesn't hold back on either one in her writing!
Thank you so much for reading my romances. I’m just a stay at home mom and avid reader turned author and I couldn’t be happier.
I hope you love my books as much as I do!
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Blurb
“What the f*ck have I done?” aren’t the first words you want to hear after a one-night stand.
Yet that’s what he gave me.
Dallas Barnes is tall, dark, and handsome.
He’s also scarred, rough, and broken down by burdens.
A single dad. A widower. A lost soul.
We found each other in the back of a dark pub.
He brought the whiskey.
I brought the bad decisions.
He called it a mistake.
I vowed never to speak to him again.
That vow is broken with one test.
Two pink lines have turned my life upside down.
One night can change everything.
Prologue
Willow
“What the fuck have I done?”
I’ve never had a one-night stand, but I’m positive those aren’t the first words you want to hear the morning after.
I twist in the warm yet unfamiliar sheets and can taste last night’s whiskey in my mouth.
I lick my lips—wrong move—and regret it when the flavor of him hits my tongue.
Him.
The man pacing in front of me with his head tipped down while wearing only boxer briefs that show off his bulge.
I’ve lost count of the number of times the word fuck has fallen from his mouth.
I don’t know what to say.
Don’t know what to do.
“How the fuck could I have done this?” he continues.
My heart rams into my rib cage, just as hell-bent on escaping this situation as I am.
I’m stupid.
So damn stupid.
I drag the sheet up until it hits my chin, and he runs a hand through his thick bedhead hair, tugging at the roots the same way I did last night when he went down on me. He doesn’t know I am awake and can hear him, but that doesn’t make the wound any less severe.
His head rises when I jump out of bed and start scrambling for my clothes. The sheet drops from my body at the same time I frantically pull my dress over my head.
I have to get out of here.
Our eyes meet as I yank my panties up my legs. Apology and torture spill across his clenching jaw. The tears are coming, warning me to look away so that he won’t see my humiliation, but I can’t. I stare and silently beg him to change the outcome of this morning. The string to our stare down is cut by the sound of my name, a mere whisper falling from his loose lips.
I dart out of the bedroom, snag my purse I drunkenly threw over the arm of the couch, and rush toward the front door, not even bothering to search for my heels.
I refuse to glance back, but I hear him. No, I feel him behind me.
“Willow, please,” he pleads to my back with a strained voice while I fight with the lock.
I slam my fist against it. When did they start making these things so damn difficult?
“Don’t cry.” He blows out a stressed breath. “Just give me a fucking minute, okay?”
Relief hits me when the lock finally cooperates, and I slam the glass door in his face at the same time he repeats my name. I nearly trip on my feet when I jump down the porch steps.
I pause when I make it to the last one.
One more.
Against my will, I turn around for one last glance.
He’s staring at me in agony with the door handle gripped in his hand. For a split second, I’m stupid enough to think he’ll fix this. Stupid enough to believe he’ll say something, do something to make this right.
But he doesn’t.
He drops the handle, spreads both palms against the glass, and bows his head.
That’s my cue to get the hell out of here.
Fuck him.
Fuck whiskey.
Fuck my stupid decisions.
This is what I get for sleeping with a man mourning his dead wife.