He feels wild and reckless beneath my skin, in the fingers biting my backside, in the teeth clashing against mine. I surrender to the rising frenzy of hunger, lips brushing, chests heaving, our moans low and muffled with need.
Somewhere nearby, a car door slams. Traffic rumbles in the distance. The rattle of grocery carts come and go. And Trace shows no sign of pulling back.
He feeds from my lips like he’s starving, his mouth hard and unforgiving, his hands kneading the muscles of my butt. He pins me so tightly against him I feel the steel flanks of his waist between my thighs, the length of his erection swelling against my pussy, and the rush of his breaths consuming my own.
The need to cling to this moment curls my fingers into his shoulders, demanding he keep going. Don’t stop.
His lips press harder against mine, and I kiss him back with a fevered madness that convulses through me like an earthquake, vibrating my limbs and burning me up.
Desperate sounds of greed rise from my throat, and he groans in response, his powerful body wrapped up in mine and shaking against me. I arch away from the wall as pleasure radiates through my core, pulsing between my legs and drenching my panties.
The intensity of the kiss is shocking, the feel of his hot satin tongue overwhelmingly erotic. It sweeps against mine viciously, masterfully, and I gasp, my breasts crushed against his chest and my lips tingling and swollen.
Too soon, his mouth breaks away, sliding to my ear, panting, growling, whispering, “Fuck.”
He lowers my feet to the ground but stays close, crowding me as he yanks on the cuffs of his sleeves and glares down at his erection. “Where to next?”
“Second base?”
“That’s not what I mean.” He braces a hand on the wall above my head and inconspicuously adjusts his bulge with the other hand.
“Need help with that?”
He steps back and scowls at me with full, wet, pouty lips. Then he turns on his heel and strides toward my car.
“No, no, no.” I run after him. “We’re going to talk about this.”
He continues along his determined path and removes the car key from his pocket.
“Dammit, Trace.” I jog faster. “That kiss”—that explosive smoldering kiss that rocked the ground beneath our feet—“changes everything.”
“It changes nothing.” He lowers into the Midget.
The car groans and rocks beneath his weight. I might’ve laughed if I weren’t so fucking irritated.
I’m still trembling with the aftershocks of bliss, which only ignite the flames of purpose. I refuse to let him pretend that didn’t happen.
“Do you kiss all the women you don’t want to fuck like that?” I climb into the car and angle over the console to face him.
“I kiss a lot of women.” His eyes cut to me, hard and imperious. “Whoever, however, whenever I want.” He fires up the engine. “Put your seatbelt on.”
My heart feels like it’s shrinking, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s just disappointment, an emotion I know how to deal with.
“You say you don’t want messy.” I lean in, shoving my face in his. “But you’re flirting with it, and honey, I will flirt right back. So put that in your pocket and fondle it when you’re alone at night.”
“You were right about one thing.” His scowl twists into something ugly and implacable. “I don’t date. I fuck. Which means I’m never alone at night.”
My breath lodges in my throat, and I ease back, straightening in the seat and latching the seatbelt. A burning sensation ripples through my jaw. Jealousy, probably. But the feeling is quickly squashed by the stab of an old unhealed wound. A wound inflicted by another man.
I rotate the silver band on my finger, dragging the inscription of lies against my skin. It’s easy to blame Cole for my deepest hurts, because I never felt real pain until he vanished from my life. That’s the ache crushing my airway right now. Grief. Hopeless, irrevocable grief for the man I lost.
“Next stop is downtown.” I give Trace the address for Gateway Shelter and slide on the sunglasses, hiding the moisture pricking my eyes.
“That’s not a safe area at any time of day.” He tilts his head, regarding me out of the corner of his eye. “What do you need to do there?”
“If you don’t want to drive me, your car is right over there.” I flick a finger toward the black sedan parked a few feet away.
He stares through the windshield, his thumb sliding back and forth on the steering wheel. Then he shoves the Midget into gear and peels out of the parking lot.
Five minutes into the drive, the silence between us grinds against my bones, but I have nothing left to say to him. So I plug my phone into the upgraded stereo system, select a song, and crank up the volume.
Down by Marian Hill taps through the speakers, and I move with the rhythm, humming, swaying in the seat, and lifting my hands as the wind whips at my hair. He flicks glances my way, but I avoid his eyes and the unkindness I’m certain I’d find there.
By the time he pulls up to Gateway Shelter, I feel more empowered. Balanced.
With the certified check in hand, I breeze through the side door and find Father Rick taking inventory of the food supplies in the kitchen.
“Danni!” He sets down the clipboard and smooths his mustache. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in today.”
“I’m not staying to dance tonight.” Not with Trace and his withering conjecture hovering at my back. “Just wanted to drop this off.”
Rick accepts the folded check, his gaze locked on Trace. “Are you going to introduce your friend?”
“Trace Savoy.” Trace steps forward and offers a hand.
“Nice to meet you, Trace. I’m Rick.” They shake, and Rick directs his grin at me. “Danni’s our very own bona fide angel. Her ability to make people smile is a gift from God.”
“I don’t know about that.” I point my gaze at the eternal scowl on Trace’s face. “Seems I have the opposite effect on some people.”
Rick glances back and forth between us with grooves rumpling his bald head.
“I need to go,” I say. “But I’ll be back later this week.”
Trace holds the door for me, and I almost make it outside before Rick makes a choking sound behind me.
“What is this?” he whispers.
A glance over my shoulder confirms he’s staring at the check.
“It’s a donation.” I pat Trace’s rigid arm. “From Trace Savoy.”
Rather than playing along, Trace strides over to Rick and glares down at the check. A glare that blisters with disapproval as it lifts to me.
“Give us a minute,” I say to Trace. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
His jaw works, as if fighting back a retort. He straightens the collar of his button-up with a sharp, angry yank and charges out the door.
“Don’t worry about him.” I shift back to Rick. “We bicker like siblings.”
“That man doesn’t look at you like a sibling.” Rick narrows his eyes. “Are you okay, Danni?”
“I’m great.” I grip his forearm and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Trace bought the restaurant I dance at. We just have some disagreements to work through.”