“You know,” he shouts back, “I eased up on that punch at the last second. His nose isn’t broken, so there’s nothing to forgive.”
I roll my eyes and leave them to it. Making my way to the front of the house, I recline on the couch and wait.
Fifteen minutes later, they emerge from the bathroom, both shirtless and sullen.
“Well?” I look at Nikolai expectantly.
“He loves you.” Nikolai prods a finger around his nose, his silver eyes squinting in pain.
My chest pinches. “Yeah, but—”
“He’s scared, hoss. Fucking terrified he’s going to lose you while he’s gone.” Nikolai rubs the back of his blond head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “He and I won’t ever be buddies, but I’m gonna cut him some slack. He’s sorry. I forgive him. And my face doesn’t look so bad after he cleaned it up.”
His nose is swollen but seems a lot straighter in the light.
I turn my attention to Cole, where he stands a few feet away, hands on his hips and unblinking eyes fixed on my lips. He looks wrecked, desolate, and all I want to do is curl my body around him and give him back his smile.
“Since Cole won’t be here when we dance at Microfest,” Nikolai says, lugging the strap of his duffel over his shoulder, “we’re going to perform the routine for him tomorrow. A private viewing.”
“Is that right?” I ask.
A muscle bounces in Cole’s cheek, his gaze still locked on my mouth.
With his chest bare, his unease is evident in the bunched ridges of his abs. The tattoos, whiskered jaw, broad shoulders—everything about him is ruggedly intimidating. I should give Nikolai kudos for not cowering.
“He wants to see how hard we’ve worked.” Nikolai walks backward to the front door. “And how fucking awesome we are, because hot damn, we own that routine.” He holds a fist in the air and opens the door.
“All right, Nik.” I laugh. “See you tomorrow.”
When the door shuts behind him, Cole lifts his eyes to mine.
The fire, the wind, the mystical energy that defines the connection between us sparks, inflames, fueling itself and pulling us together. He gravitates toward me, our gazes consumed with each other.
Lowering to his knees before me, he wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face in my lap. “I’m so incredibly sorry, baby.”
I weave my fingers through his unruly brown hair. “I’m sorry, too.”
He lifts his head. “For what?”
“This.” I reach down and squeeze his nuts.
He hisses and jerks backward, but I follow him to the floor, landing atop his chest and tightening my clamp on his balls.
“That’s the last time you’ll ever hurt one of my friends.” My lips brush against his, softening my words.
“Got it.” He grunts in discomfort, and his warm Cole-scented breath fans my face.
Lying on his back with his arms out to the sides, he doesn’t buck me off, doesn’t try to dislodge my grip from between his legs. But he overpowers me in other ways. With his shirtless chest, low-slung jeans, and swelling cock jerking against my hand. Add the five o’clock shadow on his jaw and the heated look in his eyes and I don’t stand a chance.
My bones turn to dough. My insides tingle, and my fingers loosen around his sac. The anger and regret from moments ago dissipates, replaced by something more fundamental. Stronger. Us.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He lifts his hands, cupping them around my face. “I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you, looking at you, fantasizing about you.”
“You’re the only one I see, Cole.” I rest my brow against his and speak each word into a languorous kiss. “You’re the only one when you’re here. When you’re not here. For the next year. Forever.”
Briefly closing his eyes, he slips a hand into his pocket and holds out my ring. “If you never take it off again, I’ll be the happiest man on the planet.”
“It’ll stay.” I slide on the silver band and curl my fingers around it. “I promise.”
“Good. Now what about that other ring?” He paws through the gauzy layers of my dance skirt, his hands becoming rougher, more urgent in his hunt.
“You tell me.” I adjust my position on top of him, straddling his hips and gathering the material around my waist.
He proposed two weeks ago, and the day after, he took me to get my labium pierced. The procedure was done by a beautiful woman, of course. Probably one of his old fuck buddies, but I didn’t ask. The past is what the past is. And the future? I’ll deal with that when it comes.
It’s the present that I hug close—his wide shoulders, to be exact, as he sits up and takes my mouth.
His arms are my orbit, encircling my body. His eyes are my center of gravity, righting me in perfect balance. And his fingers are my eight wonders of the world as they sink between my legs and make my vocal chords scream his name in awe.
Then, with the crotch of my leotard shoved to the side, he slides me down his hard cock.
“Danni,” he growls, his fingers burrowing into my hip bones. “You feel so damn good.”
His muscles shake, and I tighten my hold on him, latching our mouths together, our kisses desperate, frenzied, and weighted with torment.
Enduring a year without him will be a special kind of hell. But it has an expiration date.
One year.
It’s just a blip in the span of forever.
Chapter Eleven
PRESENT
“Danni.”
The growl of Trace’s voice snaps me back to the present, and I swallow around the knot in my throat. Stupid girl. This is neither the time nor the place to get bowled over by the past. Especially not after our strange day of errands and kissing and hanging out in his penthouse.
I straighten on the couch and stretch my neck. The movie’s paused, and the intensity of his gaze presses against my skin.
“What’s wrong with you?” His tone is soft, but there’s an edge to it. Concern? Aggravation? Who knows?
“I should go.”
“And miss the best movie ever?”
I swivel to look at him, catching a rare glow of warmth in his blue eyes. “You’re enjoying Dirty Dancing?”
“I am.” He tips his head down, studying me from beneath blond brows. “It has depth. Like you.”
My lips part on a stalled breath. Was that a compliment?
He touches my chin, nudging it upward to close my mouth. Then he presses play on the remote and stretches back on the couch. I mirror his pose, letting my head fall back and tranquility settle in.
Beyond the windows, the sun has fled, leaving smears of deep purple across the sky. It’s getting late, but no part of me wants to move. My eyelids feel heavy, and the couch is so warm and comfy. The breathing heater beside me makes me want to stay forever.
Doesn’t take long before I lose the fight against sleep.
When I wake, the credits roll on the screen, and my cheek rests on soft twill over steel. Not just my cheek. My arms and legs hug a warm pillar of muscle.
I move only my gaze, following the length of our bodies, down, down, to our feet. His are covered in black socks and propped on the arm of the couch. Mine hook around his calves, so pale and small against his dark slacks.