I slide my free hand through his hair, marveling at how the thick wet strands fall perfectly tousled over my fingers. “We’re spending the next four days together?”
“If I don’t make anymore mistakes,” he says, brushing a kiss against my wrist, “we’re spending the rest of our lives together.”
My heart hiccups. “If you’re staying here, we’re going to have sex. Does it matter if it’s now or a week from now?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, it matters.” He steps back and grabs the shampoo. “I know what I want, and your heart isn’t there…yet.” His biceps contract as he lathers his hair. “I will not trade long-term desires for short-term impulses.”
His voice is rough, his scowl formidable. It’s obvious how difficult it is for him to refuse me. His short-term impulse looks painfully engorged between his legs.
I back off, keeping my caresses chaste as I help him soap up. Ten minutes later, we lie in bed, naked, legs entangled. His body wraps around my back, spooning me from behind, with his thigh wedged between mine. He’s still hard, but he doesn’t grind against me. He seems content to just hold me. In the bed I shared with Cole.
The thought is unwanted, but I can’t block it out. Cole bought this bed for me when he moved in—the wrought iron headboard, foam mattress, gray linen bedding. His scent lingered in this room for months after he left.
“Tell me about him,” Trace says quietly.
Can he read my thoughts? I crane my neck and find his gaze on the picture frames across the room.
“I should probably put those away.” My hand fists in the sheets.
“Don’t do it for me.” He pries my fingers from the bedding and entwines them with his. “I intend to make myself at home in the house you shared with him. I’m going to make love to you in the bed I assume he once slept in. If I can’t handle seeing a picture of him, our relationship is doomed.”
My ribcage stretches with cautious happiness, and I tighten my hand around his. “You really want to hear about him?”
“Please.”
I start with how we met then share highlights of the ten months we spent together. His design and construction of the dance studio, the road trips on his motorcycle, his hatred for Nikolai. Trace doesn’t speak or tense up, and his arms stay around me, cradling, comforting.
My voice chafes my throat as I explain Cole’s job, the reason he left, and the explosion that took his life.
“You sound angry,” Trace says. “You can’t blame him for—”
“He chose his job.”
“Sounds like he didn’t have a choice, Danni.”
“You’re right.” With a sigh, I shift in his arms to face him. “I hold onto the anger like a crutch. It’s just…it’s easier. So let me have it, okay?”
“I’m finding that I’ll let you have whatever you want.” He kisses my lips.
“Is that right?” I reach down and wrap my fingers around his thick erection.
“Except that.” Groaning, he moves my hand from his cock to his back. “Tell me about your family.”
“You want me to talk about my parents while you have a hard-on?”
“I want you to talk about them,” he says, tucking me closer against his chest, “to get rid of the hard-on.”
We chat for hours about everything and nothing. Family and work. Likes and dislikes. We stay away from conversations about the past or the future, satisfied to simply immerse ourselves in the present.
I don’t know when we fall asleep, but I wake to a startled gasp in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Shit!” Bree spins away, shouting into the hallway. “Everyone outside!”
Footsteps sound through the kitchen, presumably David and Angel making a swift exit.
Trace lies on his back beside me, unabashedly nude with an arm bent behind his head. His lips aren’t smiling, but the glimmer in his sleepy eyes is unmistakable. The man has no shame.
“I’m confiscating your key,” I say to Bree’s back and sit up.
“You can have it.” She blindly tosses the keyring toward the dresser and sends it flying to the floor. “Mr. Savoy…uh, Trace…I’m sorry I saw your…um…”
“Cock?” I pull the sheet over his hips and against my chest. “We’re covered now. You can turn around.”
A flush sweeps up her neck as she faces us, and her gaze lands on his bulge beneath the thin cover. “I didn’t stare. It’s like…I saw it and looked away really quick. I’m not even sure that I actually saw that much. Maybe just a—”
“You’re rambling and staring.” I grin and place a hand on his chiseled chest. “Trace, this is my sister, Bree.”
He holds the sheet in place and rises to the edge of the mattress with his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, umm…” She stares at his hand for a beat before shaking it. “The pleasure’s all mine.” Her eyes widen, and her cheeks turn bright red. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, it is a pleasure, but not that kind of pleasure—”
“Bree.” I snap my fingers.
“Hmm?”
“Give us a minute?”
“Right.” She grabs the door and shuts it behind her.
Trace yanks off the covers and climbs over me, guiding me to lie back while nuzzling my neck. “She’s…”
“Awkward?”
“I was going to say delightful. But yes, definitely awkward.”
“She deals with first-graders all day, not gorgeous naked men.” I splay my hands over his muscled backside and squeeze. “Though, I’ll admit I’ve never seen her that nervous. I think you intimidate her.”
“She’s hot for me.” He peppers a trail of kisses along my collarbone.
“She is not.” I push at his jaw, trying not to laugh at the tickling scrape of his whiskers.
“She couldn’t stop eying my massive cock.” He echoes my earlier compliment with a smile.
I’d say that’s the last time I’ll ever inflate his ego, but I’d be lying. Because that smile… it’s a shockingly sexy curve on his lips, stretching his cheeks, lighting up his face, and making me light-headed.
“You should smile more often.” I trail a finger along his mouth. “This is potent stuff right here.”
He parts his lips and bites my finger hard enough to make me gasp. Chuckling, he kisses a path from the ticklish spot beneath my ear, across my throat, to nibble the other ear.
I squirm beneath the wicked stimulation. “They’re waiting on me.”
“Do they always stop in unannounced?”
“Yeah, but I kind of knew they were coming and forgot. David’s here to fix my brakes.”
“Then I better get out there and help.” He slides off the bed and strides toward his overnight bag, the muscles in his perfect ass flexing with each step.
“You know how to work on cars?”
“I used to be an auto mechanic.”
“Really?”
“No.” He snorts arrogantly. “But anyone with a dick knows how to change brakes.”
Ten minutes later, I recline on the loveseat outside with Bree, sipping on a Bud Light.
“I saw the fancy car in your driveway.” She stares at Trace where he crouches beside David and the MG Midget. “I assumed you were doing ballroom lessons with one of your rich clients.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”