With a dimpled grin, he taps on the remote’s digital screen, and the melody changes to a song I know.
This Is What You Came For by Calvin Harris vibrates through me, tensing my muscles and accelerating my pulse. For the first time in weeks, I feel the overwhelming urge to dance. The feeling passes quickly, however, because the boat’s too small and the audience is too close and intimate and watchful. I don’t know what the protocol is for shaking my ass in this situation. A strange thought since I’ve never hesitated to groove when the impulse arises.
“You want to dance.” Trace angles his chin down, peering at me over the glasses. “The quickening of your breaths gives you away.”
I nod, gripping the seat as a wave from a passing boat rocks us in the water. “Not right now though.”
“You don’t want to dance in front of us.” Cole narrows his eyes.
“I guess…I don’t know.” I pull my hand from Trace’s grip and shove it in the pocket of my coat. “I screwed up a lot. With both of you.” My head lowers as I mumble, “I want to do the right thing.”
“Explain what you’re thinking.” Trace hooks a knuckle beneath my chin, forcing my eyes up.
“Okay. Well…” I take a deep breath, looking at Trace. “I took advantage of your restraint. Meanwhile, I slept with Cole and didn’t tell you.” My face heats. “I know your plans are well-intended, and everything you’ve told me sounds reasonable. But I don’t know how to maneuver through this without pissing one of you off or screwing up again.”
“Be honest with us.” Trace kisses the side of my head. “Like you’re doing now.”
“And follow your heart,” Cole says. “Trust us to guide you through the rest of it.”
“Okay.” I clear my throat, uncertain.
“How about I give you a tour of the lake, show you all my fishing spots?” Cole stands. “Then we’ll head back and fix lunch. There’s something else I want to show you at the house.”
Several hours later, after a heavy meal of steak and mashed potatoes, I shower and change into yoga pants and a soft shirt. Then I crash on the couch in the living room, my nose pink from the sun and my body exhausted from spending half the day on the water.
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I wake with a blanket wrapped around me and my cheek resting on a hard, denim-clad thigh.
Long legs stretch out before me, and bare feet rest on the coffee table beside a tumbler of scotch.
I roll to my back and stare up at Trace’s arresting blue eyes. “How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour.” He runs a hand through my hair, watching the movement of his fingers. “I could sit here forever with you like this.”
I give him a sleepy smile, while my mind zeroes in on the bulge of his groin beneath my head. “Where’s Cole?”
“He’s locking up the boat and the dock.”
Without warning, he yanks me up and positions me to sit sideways on his lap. His hands frame my face, and he leans his brow against mine, inhaling deeply.
“Nag Champa.” His lips brush my cheek, hastening the patter of my heart. “My favorite smell.”
He’s close enough to kiss, and I’m afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to close my eyes. I want to taste him. Saturate my senses with him. I want to delete the distance that doesn’t belong between us.
“Trace.” I rest my hands on his shoulders. “Tell me what to do.”
“Be yourself.”
His minty breath washes over me, stealing my train of thought. He’s insanely potent. Not just his delectable scent. It’s his intensity. The way he stares at me like nothing else exists. The subtle press of his fingers on my spine, reminding me he’s in control. His unwavering focus on every twitch and blink, as if gleaning my thoughts through body cues.
But I’m reading his cues, too, and his unfaltering eye contact doesn’t just tell me he wants to connect with me. That look in his eyes begs me to kiss him.
Sliding my hands to the thick column of his neck, I part my lips and tip closer. Heart racing, skin tingling, I absorb the warmth of his exhale on my face and anticipate the feel of his mouth against mine. A hairbreadth away, he leans back.
His hand falls to the back of my head, and he guides my cheek to his chest.
My stomach hardens. But on the heels of disappointment is realization. This is what they meant when they said they would be controlling the intimacy between us. I can act on instinct and follow my heart, but when it comes to sex, they’ll decide when and how far.
A sense of relief sweeps through me. Sex is the gray area. I don’t want the responsibility of making rules around it and enforcing those rules. Even if that means I won’t always get what I want.
“Trace?”
“Hm?” His deep voice reverberates in his chest.
“I’m sorry about Cole.” I close my eyes. “Sleeping with him and not you wasn’t a conscious choice or any kind of choice. It would’ve been you if—”
“You warned me it would happen, and I already told you I don’t blame you.” He grips my jaw and angles my head back to meet my eyes. “This is the last time we discuss it. Understand?”
“Yes.”
He releases me, and I relax against his chest, burrowing into a snuggly closeness that rivals any kiss. Here, I can feel his heartbeat, smell the faint scent of cologne on his collar, and watch his pulse jumping along the vein in his throat.
And that’s how Cole finds me when steps inside a few minutes later.
My eyes lift, and my head follows, as if everything inside me is pulled toward his presence, as if my very soul knows its mate is near, and I need to go to him. That has to mean something, right? Do I feel the same way with Trace? Or am I fabricating signs that aren’t really there?
Cole approaches the couch and holds out a hand to me. “I want to show you something.”
“I should’ve let her kiss me.” Trace unwraps his arms from around me and slides me off his lap.
I step back, glaring at him. Why would he say that? Is he trying to pick a fight?
To my surprise, Cole laughs and grabs my hand. “Lost your chance, pal.”
“Pricks like you are the reason I drink.” Trace lifts the scotch to his lips, smirking.
Cole laughs harder and turns toward the hallway, leading me in that direction.
“What just happened?” I glance over my shoulder and find Trace reclined on the couch, following me with his eyes.
He doesn’t look upset or bothered. If anything, there’s a calculating glimmer in his expression, and that confuses me as much as it concerns me.
“I know the way to your heart.” Cole winks and guides me around the corner and out of view.
“Hang on.” I pull my hand from his. “Is this a competition?”
He pauses in front of the first door in the hall and meets my gaze head-on. “This is a war, Danni.”
My breath catches. “But you said—”
“We said no fighting,” a colder voice tiptoes behind me.
I didn’t even hear Trace follow. As I turn to face him, he’s already at my side, holding his glass of scotch.
“No secrets,” he says. “No brawls. No manipulations. But we both want the same thing.” His gaze drifts down and up my body in an I-own-you-you’re-mine way that trembles my legs. “And we both intend to win.”
Everything’s been so nonchalant today I feel sideswiped by this. But they warned me it wouldn’t be easy, and even without the warning, I know better. This is Cole and Trace. They’re not going to just sit back and let this play out on its own.
Does that change my resolve to stay and finish this? Definitely not. We’re in this together.
“What’s behind the door?” I ask.
“Enter your passcode.” Cole points at the keypad, his expression indecipherable.
When I punch in the code, he opens the door.
My hand flies to my mouth as I gasp. I don’t know what I expected, but polished wood floors, mirrored walls, and custom-built ballet bars wasn’t it.
“When did you build this?” I take a hesitant step into a dance studio that’s five times larger than my last one.