He slows the SUV at a cross street, the first one I’ve seen in the fifteen minutes we’ve been on the road. Veering right, he enters a small town, lined with run-down stores, a gas station, and lo and behold, a Walmart.
Without acknowledging my question, he motors toward the parking lot filled with a dozen or so cars. He parks toward the back of the lot, turns off the engine, and faces me.
“You know my parents died in a car accident.” He stares at our hands, where they intertwine on my lap.
“You said their deaths changed your perspective on life.”
“Yes. They were killed because of my job.”
“What?” I whisper as a chill spreads through me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I can’t change what happened.” His eyes lift to mine, stark and unblinking. “And I can’t share the details.”
“I’m so sorry, Trace.” I cup his face, stroking my fingers through his soft blond hair.
“Don’t be sorry. If it hadn’t happened, I’d still be married to that job.”
I nod, mind racing. Were
his parents killed by an enemy nation state? Or an internal threat like the woman who threatened my life? The specifics are irrelevant. It’s what happened after that makes my throat swell.
“That’s why you agreed to watch over me when Cole left.” I rest my fingers on the sharp angles of his face.
“I didn’t want the same thing to happen to you.” He caresses my cheek, my jaw, my lips, the kiss of his touch jump-starting my heart.
“Cole knows how your parents died?”
“He’s one of the very few.”
“He knew and still asked you to protect me?” I drop my arm and ball my hand on my lap. “I kind of hate him a little for that.”
“Why?” His brows pull together.
“What if I died on your watch, Trace? You already lost your parents because of that job. I’m sorry, but that was selfish of him to put you in that position.”
He makes a noise that resembles a laugh and swipes a hand over his mouth. “I should just let you continue thinking that.”
“What do you mean?” I squint at him.
“Danni, he did me a favor.” He leans back and gazes at the cars glinting in sun-soaked parking lot. “My parents’ murder wasn’t my fault, but I accepted that job knowing full well it put everyone I loved at risk. After they died, I carried the guilt for years.” He pulls in a deep breath. “Cole placed you in my charge because he knew I would do anything to prevent that from happening again. He also knew if I committed to a year of protecting you—”
“Four years.”
“Right.” He smirks. “After four years of protecting you, he hoped I might find atonement for the mistakes I made with my parents.”
“Did you…did it ease the guilt?”
“Yes,” he says hesitantly. “Until I asked you to marry me.” He releases a humorless laugh. “Falling in love with my best friend’s fiancé introduced a whole new level of guilt.”
I angle toward him and rest my forehead against his. “Do you regret it?”
“Never,” he says fiercely, his breath whispering against my mouth.
“You didn’t just save my life.” I press closer, brushing our lips together. “You gave me life when I had nothing left to live for. Thank you.”
His hand catches the back of my neck, and he slams his mouth against mine, swallowing my gasp and chasing my tongue. He kisses me with a fire that could burn forever, weaving its heat into my skin and melting our souls into one.
Every organ, muscle, and molecule in my body strains to be part of him instead of me. The need to be closer, to nuzzle up against his heart is a physical ache. I don’t know how I existed without him. I’m certain I won’t be able to again.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me as if he can’t fathom letting me go, not now, not at the end of the road, not ever. I clutch him just as hard, falling fast and deep into the trance of his kiss, drunk on his love and high on my own. He can bleed my veins, drain me dry, and hold my desires in captivity. There’s no limit to what I would give him.
Except the other half of my heart.
I can’t give up Cole. Not easily. Not without losing the very essence of my soul.
Trace breaks the kiss, his lips swollen and damp as he searches my eyes. “You’re thinking about him.”
My breath catches, and my heart shrivels with shame.
“You don’t have to say it.” He brushes my hair from my face. “You look at me and see one of two choices. I look at you and see absoluteness. But we have time. Someday, we’ll look beyond the question marks and just see us.”
“I love you.” I lean in for another kiss, desperate to hold onto to the connection.
But he shifts away and climbs out of the car. Circling the front bumper, he opens my door and grips my hand. “Ready for Walmart?”
“On a scale of maybe to definitely…” I slide out and shut the door, the air cool yet tolerable without a coat. “I’m going with never.”
He locks the car with the keyless remote and leads me across the lot, holding my hand. “It has a certain appeal.”
“Like what?”
“It’s the only place you can get a prescription filled, an eye exam, a bag of popcorn, and an oil change, all while watching a real-life episode of What Not To Wear.”
“Speaking of what not to wear…” I take in his white button-up and tailored khakis and feel lightheaded at how damn arresting he looks. “You’re a little overdressed, aren’t you? You’re going to cause some serious whiplash in there.”
“I won’t be the one turning heads.” He stops abruptly in the middle of the parking lot, yanking me to a halt. “Wanna play?”
“Always.” I grin. “What did you have in mind?”
“A bet.” He looks at me expectantly.
My eyes widen.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He gives me a smoldering once-over. “I’m in the business of gambling.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What are the stakes?”
“You’ll get propositioned first, and when that happens, I get to do whatever I want to do to you.”
I glance down at my black leggings, knee-high boots, and slouchy sweater. Not a lot of sexy going on here. Besides, he gets to do anything he wants regardless of a bet, so what do I have to lose?
“And if you get hit-on first?” I ask. “Do I get to do whatever I want to you?”
“Sure.” His eyes laugh, arrogant and breathtaking.
“Deal.”
I want every hard, long inch of him in my mouth. Just thinking about it awakens a throb between my legs.
We step into the store, and he grabs a cart. I intend to scope out the female shoppers in anticipation of their blatant staring, but I can’t peel my eyes away from Trace Savoy pushing a squeaky Walmart cart. The belly laugh that follows can’t be helped, either, and before I know it, I’m doubled over, covering my mouth to muffle my cackling.
He pauses a few paces ahead of me and glances back, not amused. His dark scowl and rigid jawline only makes me laugh harder.
I reach for the phone in my back pocket and fire up the camera. Bree will appreciate how priceless this is. Hell, Cole probably will, too.
As I lift the phone to snap a picture, it vanishes from my hand.
He slips it in his pocket and gives me a hard smack on the ass, making me yelp.
I glance around at men and women of every age spilling out of the aisles to watch the show.
“There’s more of that coming when I win the bet.” Trace grips the cart and strolls toward to grocery section, like he didn’t just spank me in the entrance of Walmart.
We fill the cart with produce, dairy, and whatever. He has a list—one he typed out on his phone. Who does that?
Every time I toss a package in, he stops and rearranges the basket. Evidently, there are rules for stacking shit in a cart. Something about organizing the way the groceries are bagged and put away, yadda, yadda… He lost me at organizing.
Twenty minutes into our shopping spree, it occurs to me that no one here would ever hit on him. Oh, the women are definitely looking—teen girls, mothers with screaming kids, and blue-haired grannies. They stumble and stare, necks craning and mouths gaping, like they can’t come to terms with the sight of a gorgeous Viking god pushing a cart down the cereal aisle.