I get it. He stands out in such a shocking way I find myself gawking right along with them.
But they don’t approach, not even when I trail at a distance and pretend we’re not together. I should’ve known. As recklessly impulsive as I am, I’m not sure I’d have the balls to initiate a conversation with such an intimidatingly beautiful man.
The bet is a total bust. So I wander off to check out the music section while he heads toward the auto department to get lawn mower oil.
I don’t make it two steps down the pop music aisle before a passing employee stops in his tracks and flashes me a toothy smile.
Don’t come this way. Don’t come this way.
He prowls straight toward me, eyes fixed on mine. Ugh.
I turn on my heel and hurry down the aisle. But he catches me in the next row over.
Short black hair, lean build, he’s probably early-twenties. Too young to grow a beard or comprehend the danger lurking nearby in the form of a possessive, scowly male.
“Do you need help finding something?” His gaze makes an audacious journey over my body. “I’m at your service.”
“Nope. All good here. Thanks.” I pivot away.
He sidles around me and strokes a thumb across his bottom lip, grinning. “You’re so fine I had to come over and tell you. You must be new in town.”
“Yeah, so I’m going to sit this one out.” I duck around him.
He chases. “What’s your name?”
“Not interested.”
“Give me a chance.” He races past me and steps into my path. “Let’s go out tonight.”
“Let’s not and stick with that story.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.”
Blatant verbal disinterest apparently doesn’t work with this guy.
“I have a confession.” I arrange my face into pained embarrassment. “I have a raging yeast infection going on. With all the itchiness and discharge, I just can’t tonight.”
“Tomorrow night then.” He searches my eyes, not a flinch in his expression. “Seven o’clock. Where should I pick you up?”
I got to hand it to him. He’s smart enough to see through the lie and persistent to boot.
“Look, you seem like a nice guy…” I glance at his Walmart name tag. “Max. I’m sure you’ll go far in life”—and I really hope he stays there—”so you should probably run along and get going on that.”
I’m really not judging him for working at Walmart. At least he has a job. Can’t say the same for myself.
But he’s earning major creeper points every second he stands here, eying me up and down.
His perusal freezes on something over my shoulder. Given his backward shuffle and paling complexion, it doesn’t take a brainiac to know Trace is standing behind me.
“I’ll…uh…” Max continues his retreat out of the aisle. “Catch you next time.”
I wait until he vanishes around the corner before turning toward Trace.
My breath hitches. Damn, he looks murderous. Sharp blade-like eyes, deep-set scowl, shoulders back, and hands behind him, he stands a few feet away, glaring like a giant with a gym-honed physique. It’s no wonder he’s so confident. His towering stature allows him to stare down anyone who crosses his path. Including me.
“Stop scowling at me.” I breeze past him. “I had that under control.”
“Sounds like we should swing by the medicine aisle.” With long-legged strides, he easily catches up. “Pick up something for your itchy problem.”
“How on earth did you hear that?” I reach the cart, where he left it sitting in the main walkway, and lean on the handle. “Were you eavesdropping one aisle over? Or did you bug me?”
“I’m aware of my surroundings. This way.” He crooks a finger and leads me toward the back of the store.
“I thought we were finished?”
“I won the bet.”
“Nobody likes a gloater. And it was hardly fair with that don’t-talk-to-me scowl you wear.”
“Nobody likes a poor loser. Leave the cart there.” He gestures toward a corridor in the rear of the store.
I park the cart. “What are you—?”
He grabs my arm and walks me forcibly down the hall toward the bathrooms.
“Wait.” I yank on his grip and lower my voice to a whisper. “We are not getting dirty in a Walmart bathroom.”
Pulling me to a stop, he glares at an employee who skitters by. The poor woman casts her gaze to the floor and hurries out of the corridor.
“I don’t want a scene,” he says at my ear, “but I’ll carry you if I have to.”
“You can keep your threats to yourself.” I relax in his hold. “I don’t need them.”
With a hand on my bicep, he guides me to the bathrooms at the end of the hall. The door to the women’s room is locked, so he pulls me into the men’s single-stall bathroom and locks us inside. Then his crystal blue eyes knife in my direction.
His demeanor shifts from intense to ravenously intense as he stalks toward me. I back up, heart fluttering and stomach swarming with nerves.
“I know you won the bet, but I need to understand the rules.” I circle him as he circles me, and we move together in a vibrating dance of sexual tension. “Are you going to fuck me? Is that allowed?” I’m desperate for it, clenching and trembling from the inside out. But… “I’m not going to sneak behind Cole’s back.”
“I’ll honor the guidelines Cole and I set.” He prowls around me, drifting closer with each step. “You’re more than welcome to tell him all about it when we get back.”
My chest collapses. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
He pauses behind me and runs his fingers through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. “Cole understands the principles of love.”
I’m not sure I understand. “What are the principles of love?”
“Pain.” He squeezes his hand in my hair, yanking on the roots. “Risk. Self-destruction.”
“Ow.” I clasp his wrist, stumbling in my attempt to loosen his grip. “What about effort? Sacrifice? Trust? Kindness?”
“Do you want kindness right now, darling?”
I laugh at the endearment. “I wouldn’t mind keeping some of my hair.”
He releases me. “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”
And there it is, the brutally beautiful command of a man whom I love to the ends of self-destruction. His dominance repeatedly draws me back to him, the strength of our love fused into two bodies that ache to align the way we’re supposed to.
But my heart is divided.
If this is a war, Trace and Cole aren’t the enemies.
I am.
I’m the betrayer who loves them both. The persecutor who will rip us apart. The executioner who will snuff the light that burns so brightly between us.
Sex isn’t the solution, but it’s too late to have a conscience. I’m already committed, flattening my palms against the wall.
I don’t want to control this. I need Trace to do it, whatever it is.
Punish me. Wreck me.
Tear down my ruins.
Excavate me from my sins.
Hurt me. Spank me. Set me on fire.
Make me burn.
A storm rampages inside me as I hold my hands against the wall in the Walmart bathroom. Desire battles guilt, one as poisonous as the other, robbing the strength from my legs and scorching my lungs.
But at the center of the turmoil is a calming presence. Trace stands behind me, silent, steady, compelling me to relax simply by placing a hand on my lower back.
“Are you still sore from yesterday?” His deep timbre curls around me, low and hypnotic.
My glutes are tender to the touch, but I’m a dancer. Sore muscles are a way of life.
“Answer me.” He slams a hand against my backside, prickling sharp pain beneath my leggings.
I swallow a yelp. “Yes. I’m sore.”
“Whatever’s going on in your head stops now.” He spanks me again, softer this time, but the impact still lifts me on my toes.
“You can’t order me to stop thinking.”