She reaches across the table and grips my hand. “You’re so excited your voice actually rises an octave when you talk about it.”
“I am excited. We’re talking huge donations, Bree. With his network of business partners, he’ll be able to pull in high-profile sponsors for events like charity dinners and galas.”
“The kind of dinners and galas you used to perform at? Will you dance at them?”
“That’s the plan.” Happiness doesn’t begin to describe the huge feeling in my chest. “I have no doubt he’ll run this like he runs everything else.”
“Like a boss.” Bree smiles.
I was going to say meticulous, overbearing controller, but yeah… “Like a boss.”
“He made this career change for you?”
I shake my head. “He started pursuing it six months ago. When I was with Cole.”
“He definitely did it for you.” She gives me a knowing look. “Whether you would be part of it or not, you inspired him.”
We fall silent, our attentions returning to the quiet, imposing man and his tiny demonic sidekick in the living room.
In one week, I’m going to marry Trace Savoy. I didn’t choose a ballroom dance or a song, and there won’t be any choreography. Just like love, our first dance isn’t a choice. I won’t control it. It’s just going to happen, and I’ll hold onto every second of it for dear life.
When I told him this, I ended up naked and thoroughly pleasured on the counter in his kitchen.
Our kitchen.
I moved in with him immediately, and we spend most of our time together in bed. I wake every morning tucked into his body, his muscular arm clamped around my back and his thigh bent between my mine. The best part of my day is watching those sleepy blue eyes whisper good morning to me.
When I’m not working, we run errands, go to dinner, watch movies. Really, we don’t need to do anything to pass the time. We just need each other.
I haven’t sold my house. I won’t. As much progress as I’ve made on healing the jagged hole Cole left behind, I can’t give up the home he bought for me, the dance room he built for me, or the memories that cling to the walls. So I’m renting it to Nikolai. It’s twice the size of the crappy apartment he lived in, and he no longer has to borrow space at another school to teach his dance students.
I don’t have any plans to reopen my dance company. Teaching was a means to pay the bills and never my passion. That said, I haven’t worked much over the past three weeks. When I negotiated the employment contract that night in my house, I failed to look at the fine print. Trace sneaked in a restriction that states I can work a maximum of two hours per night. No wonder he didn’t argue when I changed the schedule to seven days a week.
His deviousness is irritating in the best way possible. He challenges me constantly, dominates me to no end, and keeps me coming back for more.
“I need to use the bathroom.” Bree rises from the table and vanishes around the corner.
I stand, too, and make my way to the living room.
Crouching behind Trace, I rub my hands over the crisp fabric of his t-shirt. “Did you starch this?”
“Maybe.” He looks at me over his shoulder.
I immediately forget what we’re talking about because that devastating grin, it ravages my senses and catches at my heart.
Resting my cheek on his shoulder, I hug him from behind and breathe in his masculine heat. He returns to his crayons, letting me caress his chest and pepper kisses across his nape. There’s so much sexual energy contained within his powerful body it’s bone-melting when he unleashes it. And he will unleash it the moment we get home.
I lean between him and Angel, studying the drawing beneath his crayon. The cartoon-ish lines were etched by a child—a rather artistic child—but why did she draw a picture of a horned, dog-like beast with blazing red eyes? I can only imagine what Trace is thinking as he colors it in.
“Trace drew this one. See?” Angel holds up a stick-figure woman dancing on tiptoes. “It’s sexy Aunt Danni.”
Sexy? How does she know that word? I glance at Trace and find his smoky eyes fixated on my mouth.
“You can’t teach her that.” I bite down on my smile.
“I just did.” His voice, bedroom gruff and pure naughtiness, steals my breath.
“I don’t think it looks like you.” Angel examines the picture. “Your face looks more like a dog.”
“What kind of dog?” Please don’t say a horned beast with red eyes.
“A dead dog.”
I don’t even know what to say to that.
“Angel.” Trace drops his tone in warning. “We talked about this. If you want to persuade and intimidate, do it with your attitude, not your words.”
“I want to be like you.” She lifts her chin, staring at him with adoration.
“I’ll teach you.” He pats her head, making her pigtails bounce.
“Oh, dear God,” I mutter under my breath.
“There is no God. Only Zuul.” She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her huge, brown demonic eyes.
My mouth falls open. She’s been all about God for as long as I can remember. What changed?
“I’m afraid to ask who Zuul is,” I say just as Bree walks into the room.
My sister looks over the drawing of the horned dog and makes a pained face. “Her obsession with Christianity has moved on to…Ghostbusters.” She lifts Angel from the chair and gives her a nudge toward the hall. “It’s bath time, young lady.”
“I like him better.” Angel points at Trace as she struts by. “The other one had holes in his cheeks.”
Dimples.
Cole.
My heart freezes in my chest, my entire body paralyzed beneath a wave of torment.
As Bree and Angel disappear down the hall, Trace wraps a hand around my neck and uses his grip to guide me onto his lap.
“Talk to me.” He pushes the coloring table to the side and leans back against the side of the couch.
“I’m fine.” I curl up against his chest and wrap my arms around him. “It’s just… Sometimes, she’s painfully honest.”
“She’s five.” He strokes his thumb across my throat, the touch possessive and comforting. “And logical. Of course, she likes me better. I don’t have holes in my cheeks.” At my ragged sigh, he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Keep talking.”
“When he died, it left a permanent wound inside me. I think I’ve been subconsciously moving on from him for years, but the tiniest thing can reopen the wound, and once it’s open, it takes a while to stop the bleeding.” I straighten and meet his eyes. “I don’t regret, but I think about him often and feel heavy with sadness. I miss him.”
“I know.” His expression softens. “I miss him, too.”
“But you talk to him.”
“Yes.”
“I need to know.” I shift on his lap, putting my face in his and clutching his shoulders. “You have to tell how he’s doing.”
“He’s okay, Danni.” His thick lashes lower, lift again, revealing eyes warm with compassion. “He threw himself back into work.”
“The job offers…” My breath stammers, and my stomach turns to ice. “He said it was dangerous.”
“His job has always been dangerous. He’s good at it. Good enough that I don’t worry about his safety.” He runs his fingers through my hair, soothing me.