Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Talk about ripping myself open. The sentiment that had come out of my mouth scared the shit out of me. What must she think? I sounded like a fucking creeper.
The real kicker was, these feelings weren’t new. I’d buried them for nine months, pretending the silver Ducati at the finish line wasn’t the reason I raced faster and harder to get there. But I couldn’t tell her that.
Her fingers, now relaxed in my grip, stroked the sensitive spot beneath my ear, the movement a subconscious one that made me sigh deeply, happily. Which only added to my confusion.
I dropped my forehead to her thigh and spoke against her knee, my heart thundering. “I can’t not fight for you.”
She moved her hand through my hair, gliding her touch around the back of my ear. “You stole my job, Logan. You videotaped us having sex and gave it to my father-in-law.”
Her tone was as soft and rhythmic as her touch, but the weight of her words crushed my windpipe.
She dropped her hand to her lap. “And in case you missed my reaction in his office, I hate Trent with every fiber in my body. The fact that he, of all people, saw that video—”
I jerked to my feet and paced to the windows, eyes on the glowing glass and concrete metropolis. “I’ll regret that till the day I die.” Which would be soon if I gave into this reckless urge to tell her my secrets.
My betrayal, her marriage, my revenge, all of it pressed down on my shoulders and crawled its way through me. My body itched with it, my mind pushing against the binds of our situation, searching for hidden solutions, and testing for weak areas.
I turned to face her. “Do you love your husband?”
“Yes.”
Her immediate and unwavering response threatened to buckle my knees. What did I expect? That my mutilated confession of feelings had changed her heart? Didn’t matter. She could sit there and watch me suffer. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“The broody glare is back.” She stood and closed the gap between us.
Her hands moved along the lapels of my suit jacket, straightening the creases. She seemed to be torturing me intentionally, sliding her fingers over my collar, so close to my throat I could feel the heat from them, and retreating without touching my skin.
She lowered her arms to her sides. “There are different kinds of love, Logan.”
That small, unexpected addendum made it easier to swallow the knot of pain in my throat. “Okay.” I strengthened my voice. “Like what?”
She stepped to the window and flattened a hand against the glass, staring into the sunrise. “There’s the sparks-flying, emotionally-volcanic kind of love. You know, short-fused, explosive sex that fizzles as quickly as it ignites?” She gave me a pointed look and returned to the window. “Some might say that’s not love at all.”
I swallowed. “It’s lust. Desire.”
Was that what she thought this was between us? Fuck that. A fizzling affair wasn’t what I was fighting for.
Her sigh billowed through the silence. “Desire is a form of love, however fleeting. You feel it in the moment, and holy hell, you feel the emptiness when it’s gone.” She breathed in, out. “It’s the weakest kind of love.”
She wouldn’t be standing here, giving into Trent’s threat, if her love for her husband was weak. The notion constricted my throat, but I pushed it away and clung to the implication that she and Collin didn’t have explosive sex. “That’s not how you love him.”
She laughed. “No.”
Sunlight reflected off her profile as she lowered her eyes to her bare feet, her dark blonde lashes resting against her cheek. “Then there’s the steadfast, reliable love. A solid foundation that withstands time and hardship. The kind you protect with your life.”
The absent tilt of her lips told me more than her words did. This was how she loved him, and I didn’t know what to make of that.
A lock of hair fell against her cheek, blocking my view of her expression. I leaned a shoulder against the window, facing her, and brushed the golden strands behind her ear.
She closed her eyes and touched her brow to the glass. “The strongest love begins from a place of conflict. It’s a volatile journey of committing and fighting and recommitting, but the effort is resolute and evolves into something so consuming the heart aches just thinking about it.” Her chest rose and fell with the cadence of her voice. “A soul-deep fusion of two bodies where there is no room for emptiness.”
Her longing was beautiful and poignant, one I felt in every painful beat of my heart, filling me with a possessive need to be the man who gave her that kind of happiness.
Her gaze lingered on mine, a flush sweeping over her face, an embarrassed smile twitching her lips. She shrugged. “You asked.”