Three is a War

by Pam Godwin

  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.

  Cole lingers on the threshold and rests his hands in his pockets, his voice quiet. “I started the construction two years ago.”

  “Two years ago?” I whirl toward Cole, my screech echoing through the dance studio. “How is that possible? You were on the run and—”

  “Hiding.” He steps into the room and approaches the wall of windows, staring out at the sunset glistening across the lake. “When my cover was blown, this is the first place I came. It was the safest place to regroup and plan a counterattack.”

  “Did you know he was in Missouri two years ago?” I ask Trace.

  He leans against the wall in the hallway, his head tilted down, and a frown in his brow. “I recently found out about it.”

  I turn back to Cole. “You said you couldn’t return to the States until you knew I was safe.”

  “The woman,” he says, “the traitor, didn’t know about this house. Nothing here connected me to you or St. Louis. That said, I didn’t stay long. Others in my unit used to come here, and I didn’t know who I could trust.”

  “How long were you here?”

  “Three months.”

  “You severed contact with me, and for three months, you were only a few hours away?” My chest constricts as that sinks in. “You didn’t check in on me during that time?”

  “I couldn’t risk it.” His voice is so quiet, so thick with heartache it’s difficult to hear him. “I stayed here longer than I should have.” He glances around the room and returns to the view beyond the windows.

  That’s when it hits me. He was balls-deep in a mission, hiding from the enemy he infiltrated, and he stayed here to build me a dance studio.

  A knot forms in my throat as I take in the space with new eyes. It’s a beautiful, sun-drenched, open studio, at least a thousand square feet, with twelve-foot-tall seamless windows, stunning lake views, exposed brick walls, hardwood floors, and high ceilings. There’s a lounge area with a leather couch, a built-in stereo system, and a dancing pole in the back corner. The ballet bars wrap the entire room, including the windowed wall. I could actually stretch on them while staring out over the lake, and I bet those windows reflect like mirrors when it’s dark outside. Incredible.

  “I started the remodeling two years ago,” Cole says, “but I didn’t finish it until five weeks ago.”

  “You came here when I…” I press a hand against my breastbone and lower my voice. “When I kicked you out?”

  “Yeah. I moved my belongings here.” He nods at the door at the far end of the room. “There’s a dressing room through there.”

  As I head that way, I catch Trace’s eyes in the hall. He maintains a relaxed lean against the wall, an ankle crossed over the other, drinking his scotch. I’m still not used to seeing him in jeans and t-shirts, but he pulls off the casual look like everything else—with irresistible confidence and intimidation.

  When I open the door to the dressing room, I’m once again stunned into breathlessness. Not only is it larger than the biggest room in my old house, it’s stocked with every accessory a dancer could ever want. Ballroom dresses, dance shoes, leotards, tutus, glittery bras, belly dance costumes—the inventory is endless. A large vanity sits in the corner, facing full-length mirrors framed in globed lights.

  My pulse thumps wildly as I run my fingers over taffeta, silk, and rhinestone beading. “How did you—?”

  “I bought out the floor room of a dance store in St. Louis,” Cole says behind me.

  This is too much. I accused him of cheating, kicked him out of my house, and he built me another dance studio.

  Tears sneak up, surging through my throat, drenching my eyes, and choking my voice. “I don’t deserve this.”

  “Fuck if you don’t.” He strides toward me and sweeps me up in a hug that lifts m
y feet off the floor. “I want to give you the world.” He buries his face in my neck. “Dammit, Danni. Please don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it.” I half-sob, half-laugh, and wrap my arms and legs around his muscled body. “Thank you so much, Cole.”

  Maybe he does know the way to my heart. Material possessions mean very little to me, but this is more than that. Dancing is my passion, my life, and he’s given me the means to embrace that while I’m here.

  “I can’t believe you built this when I didn’t even know the house existed.” I lower my toes to the floor and crane my neck toward the doorway, unable to see Trace around the corner. “There was a chance I’d never come here.”

  “When I left for the last mission…” He touches my face, his thumb stroking across my cheek. “I knew it would be my last assignment. I had every intention of bringing you here after I retired.”

  I reach up and hold his handsome face in my hands, savoring the scratch of whiskers against my palms. Looking into his eyes, I tell him without words how grateful I am and how much I love him.

  His expression softens, and his mouth parts. As his head dips lower, and lower, my pulse kicks up. He’s going to kiss me, and I want that with an ache that burns through my veins.

  But at the last second, he pulls back.

  My breath rushes out. “That was cruel.”

  “You have no idea.” His lips thin in a pained grimace, and he grips the back of his neck. “Go explore your dance studio before I fuck you against the sparkly…” He squints at a rack of sequined body tights. “Whatever those are.”

  I shake my head, smiling, and exit the dressing room.

  Trace moved to the couch in the studio, his tumbler of scotch empty and sitting on the floor beside his bare feet.

  “Well?” He curves up a brow. “Am I out of the running?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think…” Cole trails behind me, eyes on Trace. “If you head to St. Louis right now, you’ll be home before bedtime.”

  “You have the rest of your miserable life to be a dickhead.” Trace stretches an arm across the back of the couch. “Why not take tonight off?”

  Stifling my smile, I head toward the panel for the stereo. “I just want you guys to know that someone finds your insults entertaining. Not me. But someone.”

  The sound of their soft laughter releases my grin. I pull up the playlist on the digital screen beside the stereo.

  “Christ, I missed you.” Cole leans a shoulder against the wall beside me.

  “I’ll be here all night,” I say with a shrug, “chilling on the corner of awesome and brilliant.”

  He watches me for a moment, flashing those adorable dimples. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking out the music. Looks like you stole my playlist.”

  “I might’ve.” He tilts his head. “Choose a song that inspires a red-hot burn.”

  “Why?” I drag out the word, infusing it with suspicion.

  “I’m about to show your ass how hard I love it.”

  A tremble races through me. “You’re going to punish me now?”

  “One of the many services I offer.” His eyes glimmer.

  Heaven help me, he’s such a flirt, and I’m a total glutton for it. He has the ability to scramble my mind with a cocky smile and set my body on fire with a glance. I could spend days doing nothing but having sex with him in my head. The way he kisses my neck, bites my lips, holds me down, makes me moan, and doesn’t stop until I’m boneless and replete—he’s so damn good in bed I can come just from fantasizing about it. Sometimes I do.

  But that’s not why I’m here. While sex is crucial in a relationship, the indescribable way he uses his tongue can’t be the basis for my decision.

  I scroll through the song list and select Talking Body by Tove Lo. Then I step back and wait for instruction with a quiver of excitement in my belly.

  “Danni.” Trace shifts to the edge of the couch and points at the floor between his legs. “Come here.”

  “Are you—?” I stutter and look at Cole. “Is he…? I thought you were doing this?”

  If Cole intends to spank me, he’ll do it with my pants off. At least, that’s how he always did it in the past. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions and something else’s going on here?

  The only response Cole gives me is a chin lift in Trace’s direction, wordlessly ordering me to cross the room.

  I wipe my slick palms on my yoga pants and move my feet. When I reach Trace, I pause in the spread V of his legs and silence the impulse to hug my waist. Then I drag my gaze to his.

  “Cross your arms together as high as you can behind you.” He grips my thighs and pulls, forcing me to shuffle closer, until my shins touch the front of the couch.

  I fold my arms across my back and clutch my elbows. The uncomfortable position pushes my breasts out and shoulders back, magnifying my blooming nerves.

  “Perfect.” Cole steps behind me and gathers my hair, roping the waist-length strands over my shoulder and down my chest.

  “Are you going to watch?” I ask Trace in a shaky voice.

  “I’m going to restrain you.”

  The heat in my face rushes to my core, leaving a shiver in its wake. “Did you plan this? I mean, did you guys talk about how you would choreograph it?”

  “We discussed the logistics.” Trace’s cool expression reveals nothing.

  I don’t believe for a minute that he’s all right with this arrangement. I’d love to know how that conversation went. On second thought, maybe not, considering it ended with him pulling a gun on Cole.

  “Since you’re both going to be here…” My throat scratches, and I cough. “You’re leaving my pants on, right?”

  I’m held immobile by Trace’s pale blue eyes, but it’s Cole’s hands on my hips that seize my breaths.

  His thumbs hook beneath my waistband, and my shoulders tighten. Then he yanks my pants to the floor, taking my thong with them.

  My lungs freeze up, and I lose my grip on my elbows behind me.

  “Don’t move your arms.” Trace shoots me a flinty glare and lowers his gaze.

  I tremble as he scrutinizes my naked body below the waist. Why do I suddenly feel so insecure? I’m a dancer, totally comfortable in my skin. But dammit, it’s been weeks since I trimmed down there.

  “I haven’t shaved.” I shift my weight, squirming with vulnerability. “I didn’t know…I would’ve prepared…” Stop rambling. Idiot.

  “You weren’t expecting anyone to see you nude.” Cole lifts my foot, then the other, sliding my pants off and tossing them away. “It validates what I already knew.” He runs a hand along my leg. “In five weeks, you never tried to hook up with another man.”

  “No.” God, no. I didn’t even consider it.

  “I prefer it like this.” Trace stares at the blonde patch of hair between my legs. “I never understood why women want to infantilize their bodies.”

  “It’s cleaner and more visually appealing.”

  “It’s child-like. But this…” He bends forward and breathes in, slow and deep. “The hair traps your pheromones, which are odorless, detected subconsciously, and stimulate arousal.”

  Oh my God. I bet my face is crimson. If the floor opened up and swallowed me whole, I’d welcome the fast exit.

  Cole steps around me and gives my pussy the same examination. Then he glares at Trace, and his hand flexes at his side, his chest rising and falling.

  “Okay, show-and-tell time is over.” I pivot away, dropping my arms.

  “Hold still.” Trace grabs my waist and turns me back. “Why are you uncomfortable? I’ve seen every inch of your body countless times, and it’s safe to assume he has, too.”

  “Not at the same time.” My neck tenses.

  “What’s making you nervous?” Cole touches my chin, nudging my gaze to him.

  “I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy…” My voice drops to a whisper. “The attention. But I’m considered about how t
his is affecting you guys. You said you won’t share, and if this makes you uneasy—”

  “We’re not sharing,” Trace says.

  “We’re compromising.” Cole crosses his arms over his chest.

  “I guess I don’t understand the difference.” I tug on the hem of the shirt, stretching it toward my thighs.

  “Stop fidgeting.” Trace pries my fingers from the material.

  The song streaming in the background comes to an end, and the sudden silence amplifies the heaving sound of my breaths.

  I point at the stereo. “I’ll go select another—”

  “Arms up.” Cole pins me with an unyielding glare.

  I open my mouth to argue, but the words stick in my throat. I’m making this awkward because I don’t want them to feel awkward. Except they don’t seem distressed or troubled. I need to remember they’re in control here, orchestrating every step. For reasons I can’t figure out, they want to do this together.

  With a steeling breath, I raise my arms.

  My insides coil with nervous energy as I stretch my arms over my head.

  Cole yanks my shirt up and off. With a flick of his fingers, he unclasps my bra and takes that, too, leaving me completely nude and shaking all over.

  “Straddle my lap.” Trace leans back, sinking deeper into the couch. “And return your arms to the folded position behind you.”

  Cole shifts to the side, lashes hooded over warm, seductive eyes that make my blood burn.

  With my arms locked together at my back, I slide onto Trace’s lap, the stiff denim of his jeans brushing against the backs of my thighs. His legs are sprawled so wide I have to stretch out to straddle him, which I’m sure is the intent. It puts me fully on display with my bare ass in the air.

  “Cole won the dispute over who gets to punish you,” Trace says at my ear, raising goosebumps along my spine. “I wanted to be present while he administered it, but I don’t relish the thought of watching him touch you.” His gaze flicks over my shoulder, and his voice takes on a deadly edge. “In this position, he gets a phenomenal view of your ass and pussy.”