I laughed because he had me going for a hot second, but my laughter quickly died off at the back of my throat as he grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head, revealing the kind of six pack that wet dreams were made of.
Holy Reaper babies all over the damn place!
I bit down on my lip to keep an excited giggle from bubbling out as I quietly imagined myself running my fingers over his bumps and ridges, tracing his muscles like they’d been carved solely for my viewing pleasure. Obviously, I wasn’t going to do that—I wasn’t a total weirdo—but damn, I really, really wanted to.
Peering a little more closely, I noticed he looked a little thicker and more defined since the last time I’d seen him shirtless. I imagined he’d been working out a lot more. Yeah. I was imagining a lot of things…
“I take it you like what you see?” he asked lowly, his mouth curving up into a cocky grin.
“Huh?” My cheeks immediately burned hot. What the heck had I been doing just then to make him ask me that? Was I grinning stupidly again? Drooling? I quickly licked my lips to make sure no excess saliva was dripping from them. Everything seemed in order, so I just crossed my arms and rolled my eyes, deciding to play it coy. “Whatever, Trace. You know you look good.”
“So that’s a yes then?” he verified and then retook his seat, his gaze smoldering as he refilled the shot glass.
“It’s your turn,” I said, expertly dodging his question. I was so not going there with him, regardless of whatever the heck my face had been doing.
He smiled, his dimples flexing as though he’d just won that round. I supposed if I was being completely honest with myself, he sort of did. “Truth or dare?” he asked.
I thought about it for a quick second. I couldn’t really go for a dare anymore since I literally had no more pieces of clothing to remove. Well, none that would keep me decent. “Truth. And you can’t repeat questions,” I reminded him, just in case he tried playing dirty with me.
Pushing back in his chair, he swiveled it from side to side and then wet his lips. “Did we ever have sex?”
Bloody fucking hell. I immediately felt the heat that had congregated in my cheeks spread all the way down to my chest. Frankly, my whole body felt like it was roasting on the hot seat.
The man was in it to win it.
“No, we never…had sex,” I answered, barely able to finish the sentence without blushing profusely.
He nodded his head. “Good to know.” I couldn’t help but notice the slight frown on his face, though. After a quiet pause, he added, “I guess that’s a good thing.”
My head jerked back. “Not having sex with me is a good thing?” I couldn’t help but feel offended by that. He’d been eyeing me like the jackpot all night and suddenly, he didn’t want to sleep with me?
He smirked, setting off his left dimple. “That’s definitely not what I said,” he objected as the heated look returned to his eyes with a vengeance. “I just meant I’m glad that wasn’t something I’d forgotten.”
“Right.” Duh. Because of the “amnesia”. “Sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t do it?” He meant it as a joke, but it hit a little too close to home. It didn’t really matter which way I spun it to myself; I was the one that did this to him. My hands were just as dirty as Nikki’s. Maybe even more so.
My shoulders slumped as a weighty sadness washed over me. I tried to hide it by reaching forward and taking a shot of Tequila, but Trace definitely noticed the change.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, worry puckering his forehead as he watched me set the glass back on the table.
I shook my head. “Nope. Not at all.” Sucking in a deep breath, I tossed my hair over my shoulder and pushed all of the icky thoughts away as my Tequila buzz grabbed the reins again. “Who’s turn is it?”
He eyed me for a moment as though trying to read something from my face, from my demeanor, and then said, “It’s your turn to ask. Unless you want to stop playing?”
“Why would I want to stop?” I asked, doing my best to slide my poker face back into place. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.” His eyes never strayed from mine.
I smiled because I knew he was giving me a freebie. “How do you know we’re going to be together? What did you see exactly?” I wasn’t sure why I was bringing this up again when I knew deep down, nothing good would come of it, yet I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
Perhaps a small part of me, a buried part of me, still longed for that happily ever after. Perhaps a part of me was still holding on to the hopes that there would be something good at the end of this dark line. That I might finally find peace and happiness after all the heartache and misery.
He pushed forward again, leaning his forearms on his knees as he interlocked his fingers and captured my gaze. “Are you really sure you want to know this?”
That gave me pause, but the hesitation didn’t stick around long enough to sway me. “Yeah. I mean, why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You can’t unknow the future once I tell you.”
“I know that,” I said as the cold touch of trepidation jolted my heart. “I…I’m sure. I want to know.”
His eyes bounced around my face for what felt like an eternity before he finally answered, “I know we’re going to be together because I saw you…walking down the aisle to me.”
Well, shit on a stick.
There it was.
And I totally wasn’t panicking.
10. HEARTBREAK WARFARE
The room felt as though all the air had been sucked right out of it. That or I’d forgotten how to breathe altogether. Either way, my lungs were burning something terrible and my head was swimming with messy, disjointed thoughts. I honestly wasn’t sure how much time had passed before I remembered to take in a breath of air and then let it out.
Yeah…maybe I was panicking a little.
“You’re freaking out,” said Trace as he surveyed me from across the night table.
I shook my head sharply and then lied through my teeth. “No. I’m fine. I’m just…you know, taking it in. Are you sure that’s what you saw? Maybe we were just in someone else’s wedding party?” I fired off my questions like a person who was definitely not fine with what they had just heard. In my defense, they were perfectly valid questions. We could’ve just been attending someone else’s wedding and not necessarily our own wedding.
Our. Wedding. What the hell? I was actually going to make it past my eighteenth birthday and get married? For some reason, I couldn’t seem to wrap my head all the way around it.
“I’m sure,” he said as he leaned back in his chair and swiveled it from side to side again, watching me closely. “I've never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Well, there it was. He was sure. He saw it. What more could I say?
“Is it just me or is it really hot in here?” I asked, fanning myself as I sat there in my bra and underwear. Reaching over, I grabbed one of the shot glasses and tossed the liquid courage back, hoping it would quell my nerves.
His eyes cut across my face as he openly examined me. “Do you want me to open the window?”
I shook my head, deciding that a cold breeze against my semi-naked chest probably wasn’t the best idea right now.
“What do you think about what I just told you?” he asked, still watching me with great interest, his eyes scouring my face in the hopes of knowing me—of understanding the parts of myself I keep hidden.
I stared forward, unsure how to answer him. The last few months, I’d been with Dominic, and it was fairly clear that I wasn’t going to have the whole marriage-and-kids life with him, and I’d accepted that—was good with it even. But was that only because I had lost Trace? Had I subconsciously let that dream die when Trace died? I honestly wasn’t sure anymore. Deciding that it was way too much baggage for me to unpack in one night, I skirted the question altogether.
“I would tell you, but that sounds like a truth
or dare question,” I said, directing the conversation back to the game.
An impish smile slowly returned to his face. “Alright, but you know it’s my turn to ask, right?”
I shrugged. “Ask away.”
His eyes filled with dangerous mischief and for some reason, it made my stomach tighten. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I answered easily because I knew what he was going to ask if I went with truth, and like I said, I wasn’t going there tonight. No siree bob.
He didn’t seem bothered by my dodge. Instead, he wet his lips and said, “Come here.”
Heat fluttered down my chest as I took in the dark glint in his eye. “You want me to come over there to you?” I verified, doing my best not to drop my eyes bellow his neckline. The air was already charged enough with sexual tension without my adding to it by ogling his bare chest.
“That’s what I said.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs as he eyed me pointedly, as though waiting to see if I would actually do it.
“That’s your dare?” I asked dubiously.
“It’s the first part of my dare,” he answered, his voice husky and deep.
“What’s the second part?” I asked, still not moving an inch.
His grin was all edges and sin. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”
I thought about it for a flat second and then stood up, wearing nothing but my bra and underwear no less, and slowly walked over to him before stopping half a foot in front of his chair.
Unsure of where he was going with this, I waited and watched as his gaze roamed over my body appreciatively, and I let them because it felt good to have his eyes on me that way.
“What’s the second part?” I asked again, my voice coming out far breathier than I’d intended.
He sank back in the chair as those torturous eyes of his crawled up to meet mine. “I dare you to kiss me.”
My breath caught in my throat as I tried to ignore the blitz of butterflies dancing through my belly. Shuttering myself, I crossed my arms and glared at him. “That’s not fair.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Why not?”
“You waited until I was down to my bra and underwear to ask me that. You’re cheating.”
“How is that cheating?” A small smile twitched the corners of his lips. “It’s good game strategy.”
“Same difference.” Okay, not really, but I was sticking to it regardless.
“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to,” he said softly, knowing full well that wanting wasn’t the issue here.
“But then I have to take off another piece of clothing.” Which would strategically leave me topless or bottomless.
“I know.” He didn’t even bother to hide his enthusiasm over my conundrum.
Motherfucker. I blew out a breath and tried to ignore his cocky grin. “How long do I have to keep my bra off?” I wondered, weighing out my options now. At this point, I wasn’t entirely sure which option was worse: Parading around the room with my boobs out in front of Trace, or flat-out kissing him. On purpose. Not that kissing him on purpose was bad. It was never bad, and that right there was the problem.
“For the rest of the game,” he answered, halting my inner ramble as he continued to observe me.
My eyes dropped to his mouth and the temperature in the room shot up again. “And the kiss? How long?”
He shrugged like it didn’t matter either way. “I don’t know, ten seconds.”
“Ten seconds,” I repeated and then nodded distractedly. Honestly, that was hardly anything at all. It wasn’t even a quarter of a minute. I could definitely handle locking lips with Trace for a measly ten seconds.
Easy-peasy. I got this.
“Okay…ten seconds,” I finally said, working hard to keep my voice and expression flat, bored even, like it was absolutely no big deal to me even though my heart was already thundering in my chest.
He clenched his jaw and waited as I just stood there and did nothing. I’d meant to close the gap and get this thing over with, but my jelly legs didn’t seem to be cooperating.
Trace stared at me for a moment and then his hands came up to my hips, gripping them as he walked me the rest of the way and then pulled me down onto his lap so that my legs were straddling him on either side.
Warmth immediately pooled low in my center as I took in the heated look in his eyes. It was all I could do to suffocate the moan that wanted to rip out of me when he tightened his grip on my hips and then dragged me against his thighs, pressing me down against his hardness as he brought our mouths within an inch of each other.
With his gaze tethered to mine, he drove his fingers into my hair and then cupped the back of my head, drawing my mouth closer to his as my body thrummed in his arms.
Everything in my mind turned to fuzz as I watched him slowly wet his lips, the gesture causing his dimples to deepen and my breath to hasten. My chest was rising and falling with anticipation; my palms splayed against his chest, fingernails digging into the warmth of his skin. Every cell in my body was vibrating for this—for him.
Who the hell had I been kidding? This wasn’t just ten measly seconds. It could never be that. Not with Trace. With Trace, this kiss would be everything.
Including the beginning of the end.
Wincing at the sudden rush of panic, I pushed back against his chest and tried to climb off his lap, but he quickly reached for my waist and held me there against him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked hoarsely, his hands sending lulling currents of heat throughout my body as if sensing my distress and knowing precisely what was needed to calm me.
“This was a bad idea,” I said, shaking my head as I tried to avoid his eyes—eyes that were glassy with desire and want.
I knew that look well, and it was dangerous. Dangerous because there was a very real and visceral part of me that wanted to ease that need, to fulfill his desire and my own, and frankly, I wasn’t sure I would be able to stop myself if I ever let it start.
“Why is it a bad idea?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly as he squeezed my hips to reclaim my attention.
Heat ricocheted through my body as my gaze dropped down to his plush lips and those godforsaken dimples. It was taking every ounce of effort on my part not to drop my head and kiss him.
“Because…we’re friends,” I said lamely, unable to come up with a better excuse.
“We both know we’re more than that.” His hand came up to my face, slow and restrained, as though waiting for some kind of protest from me, and when none came, he gently brushed his fingers against the apple of my cheeks.
I sucked in a breath of air and held it as his thumb grazed over my lips—gingerly, as if weary of all the lines and boundaries I'd set up between the two of us, but wanting so badly to blow a hole right through them.
But they were lines I'd set up for a reason.
A good reason I needed to remember.
Pushing his hand away, I wrenched myself off his lap and stumbled back from him as though he’d scorched me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said as coldly as I could muster, grabbing my shirt from the floor and cradling it to my chest. “It was just a game, Trace, and you won. Be happy.”
He looked over at me in disbelief and I did my best not to shrink away from his stare.
“Just a game, huh?” he repeated as he stood up from the chair and crossed the small space to me, his jaw muscle ticking furiously as he stared down at me. “You sure that’s all it was, Jemma? Because that didn’t feel like a game to me,” he said pointing back to the chair we’d been sitting in. Grinding in. Same difference.
My body swayed toward him like a pendulum that only knew one destination—it’s home. His eyes flared as though he could sense the pull and feel all the things I was trying to keep buried.
In that moment, I realized how dangerous it was being like this with Trace—being this intimate and close to him. The walls I’d built around my heart were slowly and sp
ectacularly beginning to waver, to tremble under the pressure of all the emotions that wanted to come up to the surface. Emotions I’d buried and left for dead. And I wasn’t entirely sure I had enough strength in me to keep the wall up. To keep my feelings at bay.
“Was it just a game?” he repeated, his voice lower now, softer, his eyes desperate for a connection.
I wanted so much to answer him honestly—to tell him the truth about everything. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t let us go down that rabbit hole...not without knowing what was waiting on the other side for us.
“It was just a game. I’m sorry if you thought it was something more than that,” I said and then watched in agony as a river of hurt flooded his expression before disappearing behind a newly fitted blank mask.
Whatever connection had been coiling between us had just been snapped shut in my face.
“Alright, Jemma,” he said, the words flitting out of his lips like the wings of a dying butterfly. “Whatever you say,” he said as he backed away and then walked out of the room, not even bothering to grab his shirt on the way out.
The room instantly felt colder and darker without him.
Dropping my head in shame, I quietly debated whether to stay or leave his house. It didn’t feel right being in his space after what just happened, but something told me that Trace probably wouldn’t let me leave anyway, regardless of whether or not I’d just shut him down, and I really didn’t have another fight left in me. Instead, I pulled on a camisole and pair of shorts from my bag, flicked off the lamp and then climbed into his bed, feeling lower than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
It didn’t matter how many times I told myself that it was for his own good. That I was protecting him from something that could potentially rip apart the protective walls around his mind. The look of disappointment and hurt in his eyes had been seared into my mind, and it was the only thing I could see until I finally fell asleep.
11. IF WE WERE MADE OF WATER
Incipient: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Marked Book 6) Page 7