by W Winters
But this just happened. I know it did.
And I know he knows who I am.
With anger beginning to rise, my lips part to say his name, but it’s caught in my throat. It smothers the sadness that’s rising just as quickly. Slowly my fingers curl, forming a fist until my nails dig into my skin.
I don’t stop staring at him, willing him to look at me and at least give me the courtesy of acknowledging me.
I know he can feel my eyes on him. He’s stopped rapping his knuckles on the table and the smile on his face has faded.
Maybe the crushing feeling in my chest is shared by both of us.
Maybe I’m only a reminder to him. A reminder he ran away from too.
I don’t know what I expected. I’ve dreamed of running into Daniel so many nights. Brushing shoulders on the way into a coffee shop. Meeting each other again through new friends. Every time I wound up back home, if you can even call it that, I always checked out every person passing me by, secretly wishing one would be him. Just so I’d have a reason to say his name.
Winding up at the same bar on a lonely Tuesday night hours away from the town we grew up in … that was one of those daydreams too. But it didn’t go like this in my head.
“Daniel.” I say his name before I can stop myself. It comes out like a croak and he reluctantly turns his head as the bartender sets down the beer on the wooden table.
I swear it’s so quiet, I can hear the foam fizzing as it settles in the glass.
His lips part just slightly, as if he’s about to speak. And then he visibly inhales. It’s a sharp breath and matches the gaze he gives me. First it’s one of confusion, then anger … and then nothing.
I have to remind my lungs to do their job as I clear my throat to correct myself, but both efforts are in vain.
He looks past me as if it wasn’t me who was trying to get his attention.
“Jake,” he speaks up, licking his lips and stretching his back. “I actually can’t stay,” he bellows from his spot to where the bartender, apparently named Jake, is chucking ice into a large glass. The music seems to get louder as the crushing weight of being so obviously dismissed and rejected settles in me.
I’m struck by how cold he is as he gets up. I can’t stand to look at him as he readies to leave, but his name leaves me again. This time with bite.
His back stiffens as he shrugs his thin jacket around his shoulders and slowly turns to look at me.
I can feel his eyes on me, commanding me to look back at him and I do. I dare to look him in the eyes and say, “It’s good to see you.” It’s surprising how even the words come out. How I can appear to be so calm when inside I’m burning with both anger and … something else I don’t care to admit. What a lie those words are.
I hate how he gets to me. How I never had a choice.
With a hint of a nod, Daniel barely acknowledges me. His smile is tight, practically nonexistent, and then he’s gone.
Click here to keep reading Possessive!
Sneak Peek at Hard to Love
Hard to Love
by W Winters
She was too good for this world. I was too much of a bastard to push her away.
I grew up in this life, and now I run these streets. Blood and violence taint everything I touch.
Everything but her. She was my constant through it all.
Just a touch would singe and soothe.
Just a look would tempt and torment.
She became my escape and my addiction.
I only survived because she was by my side.
I should’ve known better than to indulge.
I should’ve known better than to let her fall for me.
It was only a matter of time before the danger bled into what we had.
I was Laura’s downfall. Problem was, she was mine too.
Prologue
Seth
On the west coast and several years before meeting the Cross brothers.
This hour of night, the floor-to-ceiling windows reveal nothing but black outside. Pitch black. Inside, though, the lights shine brightly and keep everyone in this place invigorated. The bass of the music thrums in my veins just as it lightly vibrates the hardwood floors beneath my polished oxfords.
Wrapping my hand around the steel rail that runs along the second-floor loft, with my office behind me, I watch the bright blue lights fade to nearly black in time with the beat. Bodies sway, drinks are poured, and life moves on.
My bar is the hottest spot in all of Tremont. The women, the money, all the shit that goes down in the back rooms—it’s all mine. Everyone wants in those black glass double doors. Thank fuck for that. It took nearly a year to get my name back, to get the money, both dirty and clean, flowing easily without someone wanting me dead along the way.
A year of recovering from the damage that was done.
A year without her.
A year cleaning up the mess and taking care of shit that nearly broke me. Between all the fights and all the drugs, none of it compares to what happened last year. Two days until the date.
A gruff exhale leaves me as I force away the memories and focus on what’s in front of me. The perfect location, the perfect setup. The perfect fucking life I’ve been building.
The name of the bar mirrors every inch of what’s inside. Allure. It’s designed to lure in customers and to keep the drinks flowing, the hips moving, and the money streaming in. The bar is seductive with polished black marble waterfall counters that gleam, their shine visible from all the way up here. The deep cobalt velvet sofas on opposite sides of the seating area are just as enticing as the women who perch themselves there with crystal glasses containing pink cocktails in their manicured hands as they let out peals of feminine laughter. Black crystal chandeliers drip from the ceilings.
Club Allure is about escaping from reality via luxury and illusions of grandeur.
The basement though… and the back rooms… those are the real moneymakers, all of it under the table, and how I earned the fear and respect that comes with my name.
It’s also what led to enemies. You haven’t made it in this world until someone tries to take what’s yours. Until someone wants to challenge you. Until someone wants you dead.
I learned that hard lesson a year ago. And the ones who came for me? Their deaths didn’t go unnoticed by anyone else who thought they could take from me.
An eerie prick travels down my spine as my mind wanders to places in the past. Back to when I was a different man. Things change when the ones you love the most leave you. Just as I think about everything that happened before this, just as the memories invade the present, I swear I hear her voice.
It’s only a memory. She’s only a memory. I remind myself like I’ve done so many silent nights, only to have my gaze drawn to the sound again.
The crowd doesn’t part for her; she blends into it, which is what she always wanted.
I see her though, and everyone else blurs as I focus on her alone.
My grip tightens on the rail and everything pauses around me. My blood runs scorching hot. Her dark brunette hair cascades down to her lower back. In distressed dark denim shorts and a silk cream tank top that hangs low on her back, she makes her way straight to the bar. I watch as the corners of her lips turn up at recognizing the two men behind the bar. They’ve been my crew since the first day… she was there too.
She was always there, always a part of us.
Connor sees her first, dropping the empty glass he’s holding on the counter to reach across the bar. When he calls out, “Babygirl,” Roman looks up from the set of four shots he’s pouring and grins at her.
It’s too loud on this floor to make out everything they’re saying. It’s all smiles and hugs, though. Warm, friendly greetings. It steals any heat I had and leaves a chill to settle over my shoulders, slowly wrapping its way around me as the time ticks away.
The two of them barely let her get a word in as they talk, but she laughs—fuck, I can hear that swee
t mirth all the way up here. Just like I can see the rosy flush in her cheeks when she agrees to take a shot with them. Just like I can see the dip in her throat that I used to lick when she throws back the shot of clear liquid.
It’s been a year, but I swear I remember the way she tastes.
It takes a minute before she asks them something. She rocks on her heels as she waits for an answer and both of the guys look around the first floor.
It’s when they point to Derrick that the hate creeps in. That chill on my skin turns to ice and I decide I’m sick of waiting.
She asked for Derrick. Not me.
My eyes are trained on her as I make my way down the stairs. My jaw is set as it is, and I can’t change that fact for the world right now. Past the masses dancing on the floor, I make my way easily to where Derrick’s seated in a leather wingback chair on the far edge of the wall where security is located.
A woman turns around, tall and slim, when I brush past her. I barely notice anything about her except the short red dress that clings to her curves. She smiles when she sees it’s me, her eyes hopeful but she quickly lowers her gaze and backs away.
Maybe it’s the hate in my glare that told her I’m not in the mood for these games tonight.
I’m barely contained, hardly capable of a single rational thought as that last moment I had with Laura runs through my mind. The past and the present swirl in front of me, hitting me harder and more forcefully than the strongest cocktail I could drown myself in.
Laura plants a kiss on Derrick’s cheek... It’s short lived and her smile is sorrowful.
The anger that carved itself into a glower relents and dims. Even a year isn’t enough time. There will never be enough time passed to make it better.
Regret is my enemy. Guilt its friend.
I’m standing there like a lion stalking his prey when Laura turns around, not looking where she’s going, brushing stray strands of hair from her face as she bumps right into me.
“Sorry,” she quickly breathes, and then she looks at me. Her blue eyes have flecks of gold in them, and like a concoction of emotion they swirl as she stares at me. Her lips are slightly parted, and they stay like that. Open and waiting with disbelief.
“Laura.” I say her name and feel the thrill of doing just that simmer in my blood.
“Seth,” she whispers. Her shoulders drop slightly and then she covers herself, as if instantly cold.
“I um, I had something to give Derrick,” she tells me, but her eyes don’t stay on me. They stray, unable to keep my gaze. I watch the cords in her neck tighten as she swallows; I can’t help but notice how her hands keep nervously playing with the hem of her shirt.
“You afraid to see me, Babygirl?” I ask her lowly and that gets her attention. Those beautiful blues find mine and for a moment, I feel everything all over again.
The undeniable lust, the tormented love, and finally, the loss. It all echoes in her doe eyes.
“Should I be?” she asks me, her cadence caressing. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she holds her breath waiting for my response. That lip I used to nibble as she moaned my name. Lips that used to kiss me and only me.
“You should leave.” I push out the words, feeling a wash of cold run over my flesh. It comes back in waves, but the loss takes so much with it.
She swallows thickly with a nod and turns to leave without another word. Her thick hips sway and my gaze stays pinned to her until she disappears behind the double doors. She doesn’t look back.
She never did.
“You fucked up.” Derrick’s deep voice carries over the beat of the music. His eyes stay glued to the television that displays over eight feet of the white and blue bars of an equalizer, changing with the rhythm.
It mocks me. The fact that everything in this place keeps moving, mocks me.
He takes a swig from his beer bottle, not bothering to look at me.
I have to close my eyes and breathe. Without her here, all that’s left is anger.
I already know I fucked up. I take in a steadying breath as my teeth grind together.
The music keeps going. The women keep laughing.
My muscles twitch, consumed with a feeling of restlessness, the need to move, to do something.
“We both fucked up.” Derrick’s remark makes me open my eyes. Slowly and with a loathing for all of this, for everything I’ve built since she’s been gone.
“Boss,” Connor calls out, sliding a tumbler of whiskey over to me. I stare down at the glass, remembering everything. Watching it play out like a movie across the surface of the amber liquor.
Rowan calls out, “Boss,” at the same time as someone else, but all I can picture is the night she left. The memory goes backward in time until I’m with her that morning, kissing her lips, feeling the dip of her waist. The voices around me lower in volume until I hear “Seth” instead.
There’s never a minute. Never a quiet moment.
If there was, none of that shit would have happened.
I hear her tell me she loves me. I can practically feel her lips against the shell of my ear and the warmth that traveled down my shoulder that morning.
I didn’t know I’d never feel that warmth again. I didn’t know. But I should have.
It was all my fault.
With the single bellow of a roar torn from deep in my chest, I throw the glass in my hand recklessly at the flat-screen TV. The glass shatters, falling like rain, crashing into the liquor bottles lining the bar.
Connor and Rowan have to duck and cover their heads as I seethe, drawing in a breath and then another. I’d feel more remorse if she hadn’t spoken to them, laughed with them. I’d feel guilty if she hadn’t given her smiles to them so easily, when she didn’t have a damn thing to give me.
I’m a bastard; I’ve always been a bastard.
“Get out,” I say and my command ricochets in the large open space. Stunned faces stare back at me, the bar silent save for the occasional tinkling of glass shards. No one moves and that’s their mistake too.
“Get the fuck out. We’re closed.” The low threat isn’t hidden and a sea of women in short dresses suddenly start moving. No one looks at me for more than a split second as the patrons grab their shit and head for the door.
My crew stays where they are, their eyes on me. All but Derrick. He doesn’t look at me. He takes a swig and stares at the broken TV as if it’s still a visual for the nonexistent music. Even as Connor and Roman ask me if I’m all right, I watch him staring blankly at the broken glass.
“If you want to help me,” I begin as I finally look Roman in the eyes to answer him, feeling the rage subside but something else still lingers as I continue, “clean up this fucking mess.”
The two men who are some of my best friends look at me with sympathy. I see it staring back at me in their eyes and it makes me grit my teeth. With the sound of my blood rushing through my ears, I grip the collar of Connor’s shirt and bring the steadily spoken, low threat to his attention as I say, “Don’t ever let her in here again.”
Click here to keep reading Hard to Love.
Also by W Winters
Merciless World
A Kiss to Tell
Possessive
Merciless
Heartless
Breathless
Endless
All He’ll Ever Be
A Kiss To Keep
A Single Glance
A Single Kiss
A Single Touch
Hard to Love
Desperate to Touch
Tempted to Kiss
Easy to Fall
Merciless World Spin Off
It’s Our Secret
Standalone Novels:
Broken
Forget Me Not
Sins and Secrets Duets:
Imperfect (Imperfect Duet book 1)
Unforgiven (Imperfect Duet book 2)
Damaged (Damaged Duet book 1)
Scarred (Damaged Duet book 2)
Wi
llow Winters
Standalone Novels:
Tell Me To Stay
Second Chance
Knocking Boots
Promise Me
Burned Promises
Forsaken, cowritten with B. B. Hamel
Collections
Don’t Let Go
Deepen The Kiss
Valetti Crime Family Series:
Dirty Dom
His Hostage
Rough Touch
Cuffed Kiss
Bad Boy
Highest Bidder Series,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Bought
Sold
Owned
Given
Bad Boy Standalones,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Inked
Tempted
Mr. CEO
Happy reading and best wishes,
W Winters xx
About W Winters
Thank you so much for reading my romances. I’m just a stay at home mom and avid reader turned author and I couldn’t be happier.
I hope you love my books as much as I do!
More by W Winters
www.willowwinterswrites.com/books/
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