Page 109 of L.O.V.E

“I didn’t text you my address.” I pushed off his lap and took a step back. “How did you know where I live?”

He leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of my sofa, his gray wool coat pulling open to reveal a black thermal that fit like body paint over his well sculpted torso. “I have my ways.”

God, that smirk.

I ditched my shirt and tossed it his way. Another step back, and I stepped out of my pajama pants. “How’d you get past security?”

Cole stared from his seated position, my top hanging half off his shoulder, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Can we talk about all of that later?”

I shimmied out of my panties. Those, too, landed in his lap. “Let’s go to bed.” I turned and sauntered toward the hallway. “No sex, but we’re sleeping naked.”

“Is there any other way?” Footsteps fell behind me, and by the time he caught up, he was nothing but skin and sexy grin.

I hit the lights and slid under my sheets. Cole snuggled behind me, melding our bodies, and whispered, “We have so much to talk about.”

“Tomorrow,” I answered, bringing his knuckles to my lips.

He pulled me tighter, and three heartbeats later, soft snores filled my room.

Mr. Sandman must’ve skipped over me entirely because my clock read 5:06 AM, and I still lay awake, tuned in to every creek and groan of the quiet building.

I slipped out of bed and fired up my computer. I hadn’t ruled out Holden as my stalker, though I doubted he would dedicate enough time to finding where I lived. He loved his work, mostly the attention his online presence garnered, but still, I was compelled to check.

Ten minutes into my search, I’d confirmed that Holden was attending a fitness expo in Salt Lake City.

The revelation both relieved and terrified me.

If Holden was not taunting me, then that left one other option.

The worse of the two options.

I crawled back into bed and curled around my sleeping man. The man who would do the right thing and take care of his possibly resurrected wife.

He hadn’t asked me what was wrong, thank you, Jesus, because the truth I had to tell would kill him.

Our view was perfect, the mood somber, my nerves shot.

I hunched over the red Formica table, pretending to read the menu, scrambling for the right words, the correct way to share my suspicions with Cole and possibly slit my own throat.

But I was a coward and selfish, so instead asked, “How is it you’re so put together and on top of things after three hours of sleep?”

He winked at me over the laminated cardboard. “I’m trying real hard to impress a girl.”

“Lucky lady.”

“Morning, kids. You ready to order?” came a big voice from a small human.

Cole didn’t miss a beat, laying his menu down and facing the child. “What’s good here?”

“Special today is…” The boy with jet black hair and exotic green eyes looked over his shoulder, then back to Cole and leaned close. “Rocky’s triple chocolate peanut butter milkshake. Mom says milkshakes aren’t for breakfast, but I say they’re better than oatmeal.”

“We’ll have two.”

The kid grinned wider than a pancake. The eight-year-old was the spitting image of his father, who happened to own The Truck Stop Diner, and who also happened to own the condo I lived in, along with Rossi Enterprises, the very company I was scheduled to woo in a few short hours.

“I’ll also have the veggie omelet, and my beautiful lady will have…” Brows raised, Cole shot me an endearing look.

“I’ll have my usual, Rocky.”

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