Page 80 of L.O.V.E

Mona hit the keys at the same time her husky rasp hit the mic. She crooned the lyrics to “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak.

Riveted to my chair at the small table in front of the stage, I fell victim to the haunting melody. I thought of Cole and our one weekend together. I’d been so desperately, selflessly, irrepressibly in love.

I still was hopelessly, foolishly, obsessively in love.

Mona continued.

I blinked back tears, the lyrics flooding my veins with grief for the man I’d had for one perfect weekend.

Next to me, a chair scraped. A thigh bumped into mine, then settled warm against my leg, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t tear my gaze from the stage or my attention from the message. Whoever the song was for, I wanted to know their story. I’d have to torture the truth from Mona after her set.

A hand landed on my thigh, then moved to grab my arm, sliding down to entwine our fingers, stealing my breath and my wits. I knew those fingers, that strong grip, the scent of him intimately. Tears fell harder. If I looked his way, I’d shatter.

Seconds passed before I was composed enough to whisper, “What are you doing here?”

“You know what I’m doing here.”

Though I focused my blurry stare on Mona, the weight of Cole’s gaze heated me head to toe.

“Torturing me?”

His breath warmed my cheek. “You like the song?”

“Was it you?” I asked, turning, bringing our mouths painfully close.

“Fitting, don’t you think?”

The song was perfect if his intention was to slice me open.

“Tell me something, Natalie.” He let go of my hand, then settled his arm around my shoulder, cocooning me, caging me. “Do you miss me?”

A loaded question. “Cole, please. Don’t do this.”

Somewhere around us, applause, though the room stayed dark.

“Because I miss you. Every second of every goddamned day.” His chest rose and fell. “Do you know what it did to me, seeing you with that baby in your arms?” He pulled a strand of my hair through his fingers, toyed with the end. “Do you have any idea how you broke me, hearing you tell your mother that you loved me?”

Oh, God.

He cupped my face, his fingers trembling. “I needed those words from you, Natalie. You should have said them to me, not her.”

I managed to speak over the ferocious boom in my chest. “I couldn’t.”

“I know.” He dropped his forehead to mine. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleaded.

“That’s not a good idea.” He had my heart, he had my love, all of it. But what did I have other than a man torn apart, split down the middle, one half fueled by lust, the other drowning in grief?

His whole body vibrated. Heat and frustration and unbridled energy. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Cole.”

“I fucking need you, Natalie.” His voice broke. “Give me this one night.” His lips dusted mine, soft and unsure.

“Why?”

---