The only heart he wants is the one he already broke…
“How many have there been, Landon? How many memories are in your bed nowadays?” She forged on ahead, her eyes glossing over with a layer of what I was hesitant to call tears. “Can you remember them all?”
Heat rushed through my veins, a nauseating mixture of anger, shame, and the bitter taste of regret. My brain screamed at me to retreat and lick my wounds, to try again with her when she wasn’t on offense.
My heart reminded me that I was going to have to fight for this woman with every weapon in my arsenal if I wanted her.
And damn, I wanted her. Craved her. Needed her.
She was the only one I’d ever felt connected to—the only one my heart woke up and shook off the ice for. The only woman who challenged me and took me down in the process.
I stepped forward and clamped both of my hands on the table, boxing her between my arms. She craned her head to keep my gaze, unwilling to back down. It was the quality that both frustrated the hell out of me and turned me on faster than anything—her constant refusal to yield for just a fucking second. “Can I remember them all? Probably not.”
“You want to know why?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. “Because blonde, redhead, brunette—I saw their features for a millisecond. The moment I had one of them in my bed, they all had eyes the color of dark chocolate and hair so black it was almost blue…” I glanced at her hair. “Or purple. I never needed to remember them, because they were always you.”
“Don’t say things like that,” she begged. As if I could physically see her walls start to crumble, she softened. “You don’t get to say things like that to me. Not anymore.