And so, We Dance

I remember three things most about Lucas Warner.

One. He's a dirty talker, and I doubt ten years in the military cleaned up that filthy mouth of his. (Not a complaint. In fact, just the opposite.)

Two. He has a possessive streak. When we dated, I was his. Hard stop.

Three. The look on his face when I broke his heart.

When my father's relentless complaints about "that boy from the wrong side of town" finally wore me down, I walked away from the best thing I ever had. My father was wrong about a lot of things, including the idea that ending things with Lucas would cure my so-called "bad boy" phase.

Because the ex-Army sniper is back home, raising hell in Kitchi Falls by opening a tattoo parlor on our quiet little Main Street. And nothing would make me happier than to march into his studio and beg him to possess me one more time.

The only problems? Lucas hates me. I have my own road to redemption to walk. And he's the one man most likely to break my heart again.