L.O.V.E.

Copyright©2020 Krissy Daniels
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Kiss Me Dizzy Books
Edited by Corinne DeMaagd
Formatting by Elaine York
Cover Design by Okay Creations


PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
PART TWO
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
PART THREE
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
PART FOUR
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Thank You
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Krissy Daniels
Connect


For those who fight with their heart and cling to integrity, despite knowing they’ll be left broken.


Natalie
My coffee was hot. My speech well-practiced. Nat King Cole’s “When I Fall In Love” played in the background. Not the ideal soundtrack for a public breakup, but I could use the sentiment to my advantage.
Gathering courage in one deep inhale, I opened my mouth to speak.
Holden beat me to the punch, belting, “Who are you looking at?”
“What?” I snapped my gaze from the swirling liquid in my mug to the man sitting across from me, who as it turned out, wasn’t paying me any attention at all.
Face red, chest inflated, body vibrating with unbridled energy, Holden glared hellfire at someone at the counter. I risked a quick perusal at the poor soul, and dear, sweet Jesus, no wonder my hotheaded, soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, was ready to blow. The target of Holden’s outrage was handsome, the kind of pretty that made you do a double take, but his obvious beauty wasn’t the issue. The problem was the beautiful stranger seemed to be frozen in time, coat in one hand, phone in the other, dreamy eyes aimed my direction with laser focus.
My stomach flipped, then warmed, the heat spreading from gut to limbs like a shot of Dad’s expensive whiskey. I had never felt more coveted. Ever. Not through words, touch, actions. Especially not from the way someone looked at me. And that man studied me like I was the answer to all his questions.
Oh, shitty, shit, shittard.
Look away, I mentally urged the clueless stranger. For the love of God, look away.
Holden shifted, readying to stand, a move I knew too well.
Predicting the outcome, I slammed a hand around his thick wrist, my grip tight but slight compared to his bulk. “Holden, please. Not today. Just ignore the guy.”
“Ignore him?” he seethed. “He’s eye-fucking my woman.”
He wasn’t.
Admiring. Appreciating, maybe. Regardless, I kept those thoughts to myself.
Holden ran hot one hundred percent of the time, and the slightest spark could cause a devastating explosion. Great quality in bed, not so much in public.
“Please.” I summoned my frail voice, knowing he couldn’t resist vulnerability in any woman, but especially, his woman. “I need to talk to you.” Then, because Holden loved an ego stroke, I threw in, “He’s probably one of your fans and recognizes me from your posts.”
Holden vibrated, his leg bouncing under the table. He gnawed on his bottom lip, that vein in his left temple protruding. Finally, a dramatic exhale signaled a shift from his rage haze, and he turned to face me once again.
“Yeah, baby, you’re probably right. What do you need to talk about?” His steely, blue eyes searched mine, but never landed, never focused.
Palms sweaty, I released his arm and opened my mouth to speak. “I think—”
“I wish you’d wear contacts when we’re out together,” he interrupted. “Those glasses hide your gorgeous face.” Leaning closer, he reclaimed my hand and rubbed a small circle in my palm, as if to soothe the sting of his words. “And those lenses always ruin our pictures.”
I choked down my retort because his comment was only one of the many reasons our relationship was over.
In my periphery, a tall figure drew near, his presence a pulsing, radiant force. My body hummed, attuned to his frequency. With every bit of willpower I possessed, I refrained from straying my focus.
I pushed my glasses higher on my nose, sucked in a breath, and started again the speech I’d practiced for days. “Listen, Ho—”
The stranger, now mere steps from our table, cleared his throat, drawing Holden’s attention, and mine, in his direction.
I was met with a soft, inquisitive gaze, and my insides shifted, tightening and tingling and, dammit, I heated from the inside out, my cheeks burning something fierce. The man was dressed for a day at the office but carried himself like a prize fighter about to enter the ring, confident, focused, ready to conquer.
As if Holden was nothing but air, the clueless patron offered me a nod and added a cocky, sideways grin before moving past.
Dimples.
Sweet Lord, he had dimples.
My kryptonite.
If the man’s presence was a spark, his blatant flirt was a barrel of gasoline with a lit bundle of TNT thrown into the mix.
Holden exploded from his chair, knocking the table, me, and my coffee off balance. Hot liquid scorched my chest. “Goddammit, Holden!” I cried, stumbling to my feet. A woman screamed. Men shouted from behind the counter.
Someone hooked an arm around my waist, pulling me to safety before our table flew. Behind me carried on the unmistakable grunts, huffs, and all-too-familiar smacks of a fight well under way.
Just another day in the life of Holden Oswald Travers the Third.
My vision blurred, rage washing away the humiliation.
One and a half years had been five hundred forty days too long to be acquainted with the fitness model/personal trainer/self-proclaimed media superstar, despite his boyish blue eyes, well-conditioned body, or his giant…ahem, never mind. For the record, size did not matter when attached to a narcissistic gym rat.
Without a second thought, or running to the aid of the innocent victim who’d done nothing but look