Echoes of Desire; Dance of Deception
"And what if we can't?"
"We will," he assured me. "We have to."
Later that evening as I settled on the couch in my living room, I lowered my head into my hands. At the same time I offered up a low groan. As I’d been driving home, Bruno Mars’s song, Grenade, came on the radio and I couldn’t get the words of the song out of my head. They echoed everything I felt. And no matter how much the deceiving, low-down, dirty rotten bastard had almost destroyed me by hiding what he’d done, I knew, damn his worthless, beautiful hide, I hadn’t meant one single ugly word I'd spoken out loud or within my mind.
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