"Zero," he says, stepping back and closing the trunk. Then he, and I wish I were kidding about this, walks the length of the car, fingertips caressing the frame. When he gets to the side mirror, he cups it like a boob.
Crossing my arms, I exhale a gusty sigh. "Are you about done fondling Bernice?"
He yanks his hand back like he's been burned. "That was not fondling. That was calledappreciating."
"What's that, Bernice?" I cup a hand around my ear and stretch toward the car. "You'd like to report an assault?"
Dom shoots me an annoyed glare, but there’s something softer hiding behind it. He steps around to the passenger side, his movements slow, deliberate, his arm brushing softly against mine before coming to a stop in front of me.
He opens the car door with a small, almost reluctant smile, eyes locked on mine as our bodies brush once more just before I slide inside. I pull my seat belt around me, clicking it into place, and hope Dom doesn’t notice the way he throws me off my game.
Dom folds his big body in the car. My purse goes on the floor beside my feet, and the binder finds a safe home on my lap. Dom looks over at me through the open space between us. He reaches into his pocket, produces a pair of brown aviators, and slides them on.
Lethal. Dom in sunglasses should be illegal.
I'm doing everything I can to school my reaction, but it's a lot of work to keep my libido from overtaking my body. That amorous floozy wants out.
"You ready to hit the road with the top down?" Dom asks, blessedly unaware of the meltdown I'm having.
"Ready," I answer, digging through my purse and coming up with a brown hair tie. Fingers working deftly, I thread my hair into a braid and tie off the end. I slip on my own sunglasses and turn to Dom. He has been watching me, one hand on the wheel, the other forearm resting on the center console.
"Don't mind if I speed," he says, smirking. "I've got some razzle dazzle in my future, and the prospect has given me a lead foot."
I flip him the middle finger, even as an ache blooms low in my belly. He laughs, buckles up, and presses a button. The car roars to life. I've been in Savage Grandma's Bentley a hundred times, but it's no less impressive today. Bernice is a babe.
Dom looks around the car, orienting himself. He pokes at the console, turns knobs. He palms the steering wheel, hand gliding in one full circle, andwhy is that hot?
His gaze snags on mine across the small space, and the way I like it infuriates me. "If you're finished making sweet love to Bernice, can we get on the road?"
Dom tosses a reproachful look my direction. "Careful, Mrs. Bellinger. I won't suffer an accusation that I've pleasured any woman but my wife."
I melt, right into my plush leather seat. My form remains, but my substance is gone.
That's when I know, with total clarity, I won't survive these next three weeks with Dom if he's saying things like that. It's critical that I push this man away, or I will combust. Right in front of my family, on this road trip from hell. "Dominic Bellinger." I flick one of his knuckles. "I. Loathe. You."
He shows no response, to my flick or my pronouncement. "Do you?"
"With a passion."
"Passion, huh? Interesting word choice."
I'd love to volley a response, but I don't. I can't show Dom how deeply he affects me, in all ways.
Dom shifts into Drive, and eases us onto the road.
The start of our road trip. I glance down at the binder in my lap.
We're going to have fun, DAMMIT.
CHAPTER 25
Dominic
Cecily is a statue.Other than punching our destination into the maps app on my phone and showing it to me, there's been no talking. An open-top convertible doesn't make for great conversation anyhow. We've been driving an hour, and I've just exited the Phoenix city limits. Slowly, the city transformed, the homes giving way to farms, and farms giving way to desert. It's nothing but teddy bear cholla and saguaros as far as the eye can see, interrupted only by mountains jutting up from seemingly nowhere.
It's been a while since I've lived here, and last night I took time to learn about the growth and changes around the state in the last few years. I don't know our route yet, and until I look through Ophelia's binder, I still won't. From memory, I know there isn't much between Phoenix and Tucson except a couple towns and gas stations. Other than that, it will be blowing winds and tumbleweeds.
We drive on, and when the fuel gauge needle reads one third of a tank, I take the next exit for a gas station. I've never run out of gas, and my first time won't be with Cecily in the car.
