The door opens with a slow creak.
Dominic appears on the threshold, barefoot, a black t-shirt, wet hair slicked back. Steel-gray eyes and an expression that screamsdon’t bother me.
His eyes shift from Nate to me.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“We need a place to stay,” Nate says with his politician’s diplomacy.
Dominic leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his profile sharp in the gloom.
“I don’t run a bed and breakfast.”
“Very funny, Voss. Are you working on your sense of humor?” I counter.
He sizes me up as if deciding whether it’s worth slamming the door in my face or not.
“No.”
“Come on, Dom—”
“I said no.”
“You have a six-bedroom house and live alone.”
“And I like it that way.”
I lean against the doorframe, tired. “Can we at least come in before it starts raining?”
He glares at me. “I’d rather watch you rot on the driveway.”
“Natural empathy,” I retort.
Dominic sighs like someone already filled with regret. He moves slightly away from the door. “Come in. But only because I don’t want the neighbors starting rumors.”
I knew he wouldn’t leave me hanging. He’s a weird guy… but you can always count on him.
Inside, it’s all steel, wood, and maniacal order.
Every object looks expensive. Everything in its place.
The exact opposite of my life.
I can't help but think that someone like Dominic stands out in Elm Hollow just as much as I would in a Valentine's Day reality show.
“Don’t touch anything, don’t bring anyone, don’t make a mess.” He says it with his usual zero-total pathos.
“Define mess,” I ask.
He gives me a look that chills my blood.
“Got it.”
While Nate explains the details of our “temporary exile,” I remain silent.
My mind is elsewhere.
At Sloane's desk, her scent, that neutral tone that manages to piss me off and turn me on in the same second.
