His eyes lock on mine. “She died because of choices I made...because I couldn’t protect her. Her blood is on my hands.”
Even though I don’t know the full story, I want to reach for him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault...but the look on his face stops me. He’s not asking for comfort…he’s showing me a wound that never healed, and it feels almost sacrilegious to touch it.
“I burned it into me. To remember what love does. It destroys. His gaze cuts back to mine. “That’s why I don’t give it. Not to anyone. Not anymore.”
The warning is clear. He’s not telling me to make me understand. He’s telling me to stay away from the fire before it burns me, too.
I should listen and protect whatever pieces of myself I still own. But instead, I press my lips to his. It’s the gentlest kiss I’ve ever given him.
His hand tightens at my waist... as if the simple act of keeping me close costs him something. Then he guides me beneath him. This time, there’s no roughness or punishing edge. Just the slow, tender way he enters me, eyes locked on mine with an intensity that burns.
I’d almost rather he be cruel. Cruel, I know how to survive. But this… this softness is unfamiliar.
My legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper into me. Every movement is unhurried...his hips rolling into mine with a rhythm that feels dangerously soft. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my husband was… making love to me.
***
The deep baritone of Dominic’s voice stirs me awake. At first, I think I’m still dreaming, until his words filter through the haze of my sleep.
“…Move him to the warehouse in Harbourline District at noon.”
“...We’ll employ other methods that will make him talk.”
My eyes blink open to find Dominic by the window, phone pressed to his ear. This isn’t the man who pulled me against his chest last night…who let me trace the ink etched into his skin.
When he turns and sees me watching, his features soften slightly...his jaw easing from its hard set. He ends the call with a curt “Handle it” before putting the phone into his pocket.
“Good morning,” I say. My throat feels raw with disbelief. He actually stayed all through the night.
He moves to me, settling on the bed, and his hand brushes over my arm. “Does it hurt?”
My whole body tingles under the weight of his touch. I feel like I have become an insatiable sex monster. “Barely.” The sheet slips lower against my skin, and his gaze follows it before lifting back to my eyes. The hunger in his eyes makes my thighs squeeze together with want.
“You’re free to roam the mansion with the maid,” he says, eyes swimming with something indecipherable.
Actually, there’s something I’d much rather do.
Before I can stop myself, the words tumble out, reckless and unguarded. “When you get back from work… let’s…have a date? Just…dinner in the mansion.”
My chest tightens as silence settles between us. I’m such a fucking idiot. Dominic’s not someone you date... he’s someone you survive.
But then his mouth curves, not quite a smile, but close enough to steal my breath. “Alright,” he says simply.
I can’t help the rush of warmth that floods my chest, leaving me grinning like a fool.
Chapter twenty-two
Dominic
It’s been a long fucking time coming. I’ve spent months chasing this particular deal, dodging every bureaucratic pitfall Grimaldi threw in front of me, and now…now it’s finally over.
The old man sits across from me...his posture too damn relaxed for someone who’s been holding me by the throat for months. He steeples his fingers, watching me like a professor pleased with a stubborn student who finally learned his lesson. “You see, Dominic,” he begins, “patience brings rewards. The council trusts you now...”
No. What he means is ‘he’ trusts me now. He made damn sure I sweated for this, simply because he’s traditional.
“These permits,” he gestures at the folder on my table, “are proof of that. I came here personally to deliver them. You’ve handled yourself differently these past few months.”
Differently. That’s a polite way of saying I’ve been careful with my dealings.
