He folds, throwing his hand on the table and grabbing the bottle of beer he left there. “All right, Red. Let’s see what you got.”
I place my poor hand on the table, revealing my pair. It’s not great, but it’s better than his. “You should’ve played snap.” My lips press together before I give him a smug smile.
He leans back on the sofa. “What is it you want to know?”
I swill my wine around in the glass, staring at the burgundy liquid. “Why were you in the club night after night, and what brought you there in the first place? And why are you helping me?”
“So many questions there, Red. But I’ll answer.” He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was looking for something, but what I found was the most beautiful treasure I’ve ever seen, with ruby cheeks and emerald eyes. I came back each time like a thief in the night, waiting for the right moment to steal you away and make you mine.”
My mouth parts. That has to be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, even if it was a little unhinged.
He swills another drink from the bottle, then places it back on the coffee table. “Now I have you, Red. I’ll make sure nobody steals you away from me. I don’t share, and I don’t like people coveting what’s mine.”
I nod my head, my flushed cheeks agreeing with him along with my pulsing core. I’m nobody’s property, but the way he says mine makes me want to give myself over to him. What the heck did he put in this wine? My eyebrows pinch, staring at my almost empty glass.
He slides across the sofa, his long legs almost touching mine in the chair. “Why won’t you admit you want me?”
“I don’t recall you winning the round, hunter. You don’t get to ask the questions.” I sit up straight, trying to present myself as sober. “Besides, I don’t want you.”
He chuckles. “That button nose of yours has just grown three inches. You can’t lie to me, Red.”
“Wow, that ego of yours is growing too.” Technically, I’m not lying. It’s my vag that wants him, not my mind, though when he spouts shit about me being a beautiful treasure, my mind is fickle.
Dom stands and walks out of the room. I knock back the last of the wine and grab the bottle, pouring another large one. Worried I’ve offended him, I stand and walk into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I was just teasing.”
He closes the fridge door. “I know. I’m just getting a beer.” His wicked grin is back. I shake my head, wishing I hadn’t shown that I care so much about his feelings.
We walk back into the living room and before I can sit back in the chair; he tugs on my hand and pulls me on the sofa with him. “I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. But I do want to be close to you.”
His fingers move along my temple, clearing the loose strands of hair from my face. “So many things I want to do to you, Red. I’m not a patient man, but for you, I’ll wait until you’re ready to submit to me.”
“I’m so impressed by your confidence and optimism.” I reach for the deck of cards. “Snap?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. A snort escapes as I laugh at my own joke.
He stops my hand from touching the cards. “We don’t have to play games anymore. You can ask me whatever you want. What else do you want to know about me?”
His eyes are as dark and deep as the abyss, hiding a cavern of secrets. “I want to know everything about you, Dom. Like, where did you grow up? Did you go to college? What’s your favourite colour?”
His smile reaches his eyes, causing small creases at the side that I never noticed before. “I grew up in the Lake District. I’ll take you there soon. Never went to college. I joined the army. Dan was already on tour, and I wanted to follow in my big brother’s footsteps.” He lifts a lock of my hair where it hangs over my chest. “And you should know by now that my favourite colour is red.”
“Who knew the hound was such a charmer?” I sip my wine with a smile. The alcohol warms my belly, settling the butterflies that have taken flight.
“So what about you?”
“I had a normal childhood in Liverpool until my dad died when I was ten. Then Mum packed up and bought a campervan. We lived like hippies after that. I think she was dealing with her grief and having some midlife crisis.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. I know only too well what it’s like to lose a parent at that age.”
“Dad was never around much. He worked away, but when he came home, he always brought me gifts. I idolised him. So did mum. She always looked forward to him coming home. I never understood why she would make me go to bed early on those days.” A whimsical smile spreads across my face. “Mum said my dad named me Poppy because I came out with a full head of red hair, just like him.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was. I wish he was still here. Him and Mum. Some days, I just want someone to talk to.”
“I know. You can talk to me anytime.”
“Are both your parents gone, too?”
“Yep. Mum when I was ten, and Dad a few years back.”
