Dom had a way of tinging everything he did with sex. He reeked of it. From how he threw himself onto the sofa, his shirt lifting to reveal the light line of hair and the V of his hips disappearing under the waist of his trousers. Or how his blonde hair fell over his eyes, to the way he tipped his head back, arching his neck to highlight the tight muscles that ran down to his shoulder.
I couldn’t not look.
He shot me a half-grin, tilting his head to the side as he brought the bottle to his lips. He moaned as he found the rim, his throat bobbing as he drank, sighing as he pulled his tie loose.
I took a sip of my own with considerably less flare before replying. “Just be glad I convinced Mum to keep you out of the running this year.” Last time we had a bachelor auction,eighty-year-old Lady Devereaux had won Dom for £107,000 and spent the entire date rubbing her hands over his ass.
“True, I guess.” He winked as he rested his right knee on the sofa, turning his body towards me.
He was attractive in all the ways I wasn’t; chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that got me if I wasn’t being careful. Thick arms, strong legs, and wide hands he used to poke and prod whenever he could. He liked to tease, and there were too many times where I let him go too far. But he seemed to enjoy it when I scolded him for trying as well.
I wasn’t going to deny I was jealous, but I accepted our differences a long time ago.
“I swear to God,” he said as he stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his bottle dangling next to my shoulder. “The next time another one of those socialites sticks to me, I’m going to kick off.” He groaned. “It’s like they are obsessed with having a gay best friend. Aren’t there enough of us floating around? It’s fucking boiling pot for fuck’s sake. Why is it always me?”
I gave him a once-over, raising a brow, which he returned with another grin.
We both knew exactly why people wanted him on their arm.
He had already discarded his black dinner jacket in the car, his shoes abandoned some time between entering the house and sitting down. But it was his tight shirt outlining his abs that really drew people’s attention, along with his tall stature and naturally attractive face.
Dom had spent the last eight years working hard to maintain a place at Harris, Walsh & Sons, one of the most prominent London law firms, serving the wealthiest families in the country, including mine. Both he and my sister, Cat, had steadily risen through the ranks over the years, as I had at the hospital.
“At least you don’t have people talking to you while their eyes are fixed on my parents,” I said, pursing my lips. It had been that way my whole life, but it was still frustrating maintaining a conversation that neither party was interested in.
“I thought you’d be used to it by now,” he replied.
“I just wish people put more effort into it. They could at least pretend they were listening to me.” Most people thought the easiest way into Harold and Mallory Fischer’s circle, aside from actually talking to them, was through hefty donations to The Foundation and schmoozing with the Acting Director, i.e. me. My parents knew exactly how much power and influence they wielded and, unfortunately, they only used those powers for good when it benefited our family.
“Well, at least you don’t have oldies propositioning you all night.” He chuckled.
Dom had proudly mentioned how much some of my parent's associates had offered him for a night. Even though it was scandalous, it wasn’t uncommon, and Dom generally received higher offers than most.
Dom had been the same since we first met in university. There was never a time when he wasn't out having one-nightstands. That was his way. His relationships didn’t last more than a month, and I was the serial monogamist, hopping from one relationship to the next every three to four years. Until now.
“You don’t have to come to the parties, you know,” I said.
“Of course I do, handsome. I can’t leave you all alone.”
I narrowed my eyes at him as he grinned. I preferred to act ruffled at the nickname than tell him how it always made me feel at ease.
“You’re lucky you’re my friend,” I said, twisting my lips into a small smile.
“Hmmm. Or are you lucky that I’m so pretty that I can beat back all those socialites thirsting for a piece of you?” He notched his head back and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s amazing how often they conveniently forget you have a girlfriend.”
I paused, my bottle halfway to my mouth just as he met my eyes.
“Ah, is that it then?” he said.
“What?” I asked, knowing he’d seen right through me. He always did. It didn’t matter how well I thought I was masking, he still knew when I was hiding something.
Dom smirked as he lifted his hand, and it was a struggle not to follow the path of his thumb as it swept across his lips and disappeared into his mouth for the briefest second. He pulled it out before he spoke. “You’ve still got your business face on even though we left the party ages ago. And you’ve been doing that tappy thing with your hand all night. So, what’s up?”
Sometimes, usually when I was on edge, I’d keep one hand by my hip and tap my index finger against my thumb. Most people didn’t pick up on it, but no one watched me the way Dom did.
Even though I’d spent days preparing myself for this conversation with him, I still didn’t feel like I was ready.
Four hours of speeches, presentations, and making small talk with the same two hundred people who attended every one of The Foundation events, all of that was easy. I’d been handling situations like that since I was a child. But Dom wasn’t a situation. And he broke my expectations all the time, so he couldn't be ‘handled’.
