Page 55 of The Summer We Lie

"Ooo, I know what I'm getting," I announce, setting my menu down with decisive finality, the thick cardstock making a satisfying thump against the white tablecloth.

"What?" Harper asks, still studying her options, her green eyes flicking methodically down the page.

"The Cloud," I say with reverence, almost sighing the words. "It's butter cake with berry compote, cotton candy, and vanilla ice cream. How amazing does that sound?" My artistic side appreciates the visual composition the dessert promises—colors and textures combining into something magical.

Harper makes a face, wrinkling her freckled nose. "It's too fruity for me, but I think you'll love it. I'm sticking with the chocolate cake."

When the waiter returns, hovering expectantly, she orders her cake and I order mine. As soon as he walks away, I turn to Dom with narrowed eyes, feeling playful. "I know what you're doing now."

"What's that?" he asks, one eyebrow lifting slightly, the gesture somehow both intimidating and incredibly sexy.

"You're trying to make us look fat in our dresses so nobody wants to dance with us," I accuse, tilting my head and trying to keep a straight face.

"Oh God, Dad, why?" Harper groans, hiding her face in her hands, her rings glinting in the restaurant's soft lighting.

Dom laughs again, the sound freer than I've heard from him before, deep and rich like expensive bourbon. "I am not doing that," he says, then adds with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes, "but hey, if it works, I don't feel bad about it." His protectiveness over Harper—and now possibly extending to me—creates a warm flutter in my chest.

"It's been nice spending time with you today, Dad," Harper says, her expression softening, revealing the genuine love between them. "You seem lighter somehow." Then her eyes brighten with what I recognize as trouble—the same look she gets right before suggesting we do something reckless. "Now we just need to find you a woman. Have you been on any dates?"

Dom's face transforms instantly, the laughter vanishing as he turns serious, shutters coming down over his expression. "No. You know I don't have time to date." The walls slam back into place so quickly I can almost hear them.

"You have to make time," she insists, leaning forward earnestly. "Ethan and Logan can be your wingmen."

"Oh trust me, they are always trying to set me up," Dom says with a hint of irritation, his jaw tightening slightly. "We recently had a fight about it." The tension in his shoulders speaks of deeper issues than he's saying.

Harper's expression falls slightly, her genuine concern for her father evident. "I just don't like you being alone."

"I like being alone," he counters firmly, his tone brokering no argument. "I'm so busy with work, and I carve out my summers for you. That's all I want." The finality in his voice makes me wonder what experiences led him to this solitary existence.

She frowns, unconvinced, and the waiter arrives with our desserts, setting them down with a flourish that draws attention from nearby tables. I stare at mine—a towering confection of cake, cotton candy, and ice cream—an artistic masterpiece that under normal circumstances would have me reaching for my phone to take a picture. But I'm suddenly caught in an internal battle between jealousy at the thought of Dom with other women—which is completely crazy since I've known him all of five minutes—and feeling sad that he doesn't have someone to take care of him, someone to notice when he's working too hard or needs to relax.

He must sense my diminished enthusiasm because he does something I never expected—takes my spoon, his long fingers brushing against mine sending tingles up my arm, loads it with a bite containing everything from the dessert, and eats it himself. I watch him, waiting for his reaction, suddenly invested in whether he likes it, studying the strong line of his throat as he swallows.

"Wow, you're going to like that," he says, nodding with approval, a small dab of ice cream caught at the corner of his mouth that I have a sudden desperate urge to lick away.

I smile, oddly pleased by his endorsement, a warm glow spreading through my chest. "Do you like it?" I ask, finding myself eager for his approval.

He nods, his expression softening again. "I love butter cake and cotton candy, so what's not to love?" The admission feels like being given a small glimpse into the man beyond the serious father.

His endorsement renews my excitement, and I bring a bite to my lips, the spoon cool against my tongue. The combination of textures and flavors hits my palate—sweet, tart, creamy and crunchy all at once—and I can't help my reaction. "Holy shit, that's good." The words escape before I can censor myself.

"Told you," he says with quiet satisfaction, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.

Under cover of the tablecloth, feeling bold in a way I've never been before, I slide my hand to his thigh, the expensive fabric of his pants smooth beneath my palm. My heart pounds so loudly in my chest I'm certain everyone in the restaurant must hear it.

"Want a bite of mine?" Harper asks, holding out her fork with a chunk of dense chocolate cake, completely oblivious to my brazen move.

"God no, this is already too much," I say, laughing—even as I slide my hand upward until I feel his hard length beneath my fingers, the rigid outline shocking and thrilling me. I've never been this forward with anyone, never felt this surge of confidence and desire simultaneously.

Dom tenses beside me, his breath catching so subtly I doubt Harper notices. But I notice. I notice everything about him —the way his jaw tightens slightly, the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes, the way his hand grips his water glass with sudden intensity, his knuckles whitening.

I keep my expression neutral as I continue eating my dessert, feigning innocence while my fingers trace the outline of him through his pants. With each gentle stroke, I feel him growing harder, and a surge of power rushes through me, intoxicating and addictive. It's heady to affect this controlled, powerful man so completely with just my touch, to watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he restrains himself from reacting.

Harper continues talking about her plans for the next day, completely oblivious to what's happening across the table, her animated gestures and bright smile a perfect cover for our secret interaction. Dom nods and responds appropriately, showing no outward sign of what I'm doing to him—except for the muscle jumping in his jaw and the slight darkening of his eyes, pupils dilating with desire.

I've never done anything like this before—never been so bold, so brazen, always the good girl, the responsible one. But something about Dom makes me want to push boundaries, to see how far I can go before that legendary control of his snaps. The thrill of this secret moment, this hidden connection, has my heart racing and my breath coming in shallow pants that I disguise by taking small bites of my rapidly melting dessert.

Chapter Twenty-Five