Page 99 of The Summer We Lie

"Um, hello hottie," she says with an appreciative whistle.

I laugh, heat rising in my cheeks. "I didn't really even do my hair or makeup."

"Doesn't matter. You're naturally gorgeous," she insists, and there's no trace of jealousy in her voice, just genuine affection. "Honestly, Skye, you're stunning even when you roll out of bed. It's actually annoying how effortless you make everything look."

"No, I think you're confusing us," I deflect, uncomfortable with compliments as always.

She rolls her eyes. "Trust me, I'm not confused about anything. You're very hot, especially when you're not trying so hard. My look takes serious work and strategic planning," she says with a self-deprecating laugh. "You just exist and people lose their minds."

"Shut up, you're going crazy," I protest, but I'm smiling despite myself.

"You ready?" Dom's voice cuts through our conversation, and I turn to see him walking into the living room. He's wearing perfectly tailored charcoal slacks and a crisp white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and my mouth goes completely dry. The man could make a garbage bag look like haute couture, but seeing him dressed up and knowing it's for our dinner together makes my heart race.

"Uh, yeah," I manage, standing up and trying to walk normally despite the constant reminder of what I'm wearing for him. Every step sends little jolts of sensation through me, and I have to concentrate on keeping my expression neutral.

"You two have fun and don't get into too much trouble," Harper says with a smirk as I make my way over to Dom, fighting to keep my gait steady.

Chapter Forty-Three

Dominic

Every ounce of my attention locks onto her as she moves toward me. Something's different about the way she walks—a slight hesitation, a carefulness I haven't seen before. It makes me want to study her, figure out what's changed.

"Ready?" I ask, offering my arm.

She takes it with a smile that reaches her eyes, making them sparkle. "Very."

When I lead her out to the car, I try to keep my expression neutral, but Christ, she's beautiful tonight. The way that dress hugs her curves, how it shows just enough skin to make my mouth water but not enough to share too much of what's mine. Because she is MINE .

I open the passenger door and watch as she slides in, noticing again that careful movement. Something's definitely up. I round the car and get behind the wheel, trying to ignore the teenage nervousness bubbling in my chest. Ridiculous. I'm a grown man who's done far more intimate things with this woman than take her to dinner, yet here I am, pulse slightly elevated like this is some kind of high school prom.

"This is so weird," she says softly as I start the car.

I press the button to open the garage door. "What's weird?"

"Going out alone," she clarifies, fidgeting slightly in her seat. "We haven't ever done this."

The realization hits me. "It's our official first date," I say, glancing over to gauge her reaction.

Her smile is shy but pleased. "Yeah, I guess it is."

When I pull onto the main road, I place my hand on her thigh, keeping my touch firm but gentle. She sucks in a breath, and satisfaction rolls through me. I love how responsive she is to my touch.

We ride in comfortable silence, but I catch her stealing glances at me when she thinks I won't notice. Each look feels like a physical touch, warm and lingering on my skin.

"Oh, I love this song," she says suddenly when "Lightning Crashes" begins playing through the car's speakers.

"I do too." I turn up the volume for her, watching her lips move silently with some of the lyrics.

My hand continues its lazy exploration of her thigh as we drive, never going high enough to be inappropriate, but maintaining that constant connection between us. The music fills the space between us, comfortable and right.

When I pull into the restaurant parking lot, her face lights up. "Ooo, Italian."

"Is that okay?" I ask.

"Yes, I love it," she answers.

"Good." I pull up to the valet stand and put the car in park.