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“Dom as in Dominick.” He re-covered his mouth as he spoke. “The guys on the team call me Dom. And the bad guys call me the devil.”
You hardly seem like a devil. But ohhh . . . if he was taking their souls to hell, then I could see that nickname. It made sense.
“I’m going to hold on to you. That okay?” His brows rose in question, and when I nodded yes, he quietly set his hand on my jeaned hip.
“And what does your family call you?”
“How about I ask you a question instead?”
“Distract and deflect. Keep me talking so I don’t have a panic attack?”
“That’s the idea.” I could hear the smirk in his tone; he didn’t need to lower his mask to confirm he was smiling again. “Did your mom name you after the princess?”
“How in the world did you know that? Your brief had to have been pretty, well, brief. Those details wouldn’t be included.”
“You know a lot about the military, don’t you?”
“Hard not to when your dad was career military before getting into politics. He was a Teamguy, and I grew up all over the world, surrounded by operators,” I admitted. “So, Mr. Art of the Dodge, how’d you know my parents named me after Princess Diana?”
“A wild guess.”
The building rumbled around us, and my heart skipped into my throat. His gloved hand drew me so close we’d soon be sharing a heartbeat.
“Not an answer.” I swallowed, my nerves distracting me as the walls continued to groan. “And also, I do not want to die like this. I have plans. Big ones. Turning twenty-one in January, to start. After that, saving the world.”
“We’ll get you to twenty-one, I promise. And all the birthdays between then and your plans to save the world.”
“Save me so I can save the world. That your plan?”
“Sounds like a perfect fuc—” He paused for a moment as if not wanting to swear in front of me. “Sounds like a perfect plan to me.”
Hmm. “Back to my name.”
“Back to it.” There was that humorous tone again. Not-a-care-or-worry-in-the-world kind of attitude from the sounds of it. I wondered if it was an act for me, or if, like my dad, he used comedy to neutralize tense situations.
“You’re a funny guy.”
“Not the compliment I usually get.”
“Who said it was a compliment?” Was I seriously teasing at a time like this?
“Having a sense of humor is usually a good thing.”
“True.” I smiled, nearly dropping the fabric covering part of my face. “You are making me forget I could fall to my death. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He closed one eye for a second. “On second thought, let’s keep it to this one time.”
“Good point.” Another unexpected smile started to settle on my lips, interrupted by a short coughing fit. My sweater was not keeping the shit air from infiltrating my lungs. I should have kept the talking to a minimum, but the distraction of our conversation was keeping me from imagining all of the less attractive outcomes of our situation. And I had grown a bit attached to hearing his voice. “So. My name.”
“Ah, yes.” Instead of going on with that thought, he touched the device at his neck and went quiet, focusing as if someone was talking to him. He let whoever was on the line know we were still alive but short on time.
Short on time? Great, there go my nerves again. Flying away.
“Your mom is the ambassador. Your dad is the Speaker of the House. Celebrities and politicians give their kids weird names or iconic ones.”
“Not just a door kicker, are you?” I teased, knowing he’d get the joke. “You’re perceptive. Clearly, smart.”
“All that from a comment about your name, huh?” He chuckled, and the sound went straight to that sweet oxytocin center of my brain. “But I’m gathering you’re not just a twenty-year-old daughter of politicians, are you?” He threw that “just” right back at me with the perfect amount of sarcasm.
