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“Sounds good, love. Give me a call if you change your mind about dinner.”
Sloane frees herself from his hold, looking slightly uncomfortable. I track the motion with my eyes. Some part of my brain writes the discomfort in her eyes in the ‘they are definitely not fucking’ column, and I bristle at the realization that I’m keeping track. Then get even more annoyed when it dawns on me that her letting him touch her and kiss her cheek has to be tallied into the ‘this asshole has probably seen her naked’ column.
I take a few steps forward, using every inch of my frame to shatter their moment into pieces. James casts me a cursory glance before giving Sloane’s elbow a final squeeze and making his way down the hall. As I watch his form disappear down the corridor, I wonder once again how much Sloane told him about me. About us. If they’re sleeping together, and he knows how heated our spats can get, why would he just leave her alone with me to fend for herself?
Not that she needs any help on that front.
The sole of her red bottom taps on the marble floor, calling my attention to the stiletto that brings her eye-level with my mouth. “What do you want, Dominic?”
I push my hands in my pockets to dull the throbbing in my fingers. Did they have to choose this exact moment to recall the feel of her skin on mine?
“As I stated less than a minute ago, to talk.”
“Right.” She snaps her fingers like she’s grateful to be reminded why she’s standing here with me. “And what exactly do we need to talk about?”
My eyes rake over her body, assessing her from head to toe with a pointed glare that answers her question with no words.
Sloane shakes her head. “I’m not talking about that at work. Especially not with you.”
The emphasis on the word ‘you’ makes me want to laugh. A few hours around her boyfriend and suddenly I’m not worth the time it takes to confirm her well-being or lack thereof.
“Is that how it is? You seemed much more grateful on Saturday night.”
I take a step forward, closing the distance between us and not giving a single fuck about the flames dancing in her eyes when my words sink in. The corners of her eyes transform from soft lines to hard ridges. Hazel is charred by dark flames that lick at me as she fixes me with a disgusted stare.
“And here I was thinking you hadn’t paid your phone bill. I guess being an asshole trumps decency every day of the week in your world.”
I bite back a smirk, feeling way too comfortable with falling into our familiar pattern of verbally eviscerating each other until someone limps away to patch up their wounds. Going word for word with her feels a hell of a lot better than wondering how she manages to smell like a tropical smoothie every fucking day.
“Well, they don’t call me Asshole Alexander for nothing.”
Sloane bites her bottom lip to hide her surprised expression. I didn’t intend to make my awareness of her nickname for me known but seeing her flounder for a response makes the premature reveal worth it.
“Do you think it’s wise to take on another nickname at your age? It might start to confuse the other personalities you have floating around in there.”
A vague gesture towards my head causes the sleeve of her blazer to roll back, exposing her wrist and the angry purple bruise I didn’t notice when I saw her on Sunday. My hand flies forward, catching her wrist in the fingers of one hand while the others work the sleeve down her arm. There aren’t any other blemishes on the smooth honey of her skin.
Surprisingly, Sloane doesn’t make a noise as I examine her. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes are on the ceiling like she doesn’t want to look at me. I realize too late that this must feel like an incredible invasion of her privacy, especially after Saturday, but she doesn’t pull away and I don’t let her go.
“Look at me.” I drag my thumb over her pulse and watch in fascination as her pupils dilate when her gaze meets mine. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Not anymore.”
The idea of her experiencing even a moment of pain when I could have prevented it makes my chest burn. I study her face looking for any indication that she’s lying. She doesn’t waver under the intensity of my stare, and I want to smile. Sloane never wavers.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the sweetness of her scent. This close I can finally discern notes of coconut, mango, and tangerine. Three simple fruits that wouldn’t mean a damn thing to me in any other context, but on her, it’s fucking intoxicating. One small pull on her arm and I could bury my face in her neck. Breathe in her scent until it’s permanently imprinted in my brain. Does James know how amazing she smells? The unwelcome thought sets my blood on fire.
“Good. I guess it won’t get in the way of your dinner plans with James then.”
Her brows dip inward. “James and I don’t have any dinner plans tonight.”
“Right,” I murmur, eyes riveted on the crease in her forehead. “You haven’t had the chance to finalize them. Have you, love?”
Sloane makes a disgusted noise in her throat at my use of Jame’s pet name for her and pulls her arm out of my grasp.
“Do you need anything else, Dominic? I have to get back to my office.”
“It’s noon. Shouldn’t you be making lunch plans with Mal right now?”
