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He handles the large SUV with ease. The long fingers of one hand grip the steering wheel while the other shifts the car into drive. Then we’re moving forward. The engine purring quietly as he turns onto the street.
I force myself to turn away from his hands and look out the window. Lunch hour traffic is in full swing. Cars are pouring into the street, and business professionals are spilling out of their high-rises in search of a quick meal before heading back to the office. While I’m trapped in a car with a man who loves pissing me off.
“I’m starting to think I should have stuck with my original lunch plans.”
He releases an amused huff. “Missing your stapler and office plants already?”
“Not really. I just prefer the company of inanimate objects over you.”
“Better conversation?” He counters drily.
“Something like that. At least when they ignore me, I can attribute it to their inability to talk back.” Why the hell did I just say that?
Dominic looks at me, but I keep my eyes trained on the passing buildings as we weave in and out of traffic. I can’t look at him because I don’t want those pools of obsidian to mock me for being upset about an unanswered text message from someone I didn’t expect anything from a week ago. While my brain was busy torturing me with explicit images of the man in my dreams, it didn’t seem the least bit concerned with finding a reasonable explanation for how bothered I am by his silence in real life.
Well, at least not one I can live with anyway.
He turns his attention back to the road. “I didn’t know how to respond.”
“Don’t tell me ‘you’re welcome’ are the only two words in the English language you don’t know how to say.”
I shift in my seat and hope the movement will dislodge the lump his confession has placed in my throat. Something that feels an awful lot like relief springs in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m glad he doesn’t hate me enough to leave me on read when I’m trying to be nice or because my message shocked him enough to keep him silent for four days.
We make a right down a familiar street and I realize I haven’t even asked where we are going for lunch.
“Three words.”
I drag my gaze back to him. “What?”
“You’re welcome. Technically it’s three words.” He glances at me, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You are welcome.”
I give an exaggerated roll of my eyes. “Right, I guess you don’t know anything about contractions either.”
“Of course I do.” He makes a left turn, swinging the vehicle into the parking lot of my favorite cafe. “I also know being corrected makes you irritable.”
I nod my head, pretending to understand his logic. “And it’s easier to ignore or irritate me than it is to text me back or acknowledge my presence. Got it.”
He puts the car in park, and my gaze flicks down to his hands on the gear shift. When I look back up at him, he’s already watching me. Damn, if I’m going to make a habit of staring at the man, I need to learn how to be more covert. Good thing none of my plans involve doing that.
“Well,” He shuts off the engine. “If I had known it was going to mean so much to you, I would have texted you back immediately, but let’s not forget about the part where I told you not to thank me.”
And there it is. A sharp gaze cutting into me like a blade laced with poison. Anger swimming in their endless depths.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re mad at me for saying thank you?”
“Yes.” He states simply. Like it’s natural to be offended when someone thanks you.
“Please, tell me how that makes sense in your head.”
His gaze hardens, and I almost regret letting the words slip past my lips. I don’t know if I can take another second of him looking at me like I’ve asked him for something far more insidious than an explanation.
“You’re an intelligent woman, Sloane. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”
“Yes. It would be extremely helpful since I’m not in the habit of reading minds.” A ball of frustration expands in my chest when amusement creeps into his otherwise dark expression. My hands itch with the urge to wipe the look right off of his face.
Dominic considers me for a moment before he speaks. “You already know the answer. Mal has a lot of gifts, but whispering isn’t one of them.”
My stomach clenches as I remember Mal’s words from Saturday: violent acts aren’t Dominic’s norm. Hell, even I know he prefers verbal warfare. What he did to that man took him way out of his comfort zone and probably made him feel more like his father than anything else.
