Why the hell would I even ask that? Imagining him flirting with someone make my stomach turn.
He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that makes my heart betray me by skipping a beat. “No, just you.”
“It really doesn’t,” I sing, irritated.
A beat later I feel the heat of him behind me, his hot breath on my neck. “Careful querida mía, I think you like the idea of me cuffing you more than you’re willing to admit.”
I freeze with the coffee mug halfway to my lips. Flames creep up my neck as I force down a swallow, my mind immediately imagining Dominic using his cuffs on me.
I should’ve stayed in bed.
Turning to face him, keeping my mug on my lips, his wry smile says it all. He knows exactly where my brain went. Before I can formulate something witty to say to save face, he drops a plate in front of me and nudges my shoulders until I’m forced to sit on a barstool.
“I figured you could use a hearty meal to soak up all the alcohol. How are you feeling?”
In an instant he’s gone from flirty to caring. I hate the way my heart squeezes. I’m not used to this—to someone trying to take care of me.
“Fine,” I say quietly.
His brows raise like he doesn’t believe me.
“Small headache. It’ll go away soon.”
“And what about everything else that happened?”
Since I’d been pounding back excessive amounts of alcohol, the memory of Stuart and everything that happened is a hazy blur. Which is maybe for the best, because the little I do remember, makes my skin itch. Violated. Vulnerable. Weak.
“I’m okay. I think.”
Dominic swallows, his eyes distant for a moment as if he’s recalling the events. “He’s in custody. And I suspect he’ll be there for a while. His prints matched a Peeping Tom case in Coyote Creek Junction.”
“Good,” I say, unsure about how I should feel.
Stuart isn’t who vandalized my car, so even though he’s behind bars now, nothing about my current situation is resolved.
Dominic’s eyes flash down to my uneaten plate. “Eat up. You’ll feel better.”
I pick up my fork as he’s about to walk away but he stops, and instead reaches for me, cradling my face in his hands while brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones. It happens so fast, by the time I’m in his hold, I’m too stunned to pull away. The fork drops from my hand and lands on the plate in a loud clatter.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
He used to do this all the time—out of nowhere he’d grab my face and tell me something sweet, and every time it wouldmelt even the hardest parts of me. Apparently, I’m still not immune to it because I’m a puddle on the floor.
His eyes hold mine captive, refusing to let go. So dark and warm, the safest abyss. The warmth of his skin radiates, so hot I imagine there’s heat waves coming off him. And his smell…he smells like my pillows this morning—cedarwood, clean, masculine. The urge to brush my nose against his neck is overwhelming I’m not sure I can bear it.
I lick my lips and watch him track the move.
He leans closer and my breath hitches. I think he’s going to kiss me and I think I’m going to let him.
“Fuck, Ellie,” he whispers, his breath fanning across my lips. “If something had happened to you last night, I’m not sure what I would’ve done.” My heart is pounding so loudly there’s no way he doesn’t hear it—feel it.
Just when I think he’s going to close the distance, instead his lips brush against my forehead, where he plants the softest kiss before walking away.
“Necklace looks good on you,” he calls out.
I walk around my living room, my phone clutched in my hand as I FaceTime Scottie. She’s sitting cross-legged on her couch with a steaming cup of tea in her hands.
“Alright,” she says, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. “Spill. What happened last night? And don’t you dare hold out on me. I’m living vicariously through you.”
