I regret it instantly. I look away, forcing a laugh that sounds brittle.
“Forget it. I didn’tmean—”
He lifts a hand and turns my chin toward him.
I go still, my pulse kicking at the contact. My heart stutters when his thumb moves across the line of my jaw.
Then, instead of answering my question, he gives me something I never would’ve expected.
“You look breathtaking.”
I blink a few times, willing my brain to start working again. He complimented me. He just… said something nice. About me. My insides collapse into warm goo.
“Oh,” I manage, barely above a whisper.
He looks away first. His hand shifts on his knee, fingers flexing once.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t stop the ridiculous smile climbing my face. So, I turn toward the window with burning cheeks and hide my grin in the reflection.
Twenty minutes later, the car rolls to a stop. Outside, a wall of flashes erupts like lightning. Paparazzi line up behind barricades and reporters shout names. The roar of conversations competes with the bass of the music inside the venue.
My throat tightens, nerves clawing at me.
“Thirty seconds for the cameras and we go inside,” Dom assures me, clearly seeing the panic on my face.
“Okay,” I say, nodding as I take a deep breath.
Dom shifts beside me, adjusting his tie with calm, bored precision.
The door opens and cameras flash instantly. Dom steps out first, and the crowd reacts like someone just dropped a match into gasoline—the screams double.
He turns and extends a hand, waiting for me to take it. I do, and my heart dives into my stomach again.
He pulls me gently, guiding me out of the car. I step into the lights, and they blind me instantly. Jessica Brooks, nobody seamstress, walking onto a red carpet with Dominic Moreal.
What am I doing?
I grip his hand tighter without meaning to, and he notices. Without looking at me, he slides his other hand to the small of my back and pulls me close enough that our bodies brush.
“Relax,” he murmurs from the side of his mouth. “You’re doing great.”
We take the first few steps together, hopefully looking picture-perfect. If I see one meme of myself tomorrow, I’m not going out for another five years.
Cameras flash as Dom waves once, the bare minimum he has to do.
And every woman on the carpet melts. I see their longing looks, their eyes dragging over him, slow and hungry.
I don’t blame them. It’s not often you see Dominic’s kind of beauty and presence. It’s effortless and dangerous, especially when he has his arm around your waist.
Something warm and smug curls up in my chest. I shouldn’t feel it, but I definitely do. I lean in slightly with a smile plastered on my face, and let my palm rest on his chest. Solid, warm muscle meets my hand under the fabric.
Dom stiffens almost imperceptibly, and it only makes me want to push more.
My fingers slide higher to his shoulder, then lower toward his abs.
A subtle intake of breath.
“Jessica,” he warns quietly, smiling for a camera like he’s delighted with me.
