His eyes flick from the man to my dress to the drink in my hand, then up to my face. The look he gives me is pure, unfiltered: You’re in trouble.
My mouth goes dry. Heat rushes down my spine so hard I almost sway.
The guy beside me shifts, stepping away like he’s trying to detach.
Dom’s voice cuts through the music. “Move.”
His eyes are fixed on the man. The club keeps moving, music blaring and lights flashing, but everything feels quiet, like Dominic’s presence has sucked the oxygen from the room.
“Hey man, she… she said she didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t know. I wasn’t, I mean, she told me—”
“Did she now?” Dom tilts his head. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You walk away… or you don’t like what comes next.”
The guy sputters something and disappears into the crowd.
Dom watches him go, then turns back to me, eyes blazing.
“Let’s go,” he says.
My drunk brain registers rage, heartbreak, and the audacity of him ordering me around after I saw that woman this morning.
“No,” I snap.
“Jessica, start walking.”
“No, you start walking,” I throw back. “Go home and stop ruiningmy night.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes and he steps closer.
“Ruining your night? Or your plans to flirt with men?” His voice slides over me like liquid fire. “I can’t express how mad I am right now, so I’m gonna need you to start. Fucking. Walking.”
“I said go home, Captain.” I tip my chin up.
“You’re wasted,” he growls.
“Yup,” I shoot back, swaying slightly. “And I don’t want you in here.”
Another flicker of anger passes over his face. I shove past him toward the dance floor.
He moves fast. One second I’m stepping forward, the next his hand clamps around my waist.
He drags me back into him, and his breath hits my ear, hot and furious.
“You wanna dance?” His voice is a snarl.
He spins me to face him; his chest slams against mine. His grip on my waist is unforgiving, and it hits me low in my stomach. Straight between my legs.
“I didn’t say with you,” I hiss.
His lips brush my ear. “You’re done here.”
“No. I’m not,” I bite back and push at his chest.
His grip tightens, and suddenly the world tilts. Dom’s arms scoop under my thighs—one hand under my legs, the other braced on my lower back—and he lifts me clean off the floor.
I gasp and grab his shoulders, shocked at the rush of air, the club spinning below. His subtle cologne wraps around me, clean and masculine. I look up at his thick neck and sharp jawline, feeling a drunken urge to bite him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I try to wiggle free.
