Page 55 of Dark Side of the Cloth

“I could’ve gotten a weapon. I could’ve kept screaming until someone heard, I…”

“Yasmine, stop this. You had no way of knowing what would happen, and I can poke a thousand holes in each of those possibilities.” He laid a gentle kiss on her nose.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Yasmine sniffled.

Dean stood, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t talk at all.”

Yasmine gave him a little smirk.

“I like that idea.” He laid her down, her hair falling around her.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“I’d rather you showed me.” She bit her lip, and his eyes flared.

“I like that idea,” he teased.

His lips captured hers, moving in a synchronized dance like they’d been lovers for years. If there were such thing as wishes coming true, she’d wish that there was some way this could last forever.

Yasmine stretched as she looked around her room. It looked different this morning. The old wallpaper she’d been wanting to replace seemed brighter. The old furniture screamed character rather than old and drab. Even her knitted throw on the back of the chair that was her mother’s no longer made her feel sad.

Dean wasn’t there, but there was no way last night was a dream. Swinging her legs over the bed, she tested them out, and they shook a little. Also, she ached in places that she didn’t know were possible, but the reflection over her dresser made her smile. Small bite marks lined her chest, and distinct handprints were visible on the pale skin of her hips. She must be going crazy. There was no way anyone sane would want to be marked like this, and yet the stupid smile wouldn’t leave her face.

She felt rejuvenated and more alive than before her life went to shit. She hadn’t touched a soccer ball again after that fateful night, but maybe she’d look into getting back into it for fun. Everyone needed a hobby. That thought made her wonder what Dean’s hobby might be.

Pulling on her housecoat, she quickly pushed the sad images of her sister from her mind and went in search of the man who was making her crazy.

The coffee was on, she could smell the rich roast brewing, but the kitchen was empty.

“Dean?” She picked up her mug and noticed a small piece of paper on the counter.

Sweet Yasmine,

Where the sun rises and sets, where the tide touches the shore, and where themountains reach the sky are the only places that compare to you.

Sir

She bit her lip and waited for the guilt that always accompanied her dirty thoughts of Dean, but none came.

He was a grown man, one that had proven he had ample experience and wasn’t ashamed to use it. If he wasn’t upset, then why should she rake herself over the proverbial coals? Was she really in love with him?

Shaking her head, she decided to surprise him at the church. She filled two thermoses with coffee and quickly stuffed a piece of toast and jam in her mouth. Then she got ready as fast as she could. Luckily, she didn’t have a funeral to manage this weekend. It was a rare occurrence, but she was going to make the most of it.

Pulling on her wool cap, winter coat, and mittens, she set out to head to the church. Her small car wasn’t too happy about starting. Good girl, she thought to herself as she patted the dash when the car sputtered to life. Finally, a hole formed in the thick layer of ice coating the windshield, and she was able to watch the quiet street for those heading to work or maybe breakfast at Mabel’s.

She couldn’t believe that Mabel had already gone back to work, but she insisted that the people came in to see her, and she needed to make sure the employees weren’t allowing quality to slide. Yasmine smiled to herself as she pictured Mabel sitting at a booth barking out orders.

Yasmine heard the vehicle before she saw it. The distinct rumble reached her ears, and within moments a blacked-out Hummer passed in front of her. Yasmine sucked in a small breath as she stared at the vehicle for a few seconds before it disappeared out of sight. It wasn’t the vehicle itself that made her curious. It was the heavily tattooed arm resting against the window. Even without seeing another single feature of the driver, she was certain it was Dean.

Flicking on her wipers, she cleared as much of the ice away as she could before pulling out onto the street and, on a whim, followed the vehicle. It was far down the street already, heading for the nearby freeway. This was dumb. What if it’s not Dean, and I just imagined the tattoos? No, her gut told her she was right, and she continued to follow from a safe distance.

Where the heck was he going at this hour of the morning, and more importantly, whose vehicle was he driving?

* * *

Dean stared longingly at the funeral home as he passed by, eyes glued to Yasmine’s window, hoping to catch a sign of his beautiful ginger. Yasmine was probably still asleep or maybe sipping the coffee he’d left perking. Either way, he’d much rather still be in bed with her, but he couldn’t be discovered staying overnight at her home. Not yet anyway—that was an issue he was already trying to figure out how to rectify.