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I lift my chin, as he treads through the yard, a dark haze shrouded in masculine beauty. Just past a prominent widow’s peak, lays long waves of rich-looking, thick onyx hair, equally dark brows above silver eyes filled with auspicious intent. Between high-cut cheekbones is a sleek nose and…his mouth.
Looking fresh off the runway, he’s dressed in black from his T-shirt to his lace-free army boots, the tongue in them falling limp, much like mine, the closer he gets.
My body spikes with adrenaline, and I fight myself not to look away but lift my chin higher to spite the unspoken threat dancing in his eyes. But no mean mug I could ever muster could save me from the dominance in this man’s swagger and the chill that emanates from his stare.
“Shit,” I hear Sean mutter when he finally reaches us. “I told you I have her, bro.”
Soul stealing eyes break from mine, freeing me from their hold before he speaks, his voice deep and full of authority. “She’s a fucking baby, your boss’s daughter, and she’s done drinking. Here anyway.” He turns to me. “Time to go.”
I frown. “Don’t be a pooper.”
I go over the words in my head. Yep. That’s what I said.
I swear I see his lips twitch before he barks at Sean. “She’s leaving.”
“Chill, man. Cecelia, this is Dominic.”
“Dominic,” I say, utterly mystified.
Jesus, Cecelia, tweens have more game.
“My brother made an error in judgment bringing you here. You need to leave.”
“You’re brothers?” They couldn’t be more different in appearance.
“Not exactly,” Sean corrects from my left.
“You’re really going to kick me out?” I ask Dominic, lingering in the jolt I felt in those seconds. Maybe it’s the stout cider, but my palms are still tingling from the exchange.
“Are you, or are you not, Roman Horner’s eighteen-year-old daughter?” His lips curl around the words in disgust, a tinge of an accent lacing each one. Our audience grows, and I audibly gulp as the air around us becomes thick with tension.
“I’m sure I’m not the first underage girl to drink at one of your parties,” I snap, feeling the eyes of everyone on me. He could have taken Sean aside and told him to get rid of me, instead he’s decided to openly embarrass me. “And I turn nineteen in two weeks,” I add with the weakest of arguments.
Dominic’s expression morphs into one of boredom.
“Have I offended you in some way, and anyway, how old are you?” I ask as he gives Sean a withering stare while some unspoken communication passes between them.
“Why?” his gaze cuts back to me. “So you can write it in your butterfly and diamond-studded diary?” I hear the echo of laughter around me and my cheeks heat.
Jesus, Cecelia, stop talking.
“Let her stay, Dom,” Layla speaks up from the patio. “She’s not bothering anyone.”
His eyes scour me from head to foot before he jerks his chin in a silent order.
“Dom, come—” Sean speaks up next to me, and I hold up my hand.
“Whatever, I’ll go,” I glare at Dominic, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, thoroughly humiliated. This pleases him, and I see my cowardly reflection mirrored in his cold steel eyes.
He turns to walk off, and I stop him, my hand on his forearm while I down the rest of my cider before dropping the empty bottle at his feet.
“Oops,” I say in my best bottled blonde imitation.
Gritting his teeth, like my touch is blistering, his eyes slowly drift up to mine, his dark brows slashed in a ‘what the fuck?’ expression.
“You know, you could say it was nice to meet me. You are kicking me out of your party. It’s the polite thing to do.”
“Never been accused of being polite.”
