Page 74 of One Last Rainy Day
“To rest,” she sighs. “You work so hard. Between the garage and the day-to-day of”—she eyes my computer, muting any mention of the club—“it’s a lot.”
“Glad you appreciate it,” I smirk over my screen while grabbing an eyeful of her as she lies on one of the picnic tables at our Meetup spot. Abandoned book beside her, honeysuckle crown on, her sun-bronzed skin glows under the sunrays peeking through the hovering clouds. She’s in a scrap of a crop top, which gives me an ample view of her cleavage—especially when she turns on her side, and her sculpted torso and long legs are fucking mouthwatering. It’s definitely a screen saver worth opting for in lieu of the one in my room. She smiles as she catches me ogling her, long hair spilling over the side of the table.
The unguarded affection in her stare unsettles me but also makes it impossible to tear my attention away. No womanhas ever held so much ammunition against me with a single look.
Sensing I’m taking her suggested break, she lifts from the picnic table and walks over to me, gently pulling the laptop from my grip before walking it over and securing it back into the Camaro. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes, because I have a confession to make,” she states, stalking toward me, seemingly on a mission. Dread races through me as her lips lift, unphased by whatever reaction she sees. “Don’t look so scared, Dom. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Lie,” she taunts as she bypasses the table and drapes herself across my lap, long legs hooked on the arm of my camping chair. Running her hands over my sweat-slicked skin, she leans in. “Here’s my confession...I know what I’m holding,” she murmurs, “I knowhis worth.”
The same confession I gave her during our first day together. A day when my resentment was fully ripped away, and all I could see was Cecelia for who she really is—the way I see her now, as a young tender with a heart full of affection and a soul spun from gold. As dramatic as that assessment feels—it’s spot fucking on. She’s a living, breathing reminder for me that there is good left in the world.
“You truly do work so hard,” she murmurs, palming my shoulders, “you should play hard, too.”
“I think you’re aware of justhow hardI play.” I lift my hips for emphasis, but as usual, she refuses to let me bat the sentiment away. “That was so predictable. You’re not that guy.”
“You shouldn’t think so much of me, Cecelia,” I say on an exhale.
“Tell me why.”
Because every fucking day you’re mine is a day I deceive you.
“I’m a criminal, and I do what criminals do. Lie, cheat, steal,deceive.”
“Maybe...but you also provide, gift, and inspire.”
“That’s laughable.”
“You inspireme,” she whispers, pressing soft kisses along my jaw.
How in the fuck does she manage to do this every single time? Evoke the raw in me? More importantly, why do I allow her to corner me into it? A gift of hers I’m not at all fond of. The sincerity in her words and expression demands no less than sincerity in return. She exposes me constantly, to the point that I want to search for a quick escape while simultaneously fueling me with the desire to get closer to her.
It’s fucking witchcraft. And all she’s being is honest.
Even if my own words are continually trying to fight their way out of me, I can’t and won’t utter them.
She presses along my shoulders, massaging them as best she can, and pauses between them to the tightness there. “What is this?”
I shrug.
“What causes this, Dom? What frustrates you so much thatyour bodybetrays what you mask so incredibly well?”
“Like you said, I work hard.”
“It’s more than that. What are you carrying?”
“You know I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell meanything,” she counters. “I will keep your secrets. Every one of them. Especially the secrets we maketogether. I think, no,I knowyou know that, or youwouldn’t have let Sean take me to the Meetup and give me the choice.”
“Which you haven’t made,” I tell her, hating the direction of this conversation.
“It’s a huge decision.”
“I thought you would run,” I admit honestly. “I’m still wondering why you haven’t, and I’m not going to convince you not to.”
