Page 43 of Stirring Attraction (Second Shot 2)
Try months.
Josh Summers had a point. She patted Dominic’s chest. “Go home, Dominic, and get some sleep,” she said. “You’re going to need it. Because you’re not staying on the couch tonight.” She leaned up and added in a whisper: “And we won’t be sleeping either.”
She felt the tension ripple through his body. And behind them Josh Summers laughed.
“Lily,” Dominic murmured, looking down at her. He placed his hand over hers. “I’m staying either way. You don’t have to—”
“I know. I want to.” She pressed her lips to scar on the back of his right hand, still resting on top of hers, covering his heart. Her lips still touching his skin, she added, “I want you.”
Even though I know you’ll leave again.
Chapter Thirteen
I’M AN IDIOT.
Dominic accelerated, pushing the rental car past fifty, fifty-five, sixty . . . He hit sixty-five and held steady. He was willing to risk a speeding ticket. Hell, he knew most of the guys on the force. They’d probably let him off with a warning. But he wasn’t going to crash the car because he’d gone and fallen asleep at his dad’s place.
An hour or two, he told himself, just until Noah returned to the bar and took over for Lily. But he’d gone and slept past sunset. It was eight o’clock. Lily had been home for hours, probably wondering where he’d gone, if he’d left . . .
No, she had to know he’d say goodbye. He wouldn’t slip away in the middle of her shift. And he would never leave her afraid.
He stole a glance at the file folder riding shotgun. It held the Salem arrest report and mug shot of the guy who’d attacked the woman in Salem. A detailed report they could review in the morning, after he calmed her down. She had to be terrified by now, alone in her house, after dark.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He slapped his palm against the steering wheel as he turned onto her cul-de-sac. Everything was calm, quiet. Lights shone through the windows of the neighboring houses, but Lily’s looked as if she wished to illuminate the whole damn block.
He docked his car in front of her house, the right front wheel riding up onto the curb. Hell, he’d fix it later. Tomorrow. He opened the door and sprinted up the steps. He raised his fist and pounded on the door. And . . . nothing.
“Lily!” he called. “Come to the front, honey.”
He stood under the front porch lights, the side of his fist still resting on the door. He could walk the p
erimeter of the house, peering in the windows. He had a feeling he’d find her huddled in a corner, trapped by her own damn fears. She needed him. In there. With her. Holding her. Loving her . . .
He stepped back and examined the door. Then he called one more time, “Lily!”
Nothing.
He eyed the keyhole. The door opened in. It wouldn’t take much. Just a well-placed kick. He raised his right leg and aimed his boot. The door gave a little, but the deadbolt refused to break apart and grant him access. He kicked again.
“Dominic?” He heard her voice on the other side, followed by footsteps.
“I’m right here, Lily,” he called back.
The locks turned. The chain released. And she pulled open the door.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Her eyes were wide. He studied her face, searching for signs of the terror he’d witnessed after her nightmare. But she wasn’t pale-faced and ready to fling herself into his arms. Her long hair spiraled down over her shoulders. The ringlets teased the top of her white bath towel.
Her right hand rested on the door and her left held the towel’s closure, nestled between her breasts. The faded scars, the healed wounds from where he’d sliced her forearms, stared back at him. Dozens of small cuts intended for her beautiful face. His anger welled. And he wanted to tear apart the man sitting in a Salem jail cell. How could anyone hurt her? His Lily? So beautiful, so sweet . . .
“Dominic?”
He lifted his gaze and met her blue eyes. “I’m sorry. You didn’t answer. I thought you might”—need me—“be waiting for me somewhere in the back.” Afraid.
“I was getting ready.”
He stole a glance at her toes. Bright pink polish caught the light. Knowing that she’d painted her nails for him . . . yeah, his need to get inside had nothing to do with worrying if she was having a panic attack.
“For you,” she added, drawing his attention up her towel-clad body to her mouth. A smile teased her lips. “But thank you.”
