Page 25 of Mine
It washim.
Dominic unnerves me—and not just because of his reputation.
Of two things, I’m certain.
One—I’m living with a killer.
And two—I am painfully attracted to him anyway. Like a female deer in rutting season, I’m apparently hard-wired to seek out strength—the kind that wins battles, holds ground, and makes the world feel survivable when everything else is falling apart.
And that’s unwittingly exactly what I did when I ran into Dom’s bar yesterday.
When his finger brushed mine over dinner last night, I thought I’d accidentally touched the candle instead of the salad bowl.
But I know what he’s capable of.
He should horrify me, and he does, partly, but I can’t deny he intrigues me too—as much as I don’t want him to. I didn’t expect him to be… kind.
I spent the entire evening battling between wanting to hate him and wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
I’m going to need years of intense therapy when I finally get out of here.
I roll out of bed. My feet meet the thick, lavish carpet. I glance down at them. The wounds are clean and closed—thanks to him. I pad across to the wardrobe where my new dresses are hanging, pick out the lemon yellow one, and some of the expensive silk lingerie.
When I’m ready, I creep down the wide staircase, feeling like an imposter amongst this opulence. It’s eerily silent as I cross the pale stone floors towards the kitchen in search of coffee.
‘Good morning.’ Dominic is leaning against the kitchencounter, cradling a white mug. It looks tiny in his huge hand.
‘Morning,’ I freeze in the doorway. Our eyes meet.
‘Did you sleep well?’ He pushes off the counter, strides to the coffee machine, and reaches for a mug from the overhead cabinet. When he stretches, his shirt rides up at the front, and I get a flash of his taut, tanned stomach and the smattering of dark hair dusting his skin, trailing into the waistband of his suit pants.
‘Aoife?’ He twists his head to look at me. I tear my eyes from his body, but not fast enough. A small smirk twists his lips.
‘Yes,’ I squeak. ‘After the events of the day and the wine, my nervous system finally gave out on me.’ I glance at the clock above the cooker. It’s not even eight a.m.
‘Coffee?’ He places the mug beneath the machine. Dark twin pools dip to my lips, then back to meet my eye again.
‘Please.’ He turns his back to me, and my eyes greedily drink in his huge physique. Black suit pants sculpt his ridiculously toned ass cheeks. The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up to reveal those powerful forearms again, rippled with muscles, and enough veins to make a road map. He’s so big. So male. So magnificent. And he’s one bad bastard.
Is it any wonder I lose the ability to form coherent sentences when I’m near him?
‘You’re up early.’ I blurt, then immediately feel stupid for stating the obvious.
He spins to face me again as the machine whirs behind him. ‘I’m always up early.’ His voice is like rich crushed velvet, and it makes me wonder ifallof him is up early. That stupid, infuriating heat flames my cheeks again, and I hate my mind for trailing in the gutter.
He arches his eyebrows and flashes me a small smile. ‘How do you like it?’
I’m supposed to hate him, but I’m also a red-blooded woman, and this man is doing things to my ovaries that I never even knew were possible. ‘Sorry?’
‘Your coffee, Aoife. How do you take it?’ He rolls his lips and I get a sneaking suspicion he’s enjoying my discomfort.
Is he deliberately making every sentence sound like an innuendo?
Or do I simply have sex on the brain?
I’ve never done it before.
Never found anyone I wanted to do it with.
