Page 36 of Mine
I finally find my tongue. ‘That’s not very… nice.’ My heart is hammering in my chest, and he’s not even in the vicinity.
‘It could be, depending onhowI make you blush—–if you’re good, of course.’
My cheeks flame further. ‘Did you call purely with the purpose of embarrassing me?’
He laughs then. ‘No, that’s just an added bonus.’ He pauses. ‘I called to tell you Miranda had an accident.’
‘Is she okay?’ I don’t know Dominic’s chef very well, but she’s always sweet to me whenever I pass through the kitchen.
‘She’ll be fine. I’m looking for a temporary replacement, but given half of Dublin is looking for you, we can’t be too careful.’
‘I can cook.’ Finally, something to do. A way to earn my keep, or part of it at least.
‘You don’t have to. We can order in. Or I can call Sheila. I’m sure she’d happily pop back over.’
‘No! Don’t do that. I’d like to,’ I insist. ‘Please.’
‘I suppose at least that way she won’t be hovering over us.’ He pauses. ‘But only if you’re sure.’
‘I want to.’ And as the words leave my lips, the truth of them hits me like a punch to the stomach. I want to cook for him.
How fucked up am I?
‘What time will you be home?’
‘I’m already on my way.’ I can practically hear him smiling down the phone.
Shit. ‘ETA?’ I rock up into a sitting position.
‘Oh God, you’re not going to be one of those nagging wives, are you?’ He flips back to that teasing tone again.
‘No,’ I blow out a breath. Anyone who nags Dominic Kincaid has a death wish. ‘Just wondering how long I have to whip up dinner.’
‘Forty-five minutes.’
My treacherous stomach spins. ‘See you then.’
‘Oh, Aoife,’ he says before I can hang up.
‘Yes?’ I scan the building, searching for any sign of the camera, and simultaneously wondering where else they’re positioned around the house.
I smooth a hand over my bare stomach. I need to get dressed. Quickly.
‘Don’t get dressed on my behalf,’ he drawls casually.
My tummy flips. Again.
Before I can formulate a response, he disconnects the call.
I rush upstairs and grab a quick shower, squeezing my eyes shut, but no matter how hard I try, my brain continues to serve me up images of Dominic in here naked. Dominic rubbing soap all over his rock solid torso… and his…
His words from the first night echo through my head,‘I promised not to touch you, Aoife. I didn’t promise not to touch myself.’
Oh fuck.
Not fucking helpful.
I dry myself and throw on one of the black Prada dresses he bought me in Kildare. As fucked up as it is, I can’t even try to deny it—I want to impress him.
