Page 40 of Mine
But the worst thing—thatwasme taking it slowly.
Though the way her hips slammed on me. The way she bucked against my hand. Her body begged for mine. She wants my hands, my mouth, and my cock.
What she doesn’t want isme.What I am. What I represent. Dominic Kincaid, leader of The Syndicate. She told me herself that her dream was to carve out a wholesome life. And I am far from wholesome.
Half an hour later,she saunters back into the kitchen in a hoody and a pair of leggings. Her flawless face is devoid ofmake-up. Her hair is shoved up on top of her head. But she’s every bit as beautiful as she was in the dress. More even.
She heads straight to the cooker. ‘You hungry?’
Looks like we’re playing the ‘let’s pretend that didn’t happen’ game.
I guess it’s better than her ignoring me completely.
‘Ravenous.’ Relief rips through me, because while she’s not actively avoiding me, we still have some hope of pulling our arrangement off.
While I want her more than I’ve wanted any woman, the reason she’s here isn’t for my pleasure, or hers.
It’s to provoke Kavanagh.
And it’s imperative I remember that.
18
AOIFE
It’s been a full week since Dominic ravaged me on the kitchen counter. It shouldn’t have happened. I hate myself for it, yet I can’t bring myself to fully regret it.
Because for those few stolen minutes, I wasn’t drowning in doubt. I wasn’t depleted, or defeated. I wasn’t battling the agonising lust that’s lanced me from the minute I laid eyes on him. I was simply dizzy with desire, so deeply drawn to this beautiful, dangerous man that even now, I can’t think of anything other than how talented his tongue is and how good he’s capable of making me feel with it.
The memory of his lips on mine, his hand between my legs is etched onto my brain. It plays on repeat every time I close my eyes. Having his hot, hard body four feet away from me every night isn’t helpful.
In fairness to my fiancé, he’s toned down the shameless flirting, although that hasn’t diluted the chemistry between us. That invisible charged energy continues to pulse between us, but whenever it gets too much, I deliberately remember Jason. Remember my plans for a fresh start, onefar away from here, where I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder.
It’s easier during the day. Dom is usually out doing whatever crime lords do. But when we sit across the dining table, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman in the world, it’s harder. And don’t get me started about our new bedtime ritual.
Each night he climbs in beside me, slides his hand over the mound of pillows to rest it on my arm. It’s not even sexual. It’s way worse—it’s familiar, it’s comforting, and utterly fucking confronting.
Sheila refuses to let me live down the events of last week. At least she’ll be able to attest for us when the time comes. ‘What’s for dinner tonight, love?’ she calls, winking at me as she passes through the kitchen.
I’ve taken over the cooking completely, grateful to have something to do. There’s only so much time I can spend planning details of a wedding that I wouldn’t have chosen. ‘Garlic chilli chicken.’
‘Oh, Dom’s favourite.’ She beams at me, hovering in the doorway. ‘I don’t need to ask what’s for dessert.’
My cheeks flame—as usual.
Dominic chooses this moment to arrive home.
‘Don’t mind me. I’m just leaving,’ Sheila pats his arm affectionately. ‘I’m meeting Mama K tonight.’
‘Tell her I’ll call her at the weekend,’ Dom says, striding towards me. He plants a perfunctory kiss on my cheek, for Sheila’s benefit, I assume. Although. When I turn around, she’s already gone.
My pulse kicks up and my breath hitches in my chest. He notices, because he notices everything. Those big black eyes bore into mine. ‘Nice day by the pool?’
‘Were you spying on me again?’
‘Maybe,’ he shrugs. ‘What are you making?’
‘Garlic chilli chicken.’
