by Jo Leigh
“Of course it matters. The way he—”
“It’s been ten years. Nothing’s going to change the past. And I don’t give a damn what he thinks of me.”
“I do.”
“Please don’t.” Her grip on his arm tightened when he tried to pull away. “How about we get out of here?”
“What?” He locked gazes with Sara, aware that everyone standing around them was probably watching. “Now?”
She nodded. “Please.”
“I’m supposed to—”
“I’m sure there are enough volunteers to straighten up.”
He saw the worried crease between her brows, probably afraid he’d do something rash. Like punch Randal in his goddamn nose. Dom hoped he had more self-restraint than that, but he was pretty damn steamed. “You know what? Let’s go. I know a nice place around the corner where we can get a drink in peace.”
He started to take her hand but she moved it away. Could’ve been a coincidence. If it wasn’t, he didn’t blame her. People around here read too much into every damn thing.
“You realize everyone’s going to see we’re leaving together,” Sara said, halfway to the door.
“Do you care?”
“Not really, but—”
“Oh, shit.” He stopped. “Ellie.” How could he have forgotten? Because he still wanted to lay Coach flat, that’s how.
“She’s already guessed we’re a little bit more than friends.”
“Won’t this make things worse?”
“If it does, I’ll work it out.” She started for the exit and he stayed with her. “Honestly, it’s too late anyway. The gossip probably started the moment our moms began behaving like five-year-olds. Can you believe those two?”
He laughed, feeling some of his tension ease.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, they can be the ones who field the rumors and nosy questions.”
“The minute we get to the bar, we’ll drink to that.”
“Agreed. It’ll be their problem. Because, frankly, it’s only going to get worse.”
“Not necessarily.”
“It will if I don’t make it home tonight.”
He stopped right in the doorway. “Really?”
“Maybe.” She met his eyes with just the tiniest bit of shyness. “That is, if you don’t have any objections.”
“Oh, hell. Not a single one,” he said, taking her by the arm and hurrying them outside.
* * *
AT SARA’S INSISTENCE they ended up at the Mulberry Street Bar first. Dom was still so pissed at his ex-coach that she thought it was a good idea for him to have a drink and cool down. What she didn’t tell him was that she needed a drink just as much, if not more.
Everything had happened so fast, and yes, she really wanted to go home with him, but she was nervous. About Ellie, about her parents, Dom’s parents... Even if they hadn’t seen them leave together—after all, the hall was ridiculously crowded—there was a very good chance they’d hear about it.
Mostly, though, she was nervous about what was going to happen after they got to his apartment.
She hadn’t been with a lot of men before, and after last night’s stilted conversation with Robert that made it clear they were done, she was free to do as she wished. But the fact that it was Dom was intimidating.
She took a big sip of her Bushmills on the rocks, letting the heat slide all the way down before she set her glass on the small table. That’s when she noticed Dom watching her. Probably because she’d been nibbling on her lip. Stupid nervous habit.
“I can’t imagine how much you must’ve hated me,” Dom said. “Thinking I’d gotten you kicked off the paper.”
Sara inhaled. “There were moments,” she admitted. “But then I’d remember I was the one who caused all the trouble in the first place.”
“I don’t know about that...” he said, staring at his snifter of brandy. “Not after what you’d heard come out of my mouth.” He swore under his breath and tossed the amber liquid back with a single gulp.
Well, this wasn’t going as planned. “Come on.” Sara touched his arm. “You were fourteen. I doubt anyone is particularly proud of their teenage years. Including me.” She sighed. “Obviously.”
A faint smile curved his mouth. “The whole thing started before you wrote that article. Guess it’s kind of what came first, the chicken or the egg.”
“Okay, if you want to get that technical, then it’s our mothers’ fault.”
They both laughed, which seemed to relax Dom a little.
The waitress came by, but neither of them was ready for another drink. Sara still had half of her whiskey. She sure wouldn’t mind a second one before they left for his apartment, though.
“I’ve been wondering about something,” Dom said. “I know your thesis is on the history of Little Italy, and I’m assuming you’re taking more of a human interest type angle. Am I in the right ballpark?”
Sara nodded, pretty sure she knew what he was going to say.
“I think it’s great. We’ve all heard the stories about our ancestors coming over but who knows what’s fact or fiction? But I gotta say I’m a little surprised you didn’t go after something meatier.”
“Only a little surprised?”
“Hey, I’m not saying it isn’t an interesting topic. I just keep remembering the day you took on the faculty—”
“I know exactly what you’re saying.” She took another sip. “I’ve been asking myself the same question lately.” And she knew part of the answer, but it wasn’t something she was willing to share.
Dom sat patiently waiting, then moved his hand to cover hers. “We don’t have to talk about this.”
Sara shook her head. “It isn’t any one particular reason. I made an emotional decision to write that op-ed before thinking it through. I was a hormonal kid, so who knows why I did it. So in a way, Randal wasn’t wrong—I did learn a valuable lesson.”
Dom’s jaw clenched and she instantly regretted mentioning the coach. “I don’t care what led him to do it—he had no right filing a formal complaint.”
She turned her hand over so their palms pressed together. “Actually, he did since I attacked the athletic program.”
“Everyone—parents, teachers, the school board, they all could’ve read what you wrote for themselves. But Randal used my name, didn’t he?”
She picked up her glass but it was empty.
Dom signaled the waitress.
“I was shy,” Sara said, shrugging. “I stepped over the line to make my mark, first questioning the faculty, which I’m not at all ashamed of, but then I came out with that awful piece, which was completely my fault. So of course all I wanted to do was crawl back into my shell.”
They remained quiet for a while, their palms touching, and their fingers semientwined. Until the waitress arrived with the drinks. They pulled apart to make room for her glass and his snifter.
Sara missed his touch. The second whiskey was a poor substitute. Although focusing on the heady taste helped take the edge off when he refused to look away.
“Being removed as editor must’ve hurt your chances at a college journalism program,” Dom said.
“You know what? Can we not talk about it?” she asked, and realized she should’ve lied, just said no. Except Dom was too smart for that.
“No problem,” he said, giving her a warm a smile. “We don’t have to talk about anything at all.”
He picked up the snifter, swirled the brandy, then downed half of it. He was getting pretty mellow. It was times like these that Sara really appreciated living in a city with so many cabs.
The waitress stopped briefly, just to leave a check, startling Sara, because she hadn’t seen Dom ask for it.
Leaning forward he touche
d her cheek, and let an escaped tendril of hair curl around his finger. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice pitched low.
“I am.” She hoped.
11
STILL FEELING A tiny bit nervous and only slightly buzzed, Sara crossed the nicely decorated lobby in Dom’s building. He kept his arm around her as he guided her past the normal-sized elevator to a much-smaller one in the corner.
“So, this is private?” she asked as she stepped inside. “No one else can use it?”
Dom nodded, a smile tugging at his mouth as he used a key, and graciously refrained from pointing out that he’d already explained the setup. Twice.
He was facing Sara as the elevator climbed to his unit on the eighth floor. Knowing what was to come made her skin tingle, her breathing quick and sharp, and she had to squeeze her thighs together just from staring into his dark, seductive eyes. “That means, when the door opens, we’ll be in your...apartment?”
“Yep.”
“So it isn’t called something different because it’s the whole floor?”
“Not that I know of.”
Sara walked across the small car, which admittedly only took three steps. “So there shouldn’t be any problem with me doing this,” she said and unfastened the top button of his shirt.
“None at all,” he said, his voice a sexy growl, raising her already high temperature.
She took her time with the second button, his warm breath, still sweet with brandy, skimming across her cheek.
Another button. A moment to spread his shirt apart that little bit more. A soft sigh across his tanned skin.
He touched her then, his hands on the back of her thighs, just underneath the hem of her dress. Luckily, she’d worn nice underwear. Nothing fancy. She didn’t own anything exotic, or even exciting, unless he considered bikini panties a thrill.
The slight tremor in his palms as they inched higher suggested he might.
She undid the next button.
His breathing changed. Not as if he’d been running long-distance or anything, but it was noticeable. Feeling daring, she leaned forward and licked a strip up his throat to the tip of his lifted chin.
A second later he moved his hands so his fingers could slip beneath the waistband of her panties. When he grasped each of her cheeks in his big hands, her breath caught. His squeeze wasn’t altogether gentle, which turned up the heat again. And when he lifted her straight up against his body, she gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, her moan echoing loudly in that little box.
The elevator doors parted. Dom stepped away from the wall, still holding her up with his hands cupping her butt. She wrapped her legs around him and continued her exploration of his neck.
“You want a tour of the place?” he said, his voice still raspy and moving quickly as if he was on a mission.
“Sure,” she said, nipping the tender skin that covered his jugular.
“Windows, living room, walls,” he said, right before he groaned. When he could speak again, he added, “Bathroom, bedroom.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, though she hadn’t actually seen anything.
“Yeah. Ready?”
“For?”
“Oh, so much.”
She felt him bump against what she knew had to be the mattress—her cue to release him from the press of her thighs. A moment later, he managed to set her down at the edge of the bed, her feet firmly on the floor even though she felt as though she were floating in the clouds.
This was the boy she’d dreamed about, the amazing man he’d turned into. And that was him, looking at her as if she was the most desirable woman on the planet.
If it turned out to be a dream, she’d be crushed.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, finishing the job with his buttons. “In every way.”
She kicked her heels away and lifted up enough to slip her panties off and tug her sundress up above her waist.
“You’re trying to kill me,” Dom muttered, running a gaze over her.
She felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks. Her two whiskeys had given her more than enough courage. She’d always been shy about her body. First because, well, Catholic school, but also because she’d been embarrassed by most everything as a young girl. Even when she went off to college, she’d been with only two other men besides Robert, and she’d made sure the lights were off and she was under the covers before she’d stripped bare.
Dom didn’t even have his pants off yet, and she was half-naked.
The bulge at his fly had to be uncomfortable. A frisson shot up her spine, a first for her. She’d only read about the sensation. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be the only first she’d experience tonight.
He winced as he pressed his hand over his erection, but then he got busy with his belt, button and zipper, which he pulled down very gingerly.
“Sara, Sara, Sara...what are you doing to me?” he said teasingly.
She stared, transfixed, as he lowered his dress pants, revealing the outline of his erection vivid in his tight navy boxer briefs. There was a damp spot high up that made her blush deepen.
He tossed aside his clothes, almost naked now, except for his briefs, and she took advantage of the moment and looked at the whole of him. No one in her real life had ever been as ripped. He wasn’t overly muscled, but what was there was perfectly defined from his pecs to his abs, all the way down to his thighs and calves.
Martial arts, huh? She wished she’d worked out more. And that she hadn’t gained those three pounds since she’d started working at the parlor.
All thoughts left her as he lowered his underwear. She still had her dress half-on. No way was she missing a second of this unveiling, though. He was—
“I can’t stand this much longer,” he said, his voice tight, as if something were squeezing his neck. The second his boxers had cleared his erection, he let them fall, turned to open his bedside drawer and grabbed a few condoms, leaving them all on the table. When he sat down, he put his arm around her. “Everything okay?”
She tried to take in a deep breath, but her body wasn’t having it. A few moments ago she’d been ready to swing from the chandeliers, and now she felt as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night.
“I don’t know why I’m being so—weird all of a sudden.”
“We can take this as slowly as you want.”
She kind of snorted, which didn’t help things. “Uh, it looks like slow is the last thing you need.”
“I’ll be fine.” He smiled, rubbing her back, taking his time, letting her keep the bottom of her stupid dress bunched in her stupid hands.
When he kissed her, it was gentle. Sweet. She’d wanted things to be wild, untamed. This fantasy was turning into a soap opera.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, and with the tip of his tongue he brushed the seam between her lips.
Something clicked and she kissed him back, letting everything else go. Right this moment, this kiss, his tongue, the taste of him, the way he breathed, was all that existed.
He didn’t hurry her or make her feel anything but special. His low moan made that thrill slip down her back again, and she found herself squeezing her internal muscles, all kinds of sensations wakening once more.
When she touched him, it helped her relax even more. He might be the most handsome man she’d ever been with, but he was also just Dom. The guy picking pineapple chunks off his pizza as if they’d kill him, who’d come to her aid even after she’d been a jerk.
He wasn’t the boy of her memories, or the man she’d imagined. He was so much better. So much more real.
When he ran his hand down her back, she didn’t want her dress on anymore. Pulling back from his kiss, her heart skipped a beat when he chased her mouth before he realized what she was doing.
She lifted her dress up and over her head, tossing it aside, then reached behind to unhook her decidedly plain bra, and let the shoulder straps fall.
With his pupils blown wide, he looked close to desperate, but he didn’t rush her. His breathing quickened and he licked his lips, but he kept his hands to himself.
That had to stop.
After straightening her back, the bra came off, and there, it was done. She was as naked as he was, and while his erection was hard to miss, so were her very pebbled nipples, so they were even. Kind of.
“I want to touch you everywhere.” Lifting his right hand, he hovered between her shoulder and her breast, as if he didn’t know where to begin.
Or maybe he was waiting for her.
Taking his hand, she placed it so her nipple hit the center of his palm. “How’s that for starters?”
He just groaned, his eyelids fluttering as he took her mouth once again.
They kissed and explored each other, reaching what they could. The second he sucked her nipple into his mouth, she struggled to catch her breath. He knew just how hard to suck, just how much pressure to use as he thumbed her other nipple. But when she touched his thick, hot penis, he stopped her.
“Wait,” he said, arching back. “I don’t want this over before we’ve begun.”
“What do you mean? We began in the elevator. I think I’ve tortured you enough by now, don’t you?”
His hoarse laugh against the side of her neck almost threw her off track. “This isn’t torture,” he whispered, his warm breath forging a trail from her ear to her shoulder. Back up to her throat. Down to her left breast. The tip of his tongue barely grazed her nipple.
Sara gasped. “Oh. This—” She drew in a shaky breath. “This is definitely torture.”
He glanced up and gave her a wicked smile. “But the good kind, right?”
“Okay,” she said, leaning over him until she could reach a condom on the bedside table. “You’re going to put this on while I get more comfortable.”
He stared at her for a long moment, one dark brow lifted in question.
“Now,” she said, and hid a grin when he snatched the packet as if it were a lifeline.
