by Gina Kincade
“Please.” I lift my arms and assume the stance of offering to take this dance, suddenly riled up by this change in Dom, who has no right to care if I let another man touch my skin.
“Good to see you showed up,” Isaac says, patting Dom on the shoulder before heading toward the bar. I don’t watch him go, even though part of me longs to. I keep my gaze fixed on the tall steely-eyed redhead in front of me.
My heart catches when he steps forward and slides a hand around my waist. His dark gaze charging the touch and making me lift my chin to look defiantly up at him. My whole body is on fire despite the formality of our posture, and Dom is always—always—the gentleman, allowing the proper amount of space between us as he takes my other hand. For this is the formal and appropriate way to dance with your boss, despite the burn of his grip.
Dominick leads, moving us on the dance floor in the brilliant way that Dom has always led, with controlled refinement. There’s a stiff elegance in our steps, my elbows locked, shoulders back, all of this an act that no one but Isaac is watching. I look into Dom’s eyes, searching his expression for any of the sweetness that I’m used to seeing there. But distrust tints his gaze with uncharacteristic dominance.
“You were brilliant today,” I say softly, and he doesn’t smile. It’s an uncomfortable harshness that makes me overly aware of the points in which we touch: his hand on my hip, my palm on his shoulder, my other hand clasped between his fingers. There are three points of contact, with a cavern of space between us hinting at all the careful steps and distance we’ve used to keep us apart. “I knew you’d be wonderful,” I say pushing forward, and pretending—like always—that this is only business and this is nothing more than a formal dance at a celebration banquet. “All of this.” I nod to the room full of our colleagues celebrating. “You did this. This is your victory.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
My eyes snap to him and his gaze is as sharp as his question. Dom is never this direct. Never. Not about personal things. In fact, he doesn’t give a lick about the deal or the banquet, right now. No, the darkness in his eyes is asking one thing: What the hell was my friend’s hands doing all over your back?
I hold his gaze for a long time without answering him. This is uncharted territory for us. Normally, we could talk about anything, but then, normally we’re on the same side and there isn’t someone else between us. Dom waits calmly, perfectly stoic, which I’ve seen him do a hundred times with a client. And for the first time I see something wicked in Dominick’s expression. He’s not asking an innocent question. Dom doesn’t want to know if I like his friend. Dom wants to know if I want to fuck his friend.
I tilt my head and try to decide how I want to answer that question. Only, I’m pissed off, because Dom is asking it with that polite polish that he’s mastered. The rudeness of his question is masked by his cool unflustered elegance as if this is a perfectly respectable conversation.
“You mean Isaac?” I clarify, raising my eyebrows innocently. Of course he means Isaac. There’s no one else he could possibly mean, but if he’s going to play the polite-game, I’ll play back.
Dom nods with his regal features angling down on me, only he tries to do it nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal and we could be talking about anyone. And it makes me so damn frustrated with him!
He’s spent the whole weekend avoiding me. Pretending he has work to do, leaving me all by myself, leaving me alone with his friend, the friend he invited to stay with us in the first place! Was this some kind of test? Did he think I’d wait around forever for him? Maybe he did. Maybe that’s exactly what this is and I’ve failed miserably, and he’s expecting me to be the kind of woman he can string along and expect to always be by his side.
“What are you really asking me, Dom?” I say, turning the question back on him and watching his shoulders stiffen. “You and I are close,” I remind him, stepping forward to slide my hand up his shoulder and back around his collar. “We made a promise once to tell each other everything. So what it is you really want to know? You know you can ask me anything.”
Dom inhales slowly, and—no one else would know it, because he’s doing his best to hide his reaction—I can tell I’ve flustered him.
Good.
“You guys have been hanging out,” he says tentatively, like he doesn’t really want to ask. I’ve seen that sweet discomfort before, hiding under all that polish. It only comes out when Dom feels threatened, which I suddenly realize, is exactly what this is. Dom is threatened by Isaac, the bad boy who walks around shirtless with the wicked smile to match. Isaac, the kind of man who charms the panties off a girl before they’ve even gotten to the restaurant, or would fly her to Hawaii, hike her to the top of a volcano and fuck her next to the lava. Isaac is a man of thrills and action and ten shots of whiskey. He’s every masculine thing Dom is not, and that’s exactly why liking him is a problem. Liking Isaac means rejecting everything that Dom is.
“I just ...” Dom starts again, hardening his gaze. “I thought maybe something was there. Like ...” Dom’s eyes flick down to my lips and then back up. I feel the heat of where he fears Isaac has been, and the judgment that will come with the knowledge that his hands have been on me. I can tell Dom will never look at me the same way if I’ve been with Isaac. Which isn’t fair in the least, but there it is. “I don’t know, like you two might ...” He’s fishing. He’s dancing around the question—as always—and I’m tired of this game.
“Come here,” I say keeping my tone soft, but serious. He wants to open this can of worms? Then I’ll let him. I pull him close and move both of his hands so they’re wrapped around my back, flattening his palms against my exposed skin. I slide my arms up behind his neck so we’re pressed together and he’s holding me in the same way Isaac just did. Dom stiffens, the position decidedly intimate, his hands curling up so only the tips of his fingers touch me, as if he’s not allowed to keep them there. The pads of his fingers are gentle and elegant, and completely different than Isaac, who takes my skin in stride, who asks to know my body without reservation. Dom’s touch is a question; it’s filled with breathless uncertainty from months of indecision. I let him idle in the discomfort of not knowing if he should touch me or not, even though I’ve deliberately put his hands in that position.
“Here’s the deal, Dom,” I say, tracing my fingers up his neck and teasing the base of his hair. His eyes dilate and I can feel the delicate pulse at his throat. His heart is racing. “You can ask me anything you want, Dom. But you have to promise not to get upset when you hear the answers.”
His eyebrows shoot up. He pulls away slightly, but I pull him back against me, slipping a hand intimately into the back of his hair. I’ve dreamed of digging my fingers into his silky red locks, teasing their softness. But this is different. Aggressive.
“We can tell each other anything, can’t we?” I continue. “We made a pact that we’d be honest with each other. Didn’t we?”
His chin lifts and I see the concern in his eyes. He’s got an excellent poker face, but I can tell he’s unsure if he wants to finish the conversation he started.
“Especially when it matters,” I press, and he takes a deep breath as if it might ground him.
“Of course,” he nods. “Of course we can.” He smiles weakly, like he’s trying to keep in control, to be my boss, and pretend this is a completely normal way for an employee to be pressed against him.
“Then ask your question again.” I nod, running my fingers back down his neck and enjoying the shiver that radiates off him. This new tension between us sits between the fear in his eyes and the heat of anticipation. We both know the way I’m touching him is not innocent, nor is his question.
“You like him?” he says finally, swallowing uncomfortably before he clips out his friend’s name. “Isaac.” His hands adjust on my hips as if he’s pulling his wet palms from the hot leather of a car seat that’s been broiling in the sun. “You—you like him, yes?” he repeats, but the words are
almost breathless, having lost his earlier casualness.
I smile, appreciating the new weight in his tone. “If you’re asking if I think Isaac is sexy,” I say frankly, “then the answer is yes.”
Dom tenses and I tilt my head as if to say: You asked.
I palm his neck and keep going. “If you’re asking if I’ve been having fun drinking whiskey and hanging out by the pool and dancing with Isaac ... the answer is yes. If you’re asking if I’m intrigued by his whole broodish bad-boy vibe—yes, to that one too.”
Dom’s jaw clenches tighter with every word I say.
“Everything you’re afraid I’m going to like about Isaac,” I continue, twirling my finger into the locks along the back of his skull, “I do like about Isaac.”
Dom’s hands squirm against my back, falling to my hips, ready to let me go. But I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and don’t let him. His eyes shoot over my shoulder, because it’s the only thing he can do to get away from me.
“You asked, Dom.” I nudge him so he’ll look at me. “Only I don’t think that’s what you really wanted to ask. Is it?”
There’s a pinch in his brow as his gaze comes back to me. He’s seen exactly where this conversation is going and he doesn’t want more.
“Is it?” I push, holding him hard against me. “What you really want to ask is if I’m attracted to Isaac, isn’t it?”
“Ilsa—”
“Isn’t it?”
His gaze cuts over my shoulder again, his jaw tightening.
“Actually, that’s not what you really want to ask either, huh?” I press. “No, what you really want to ask is if I want to fuck him?”
“Jeez, Ilsa!” Dom’s eyes go wild, looking around quickly to see if anyone is listening to us. But I slide my hand over his cheek and turn his gaze back to me.
“We’ve played this game for a long time, Dom,” I say, when his eyes finally meet mine. “Why don’t we actually talk about it?” His cheek is hot against my hand, but I won’t let him look away. “In truth, I think you’re afraid Isaac is everything you’re not. I think you’re afraid I’m falling into his arms because he’s aggressive, and sexy, and charming. And you know what—you’re right. Isaac is all of those things and—yes!—I am attracted to him for it.”
Dom’s face goes white. He doesn’t want to hear this. Everything he’s afraid of, I’m saying out loud.
“But Dom,” I say sharply, and he inhales. I move my hand down his chin to adjust the bowtie at his throat. “Here’s where you’re waaaaay off the mark. I couldn’t wait for this weekend. Our last business trip together. And, I couldn’t wait because I was finally spending this weekend with you. Us in the same suite. Only, I didn’t know Isaac would be here.” I move my fingers back up to cup his jaw and the muscles tighten where he’s gritting his teeth and saying nothing. “I wanted to spend this weekend with you. Only, you’ve been holing yourself up in your room doing God-knows-what, and Isaac’s the only one around for me to hang out with.”
“I had work,” he clips out, and I run my thumb over the bottom corner of his mouth.
“Great,” I say, shaking my head. “Do your work. Do your job if that’s what’s important.”
He lowers his eyes.
“Just don’t get mad when you find me sitting in the pool half-drunk with the guy you’re scared shitless I’m going to choose over you.”
His eyes snap up, and I tilt my head to the side in defiance.
“Get over yourself, Dom. You’re the one who’s been blowing me off. So don’t pull me out onto this dance floor and ask me if I want to sleep with your friend if you don’t want to hear the answer. Because the answer is yes. Yes, I one-hundred-percent want to fuck Isaac. And yes, I absolutely want to do it because he’s sexy, and aggressive, and takes what he wants.”
Dom pulls his face away from my hand, but I grab his chin and turn him back to me.
“But don’t for a second think I want Isaac because he’s better than you,” I say boldly. “When I fantasize about fucking Isaac, it’s completely different than when I fantasize about fucking you. Because you’re different people! You excite different things in me. But don’t you dare think I’d fuck Isaac because he’s sexier than you, or more interesting than you, or has something going on that you don’t. The only reason I’d fuck him is because you let me.”
Dom stares at me, shocked. We’ve stopped dancing and are standing in the middle of the dance floor, not moving. I can’t read his expression, other than he’s looking at me like he can’t believe a single thing I’ve just said. It felt amazing to say it, but now I’m suddenly cold. And he isn’t moving. I can’t tell if he’s pissed that I just admitted I want to screw Isaac, or if he’s registered what I actually said.
“Say something.” I say, laid bare, but he doesn’t move. I loosen my grip on his shoulders, but he’s like a statue with his hands fisted at my hips. I’ve just admitted that I want him, that I fantasize about him, and the only thing I know for sure right now is that he’s pissed. A surge of red creeps up his neck and obviously I shouldn’t have said any of it.
Tears burn behind my eyes and I bite my cheek to keep them from falling.
Fuck him.
Seriously, I’ve wanted to tell him how I feel for months and now that I have—sure, it wasn’t ideal, but still—this is how he reacts?
Fuck him.
He doesn’t move, and his gaze is so damn hard, I feel the tears falling. I yank his hands off my hips.
“Got it,” I say hoarsely. “Loud and clear.”
I uncage myself from him and stalk off the dance floor, heading straight for the bar. I need a fucking drink. Preferably ten. I wipe the rogue tears from my cheek and look back at him only once to see him frozen in the same damn position, staring out at the silk lanterns with that stoic look.
Fine.
Just ... fine.
I cut the corner around one of the high-boys and run straight into Isaac. He swoops back to avoid a collision, a large glass of wine in each of his hands. His eyes are wide and I can’t tell if he was close enough to the dance floor to hear what we said, but yeah—I’m definitely crying, so there’s that.
I grab one of the glasses of wine he’s holding and chug it. It’s red and warm, and it slides down my throat with a chocolately deliciousness that tastes too good for this moment. I swallow it all down before looking back to Isaac.
“This is that expensive shit, huh?” I say finally and he nods. “Sorry.”
“Nope, I’m pretty sure these are the moments when you’re supposed to drink the expensive shit.”
I smile for a second not sure what to say to that and Isaac catches my eye, but there’s a sadness in it.
“Did you hear all that?” I ask and he shrugs.
“Just the important bits,” he admits and I can’t tell if he’s upset or matter-of-fact about it. I just laid out my heart to the guy I’ve been in love with for two years—shit! I really am in love with him, aren’t I? Brilliant. I look over at Dom, but he’s walked to the far side of the dance floor and is standing with his back to us. Awesome. Sure, I won’t deny that everything I said came out shitty. And yes, I absolutely admitted to wanting to fuck another man; but that’s what he was asking wasn’t it?
“I didn’t know you were in love with him,” Isaac says. His brown eyes soft and apologizing, like he knows he fucked up and made this worse for all three of us.
“Yes, you did.” I say back, grabbing the second glass of wine and drinking it down too. “You just like to play with fire.” Isaac’s eyes cut to the ground. But really, we’re both at fault. We both flirted and put on a show and tested the waters. And yes, there absolutely is something between us, but I’m hung up on Dom. If Dom wasn’t here, this would all be very different.
I put both the glasses on the high-boy beside me and step forward. I cup Isaac’s stubble-covered cheeks and kiss him. It’s soft and delicate and he’s surprised at my advance. He knows Dom is right there. We both do. But
then his arms wrap around me and the kiss deepens. His tongue finds its way inside mine and the pressure of it all is sad and impulsive and beautiful. I melt into his mouth, because I damn-well need to be kissed. His hands snake up and down my back and the kiss is hot and filled with desire. Filled with need. And I taste everything I could have, if Dom wasn’t here. Everything that would overwhelm and fill me and burn me to ash.
When I pull away I’m breathless. This spark between us burns hot. Kindled with a fresh anger I want to use to slap Dom.
“Damn!” I say under my breath, wiping my mouth with my fingers, my heart pounding. “You are good at that.”
Isaac smiles at me proudly with a smirk that says: If only... But I brush my wet cheeks and we both know that’s not happening.
“I—” I start to explain, but Isaac shakes his head.
“I get it.” He nods to the dance floor where Dom stands on the far side of the room with his back to us. “I should probably go apologize to my friend.”
I smile weakly. “I don’t envy that.”
“Not your problem.”
I squeeze Isaac’s arm before retreating out of the ballroom, leaving the red lights and the sparkles behind me. I take a cab back to our hotel and when the elevator dumps me out on the top floor I kick off my shoes, pull down my hair and walk straight through the suite and out onto the terrace.
The wind is vicious and alive out on the balcony and it tosses my hair in a tornado of curls. I look out at the skyline and everything inside me feels wild and unhooked. My tears blur all the lights into a symphony of color. My heart rioting.
It’s easy to stand on top of the world and imagine your life a different way: a life filled with fantasy and pleasure and possibility. It’s easy to forget how much it hurts to learn your vision is faulty, and the things you thought were one way end up being a completely different color and shape. It’s easy to forget the sobering effect of waking up in the morning and seeing the truth in sharp and brutal focus. It’s dangerous to hope. It’s dangerous to allow yourself to get carried away.
