by Gina Kincade
Chapter Seven
Isaac
Dominick stands at the far side of the ballroom with a giant fish tank behind him. The glow of the tank turns him into a silhouette with his arms crossed, acting like the same old stubborn prick I know from college. He’s pissed. Of course he’s pissed, but for all the wrong reasons.
I walk up to him and his jaw clenches, an angry tendon protruding from his neck.
“You’re an idiot,” I say, and—
BAM! Dom cracks me one across the jaw in front of all his fancy business associates.
I stumble back, pain pounding through my face. I look through my burry vision to see Dom shaking out his hand and saying something in Chinese to the men who’ve started to gather. They motion toward me, alarmed, but Dom is waving his hands to calm them.
I swallow the blood in my mouth and shake it off, standing straight again. My ears ring, but I still grab Dom’s arm. “I deserved that,” I clip out. “I admit that. But now that you’ve got that out of your system, I’m going to ask politely for you to walk out of this ballroom and talk to me.”
“Fuck off,” Dom growls, glaring at me before turning to his colleagues to assure them this is nothing to be worried about.
“No, Dom,” I say, gripping his arm tighter to get his attention. “I have no qualms about punching you back in front of all of these men, which isn’t going to matter to me, because I’m not some big fancy lawyer anymore. But it’s gonna look pretty damn bad for you. So, I can throw you down and we can wrestle this out like dogs, or you can walk the fuck out of this ballroom and talk to me like a gentleman. It’s your choice.”
Dom glares at me and the blue light from the fish tank makes his features look severe. He’s doing his best to weigh his options and not explode. Suddenly he barks out something in Chinese that I don’t understand and he tosses my hand off of his arm, heading for the door. I look at the semi-circle of men in their tuxes, their eyes wide and faces pale. This is exactly why I got out of the corporate world. Because right now, I don’t give a shit what any of them think.
I race after Dom. He’s walked so quickly out of the ballroom that he’s clear down the convention hall corridor before I can catch up.
“Hey!” I tap his shoulder and he whips around ready to throw another punch. “Hey! I know you think this is college all over again. But—”
“What about ‘fuck-off’ do you not understand?” he steps forward, furious, squaring off with me. There’s ten years of angry shit he wants to say to me in that glare, which I don’t deserve, but he thinks I do.
“How about we start with the part where I tell you the girl you’re nuts about just told you she’s in love with you.” I toss back at him. “And then there’s the part where you were standing in that ballroom fuming like a fucking asshole instead of going after her.”
His face bunches, his skin fuming red. “That’s not what she said,” he snaps. “Actually, I’m pretty sure she said she wants to bang your brains out, so ...”
“Which you gave me permission to do, by the way,” I point out. “And—oh yeah—I’m not actually doing right now!”
“And what? You want a fucking metal?”
I shake my head at him. God-dammit! He can be a real prick sometimes.
“What is wrong with you? Did you not hear me say Ilsa is in love with you?”
“Yeah, I heard you say it.” His forehead creases angrily. “But all she said to me was she’s thought about us together, which, as I recall, was the same sentence in which she talked about wanting to fuck you.” Dom rolls his shoulders and glares at me like he’s made his point, the lights of the hallway hooding his eyes.
“Right.” I shake my head at him. “And that’s the whole damn problem, isn’t it? The fact that she’s even considered me? Right? And what? Does that taint her in your mind somehow? Is your perfect little image of her completely ruined now because she’s capable of being attracted to another man—and, of all people, me?”
Dom stares down the hallway, frowning and avoiding my question. Music from the ballroom pumps down the corridor, muffled by the carpeted walls and filling the silence. He doesn’t want to admit he’s held this grudge for years. He’s never said it to my face, but I’ve seen it in how he reacts. Any woman who’s ever given me a glance has become polluted in his eyes, because ... Hell, I don’t even know why. After all, he’s supposed to be my friend.
“Does it hurt more to know I want her back?” I say, throwing salt in the wound. His eyes cut to me something fierce, and at least he’s starting to admit his own bullshit. “Well grow up, Dom!” I snap at him. “We’re adults! Stop being childish and living in some fantasy land where the only person Ilsa wants is you. And guess what, we’re all animals. And animals want to fuck. So when she can’t fuck you, she’s gonna move on and start thinking about fucking—”
“Do you ever shut up?” Dom grabs the front of my tux and gets in my face. He’s pissed as shit, gripping my lapel and seething, but I’m not about to back down.
“Trust me, Dom,” I say, inches from his face. “If you don’t fuck her someone else will.”
“Stop talking about her like that!”
“No.” I say calmly as his hand tightens. “You want to know why? Because Ilsa just told you in so many words that she loves you and you’re standing here pissing a fit with me. So, you can either go back to our suite and do something about it, or you can let me do it.”
Dom’s second hand slams down against my chest and his eyes are a spitfire that’s about to throw me against the wall.
“Good,” I push back. “Get angry at me! That’s how you’re supposed to feel about the girl you’re in love with!”
His jaw tightens and I can tell he has no clue how to deal with what I’m saying.
“Look, you’re my friend, Dom,” I continue. “Which you may not believe right now, but it’s true. And I fucking asked if you’d have a problem with this ... and guess what: you do! So who are you really pissed off at right now? Neither of us did anything you didn’t give us permission to do.”
His gaze flutters with anger and recognition, not liking the truth.
“Yeah, exactly,” I say, grabbing his hands from my shirt and tossing them aside. “So, here’s the deal. I’m going to go back into that ballroom bar and get drunk off my ass, and then I’m going to go back to our suite, lock myself in my room, put on my headphones, and pass the fuck out. And you can forget I’m even there. Then I’ll get on a plane in the morning and be out of your hair.” He lifts his chin, but I’m not done. “Only—” I continue. “That’s not the last you’re going to see of me. Because in one month, if you don’t call me up and tell me that you and Ilsa are fucking like bunnies, then I’m going to look her up myself and get the job done.” I stab a finger into his chest and he stiffens. “And I mean it. I’m going to swoop in and make that girl scream like she’s never screamed before. Because Dom, she isn’t yours until you make her yours.”
Dom steps back like I’ve punched him. Sure, what I said is brutal. But it’s the truth. And cliché or not, the truth fucking hurts.
Ilsa doesn’t belong to anyone.
“You can hate me all you want, Dom,” I say, stepping back and adjusting my tux. “You can stand there and sulk and fume all night. But what you should actually be paying attention to is Ilsa.” I point back to the ballroom door she ran out of. “Ilsa doesn’t have to say she’s in love with you. All she had to do was run out of that ballroom crying and walk away from a sure thing.” I point to myself. “I’m the sure thing. So, the only person who’s allowed to sulk in his whiskey tonight is me. You, on the other hand? I don’t know what to do with you if you don’t pull your head out of your fucking ass and look at what’s in front of you.”
Dom is a fist of bunched up nerves, his face stricken. He stares at me like I threw champagne in his face.
“Seriously?” I say, wanting to slap him. “How many times do I have to say it? Ilsa is in love with you.”
&
nbsp; Dom bunches up his fists again, like he might punch me for telling him the one thing he wants to be true, which just shows exactly how stubborn he is.
“Why are you still standing here?” I ask, baffled. “Everyone in that ballroom already saw you punch me for dancing with the co-worker you’re in love with. No one expects you to walk back in there. Your deal is signed.”
“That shows how little you know about business,” Dom clips out.
“Or it shows how little you know about women,” I throw back. “This is exactly the reason Ilsa believes you’ll always put business before her. You get that, right? Because, you always do. Like right now. And hey, maybe that’s your first and only love anyway, and I just took a punch from you for no fucking good reason at all. Ilsa deserves better.”
I turn and walk away, my jaw aching. I don’t know if he heard any of that or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter. People don’t change, right? People always stay stuck in a rut with their head up their ass and never give a shit that they’re miserable, because it’s easier and more comfortable for everything to just stay the same. Right? Which is exactly why I quit my job, because if you don’t grab life by the balls, then what have you got?
Safety? Comfort? Stasis?
Fuck that.
Chapter Eight
Ilsa
I lie on my bed and stare out the floor-to-ceiling window at the skyline, exhausted. Curled up with the pillows, my face is tender from crying and my hair wind-blown and wild. I’m still wearing the dress from the banquet, which I should take off, but somehow I know that when I do this will all really be over.
I’ve thought about changing my flight, packing my things, and flying back to the states tonight. Alone. I could avoid Dom altogether and go straight to the office and ask for the promotion. This deal went beautifully. All I have to do is tell them I’m ready and I want to start as soon as possible. Show initiative. Explain that I’m eager for new responsibility, a change of pace, a fresh start.
That’s all I wanted with Isaac in the first place, wasn’t it? To start over? To be someone else? It’s an alluring proposition until you realize what you want is the man who quietly stole your heart ... but somehow doesn’t want it.
I sigh and get up, walking to the window. At least I know how Dom really feels and I can get over it and move on. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
A soft knock comes at my door and I look at the clock. It’s almost midnight and I haven’t heard either Dom or Isaac come back from the banquet. I toss my wrecked hair out of my face and drag a finger under my swollen eyes. I probably look like a terror, but at this point, I’m sure it doesn’t matter.
I open the door tentatively and my skin prickles when I see Dom on the other side. I don’t regret saying the things I said. I don’t regret telling him any of it, but ... my stomach turns at the sheer fact that now I have to face him.
Dom looks as distraught as I feel. His face is grim and his green eyes are hidden in the dark. I open the door wider to let the room light illuminate him and see that his hair is a wreck. His tuxedo coat and bowtie have been discarded and the top of his collar is askew. I’m surprised to see that even a few of the top buttons are missing.
“I have four questions,” Dom says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, and he looks to the ground as if he’s not sure if these are questions he should ask. After all, he didn’t like the answers to the last ones.
“Okay,” I say softly, catching the storm in his eyes. But it’s a new storm that’s windblown and uncertain. It’s not the stone-cold fury from before.
“First, I need to apologize,” he asserts, leaning his hand against the door jamb. “I’ve been caught up in my own ...” He frowns, his thumb tapping against the door with a surprising nervousness. “Caught up in my own psychosis,” he says finally. “I suppose we all live in our heads sometimes. And me ... maybe I do a little too much.”
He runs his other hand through his hair, strangling the wisps between his fingers, causing them to stand on end. Those elegant fingers clutch the back of his head intensely, and I catch the wobble in his breath. It makes me want to reach out and cup his face to comfort him. But, I can’t. I’m too wrecked and confused about what he wants and why he’s standing here.
“I did hear everything you said back there,” he continues and I swallow hard, unsure if that’s a good thing. We all have our own distorted filters. We tend to see the world the way we personally want to, rather than as it is. “I don’t know why I was so resistant,” he continues. “But I heard you. I was just ... I was caught up in proving that you and Isaac ...” His words catch and a sheen of emotion softens his eyes.
I force myself not to react. I know those emerald eyes are the death of me, and my instinct is to reach out and brush the hair from his face. But that’s not how this works. Not after what happened in the ballroom. I laid myself bare and he didn’t say anything. In fact, he let me walk away. Yes, it’s possible I shouldn’t have said those things to my boss. But right now, this isn’t my boss I’m talking to.
“Four questions?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Was there something you wanted to ask?”
Dom nods curtly, grabbing the hem of his untucked shirt and pulling it down with a raw awkwardness. His shoulders hunch as he tries to find the words and I see the quiet Irish boy I fell for. Not the man in the board room, but the one who’d sit on the floor and laugh over noodles and let his guard down, the vulnerable man under all that polish.
“Yes, right.” Dom nods again, but when he looks up his eyes are harder, less sweet and more determined. A fist in my belly twists and I’m scared of what he’s going to ask.“I want to get my facts straight,” he says and my skin breaks into a sweat, my back still exposed from the cut of this dress. His jaw sets and he looks right at me, his expression a mix of determination and wounded pride. I lift my chin, telling myself I have nothing to hide. I have feelings and desires, and I won’t be ashamed of them.
“Go ahead,” I say softly, stepping closer to the doorframe, which causes the strap of my dress to slip down my shoulder. Dom’s eyes flick to my skin and I’ve half a mind to right the strap, but I don’t. I’ve spent months being polite and prim. Every night I’ve closed my eyes and imagined what would happen in a moment just like this one. Will he tell me the strap has fallen like a gentleman? Or will he use it as an excuse to touch me?
Dom’s jaw twitches. “If I’m not mistaken...” he says, his eyes flicking over the column of my throat before licking his lips as if the words need lubrication. “You made it clear that you like me.”
He looks up. It’s such a simple thing to say. Such a tiny inconsequential thing, like the strap on my shoulder, yet it holds everything.
I lean against the door frame and let the strap inch lower. My head tilts against the door and the hair falls off my neck; my mess of hair that’s already been gripped by the wind. And here Dom is—at my door —asking me to admit how I feel—again.
“Yes,” I say softly, not denying him. But I’m not rewarded with a smile. In fact, he doesn’t even nod to acknowledge what I’ve said. Instead, he’s still standing there calculating.
“Two,” Dom continues. “You were only interested in Isaac because I made you think I wasn’t interested? Isaac was on the table because you thought I was off it ... yes?”
His clipped tone ties a knot in my stomach, only I’ve heard this tone before, and suddenly I realize what he’s doing. He’s laying down the terms and clarifying the agreement. He’s making sure he has all the information before negotiating a counter offer.
This is how Dom takes what he wants.
I tip my head up and lock in his stare, tilting my body forward slowly, and daring him to look down the front of my dress. “Yes,” I agree again, catching the crisp scent of soap that he washes with. It’s a fresh, bright smell that makes me ache. How many more questions are there to this negotiation? Four, did he say?
“Good,” he gruffs out, and my lips part at the thick
ness in his tone. Dom’s eyes sparkle as he gears up to ask the next question and my skin tightens. He’s beautiful. His disheveled look makes him more gorgeous to me somehow, like we’ve broken through all of our pretenses and are finally seeing each other. “Have you really fantasized about fucking me?”
His words are so direct my mouth falls open. The question feels like he’s reached inside my dress and pulled out my tits. In fact, I’m so caught off guard I wish that’s exactly what he was doing.
“Yes,” I say hoarsely, in answer to his question. After all, fantasizing is exactly what I’m doing at this moment, imagining the erotic tickle of my long hair brushing against my back as my head rolls back and his hands thrum my nipples. “Yes,” I repeat, the word a breathy moan that makes Dom’s eyes dilate. I never imagined Dom would ask me anything so directly. I never knew that one word—yes—could make me so hot.
“One more question,” Dom asks thickly and I lift my head. He’s no more than two inches from me. He could take me with a kiss if he wanted to, and I lock my gaze on him to egg him on, giving him permission. Kiss me, Dom. Taste me. Fuck me. Ask the damn question!
“Yes?” I encourage, knowing there’s a pivot that happens in all negotiations, a point where the power turns and you realize you will bend to all of your opponent’s demands. And right now, Dom could ask me anything.
“How do you fantasize fucking me?”
I bite my lip to hide my whimper. Dom didn’t just ask that, did he? And yet, I’m so turned on that he did. My panties are so wet that my mind clouds with every dirty fantasy.
I step forward and we both hiss as my tits brush across his chest. I tilt my head up and my lips graze his chin. It’s barely a touch, but the whisper of my mouth on his skin has my pussy aching.
