by Tee O'Fallon
Her eyes were tightly shut, but she extended her injured hand. Blood seeped from the cut on her left index finger, and he turned on the tap. She hissed as the water hit her finger, but kept it steady.
Dom pumped liquid soap from the dispenser and carefully cleansed the cut, holding her finger under the running water.
“I’m fine.” Her voice was shaky. “I can do that.”
“Let me.” His eyes met hers, and he was thankful the anger had vanished, although what he saw now was exhaustion. “It’s my fault you cut yourself. I distracted you.”
“Not really.” She shook her head. “I’ve had other things on my mind all day. I should know better than to take my eyes off what I’m doing.”
Fuck, but he still felt like shit. If he hadn’t insisted she look at him, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Somehow, everything he did wound up hurting her. One way or the other.
He grabbed a sheet of paper towel and began dabbing Daisy’s cut dry. A small amount of blood continued to ooze out, so he took another piece of paper towel and snugly wrapped her finger. He adjusted her hand so it was above her heart, but didn’t let go. He began massaging her tight lower back muscles in slow circles. “Keep it above your heart until it stops bleeding. I don’t think you need stitches.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath, then closed her eyes. Tension lines appeared at her mouth, and he was surprised when she leaned into him and rested the side of her head against his chest.
He kept kneading her muscles until he felt the tension ease from her body. “It’s Saturday. Why aren’t you going out with Jack tonight?”
She stiffened. “I’m staying in tonight. Alone.”
Alone on her birthday? Something was definitely wrong.
He took her hand and unwrapped the paper towel from her finger to see if the bleeding had stopped. “Got a first-aid kit?”
She nodded. “In the bathroom.”
He retrieved the kit and set it next to the sink. He pulled out two large Band-Aids and applied them to her injured finger. Gently, he held her hand to his mouth and dropped a light kiss on her fingers. “Better?”
“What the hell’s going on here?” Jack looked from him to Daisy, his eyes blazing.
Sonofabitch has the worst timing.
And why hadn’t he heard the fucking truck? Damned thing was as loud as a freight train.
None too hurriedly, he lowered his hand from her back. He stepped to the side of the sink, honing in on Jack’s narrowed eyes and the firm set of his jaws. He’d obviously seen him snugged up against Daisy, massaging her back, and the guy was none too happy about it. And Dom didn’t give a shit.
Neither Jack nor Daisy knew it yet, but inside a month Jack would be locked up in jail facing murder charges along with his dirtbag buddy, Smith. Even if Jack wasn’t a hired killer there would never be a future for him with Daisy. Because there was no way she had the hots for the guy.
Not when she’d been on the verge of making love with me in her office.
She held up her bandaged finger. “I was careless de-thorning roses. Dom was giving me first aid.”
“You okay?” Jack’s eyes softened on her, but when he shot Dom another look they were still hard with warning, and he understood the message plain as day: stay the fuck away from her.
“The truck needs to be swept out,” Jack said to him, although it was more of an order. “Parked it down the street. Some asshole’s blocking the alleyway.”
“I’ll take care of it.” As he brushed past Jack he could practically feel the bolts of anger radiating from the guy.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d swept out the truck and emptied the plant debris and soil into a nearby dumpster. He was about to lock the doors when Jack grabbed him by the shirt, shoving him roughly against the truck.
“You moving in on my girl?” he snarled.
Resisting the urge to take Jack’s ass to the ground, Dom took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you think you saw. I was only helping her out with her cut.”
“By giving her a back massage?” Jack bared his teeth, crowding even more into Dom’s personal space.
“She was tense and upset.”
Jack continued glaring at him, as if sizing up the veracity of his answers. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and for a moment he thought it still might come to blows. “So long as we understand each other.”
“We do.” Dom nodded, finally sensing the other man’s anger diminishing.
Jack released Dom’s shirt and backed away. “Last night didn’t go the way I’d hoped, so when I saw you two together, I just assumed…”
He shrugged “Forget it. Guess I’d want to punch out any guy I thought was moving in on my territory.” And if anyone threatened Daisy, he’d go ballistic.
Jack continued glaring at him a moment longer before nodding subtly. “Good deal. Let’s talk business” He glanced first over Dom’s shoulder, then his own. “I met with Smith at the Piazza.”
His muscles tightened. “Fuck, I shoulda been there.”
Jack shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t have. Until this goes down, you need to stay away from Smith. I got no love for the guy, but he hates you. I mean he seriously hates you.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Putting the silver bracelets on Smith would give him almost as much pleasure as locking up the boss. “I only just met him, so what’s his fucking problem?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” Jack looked over his shoulder again. “Except that he did hard time in Leavenworth. That’s enough to turn anyone into an asshole.”
Dom gave a knowing snort. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Smith got half his training in one of the most violent federal pens in the country. He’d have to find a way to snap a shot of the guy and run it through photo recognition.
“Do we need to do any recon tonight?” he asked, fishing to find out what Jack was doing now that his hot date got squashed.
Jack shook his head. “The boss doesn’t want us doing anything else until tomorrow.”
He attached the heavy padlock to the truck’s doors. “What about the guns? Are they inside already?”
“Dunno. Like I said, that’s Smith’s job. I can’t stand the guy, but he’ll come through.”
He knitted his brows. “So Smith’s the only one who will know where they are until right before this goes down?” This was bad. If he didn’t know where they were, there’d be no chance of disabling them.
Jack wore an equally disgusted look. “I know that’s fucked up, but we got no say in it. The boss assigned each of us specific duties. That one went to Smith, and he won’t tell me anything until tomorrow.”
As he followed Jack back to the shop a sense of foreboding prickled his skin. Usually, when he worked undercover he pretty much knew how things would play out because he was the one orchestrating the whole thing. Not this time. Being in the dark was a dangerous thing on a UC op, and he didn’t like it. There were too many unknowns, and it was putting him seriously on edge.
Jack he could handle. But his gut told him Smith was a loose cannon with the fuse already lit.
Chapter Seventeen
Dripping with sweat, Daisy turned off the Body Combat video and dragged a towel down her face and neck. She chugged the last of the bottled water, then went into the bathroom and stripped out of her workout clothes.
Nothing like a punching and kicking, pulse-pounding routine to work off emotional flab.
It was a therapeutic ritual she’d begun years ago, a way to land imaginary body blows on the people who’d hurt her the most. Not the most exciting way to spend her birthday, but for forty intense minutes she wasn’t plagued with sadness. Unfortunately, the effect never lasted long enough, and tonight it dissipated all too quickly.
“Dammit.” She cranked the water on in the shower, then yanked back the plastic curtain with such force she nearly ripped it off the metal rod. She stepped in, jerked the curtain closed behind her, and tilted her face to the spray.
If only her grandpar
ents hadn’t been so obsessed with the so-called purity of their family line. It was archaic, really, and all because half her genetics wasn’t blue blood, like theirs. Her mother had been a beautiful, loving woman from the Scottish Highlands, but she was a commoner and had never been welcomed into the family.
Most of the rage had diminished long ago, but she had to accept that some of the hurt and resentment would always be there. If she didn’t get over this woe-is-me mentality it would consume her. She grabbed the bottle of body soap and a washcloth, then vigorously scrubbed herself clean and shampooed her hair.
After toweling off, she applied a fresh Band-Aid to her cut finger, which had finally stopped throbbing, then she stepped into a pair of low-cut jeans and an oversize canary yellow, V-neck cardigan. Next she blow-dried her hair and brushed it until it hung around her shoulders in dark, shiny waves.
The face staring back at her in the mirror was thirty-five years old. “Happy birthday to me.” For the first time since she could remember, she regretted being alone on this day. Mostly she regretted not stopping on the way home for one of those mini-chocolate mousse cakes she habitually treated herself to on her birthday. Why, oh why did I not bring home some kind of chocolate to get me through the night?
Out of nostalgia, she dug into her jewelry box and slipped on one of the necklaces her parents had given her. She didn’t know if it was real gold and couldn’t have cared less. Looking in the mirror, she fingered the antiqued gold chain dotted every inch or so with tiny enamel cloisonné flowers. This had been one of the last gifts her mother and father had given her before they died, and she loved it.
The doorbell rang, and she frowned. No one had buzzed her on the intercom, and both neighbors on her floor were away for the weekend. She set the brush onto the vanity and tiptoed in her bare feet to the front door. Leaning in, she looked through the peephole. She gasped and stepped back.
Dom was outside her apartment.
She held her hands to the sides of her face, ignoring the bell when it rang again. The sight of him standing there, so close and yet so far, had her mind jumbling.
Should I let him in? No. But he’ll just keep ringing the damn bell.
Why is he here? To get a piece of my ass. Probably. Maybe.
I don’t want to be alone tonight. There it was. She was so freaking tired of being alone.
“Daisy, open up,” he said through the door. “I know it’s your birthday. I brought cake.”
Cake? She narrowed her eyes, then peered again through the peephole. Sure enough, he had a bakery box in his hands. “What kind?” she asked through the door. Don’t say chocolate, don’t say chocolate, don’t say chocolate. Because if he did, she’d have to…
“Chocolate.”
…let him in.
Groaning, she pressed her forehead to the door. “Don’t do this to yourself,” she whispered, both sides of her brain at all-out war.
She opened the door.
For a moment, they stared at each other across the threshold, neither one moving or saying a word. Finally, he gave her a hesitant smile. “You gonna let me in?”
She stepped aside, and as he brushed past her, the shifting air brought with it his clean, fresh scent.
“Where do you want it?” When he held up the cake box, his dark blue Henley tightened across his chest, outlining firm pectorals.
“Kitchen.” She closed the door and followed him, her gaze inevitably drawn to his muscular jean-clad ass.
When he set the box onto the table and opened the lid, her taste buds did a little jig. The cake had to be six inches high and covered in what looked like the richest, most decadent chocolate frosting she’d ever seen. And if that wasn’t enough, the top of the cake was mounded high with chocolate roses and curls, adding another two inches to its height.
Unable to resist, she dragged her finger through the side of the cake, then stuck her finger into her mouth. “Mmmm.” She scooped up more and opened her mouth.
“Hey.” Dom grabbed her wrist. “No more until you make a wish and blow out the candle.” Leaning in, he closed his mouth over her finger and sucked off the frosting.
She gaped at him, totally unprepared for the lightning zing of goose bumps pebbling every inch of her skin.
Without missing a beat, he turned and opened the refrigerator. “Milk?”
“Uh, yeah.” She cleared her throat, then set the table with glasses, plates, forks, and napkins.
While she poured the milk, he extracted the cake from the box and stuck a pink candle in the center. He surprised her even more by pulling out her chair for her. Before sitting, she looked up into his eyes, confused and delighted by his unexpected thoughtfulness.
“You didn’t have to do this.” She sat as he pushed in her chair.
He gave her a pensive look, then sat in the adjacent chair. “I wanted to.”
“Why?” She crossed her arms. “And how did you know it was my birthday? For that matter, how did you even get into my building without being buzzed in?”
Dom had pulled a small butane lighter from his pocket. “You wanna interrogate me or eat cake?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Both.”
“Fine.” He set the lighter on the table. “I wanted to do this for you because you deserve it. Everyone deserves DiFonzo’s triple-chocolate mousse at least once a year.”
Triple-chocolate mousse cake? Daisy’s mouth watered so much she had to swallow. “And?”
“And I knew it was your birthday because I looked at the calendar on your desk.”
“Which you just happened to notice while you were ravaging me against the wall?” As much as she knew she shouldn’t, Daisy grinned.
“Nope.” He shook his head, grinning back. “Trust me, you had my full attention while I was ravaging you against the wall.”
“And?” she prodded, wanting to know how he’d gotten in.
“And my powers of persuasion are so finely honed that getting into your building was a…piece of cake.”
She burst out laughing. This was totally not how she’d expected to spend her birthday or whom she’d expected to spend it with.
“No more questions.” He picked up the lighter and lit the candle. “Make a wish, birthday girl.”
She set her palms flat on the table and leaned in, about to wish that the rest of the cake tasted as good as the frosting.
Dom rested his hand on one of hers, squeezing it. “Make it a good one.”
She glanced at their hands, then looked into his eyes. So blue, like the ocean. Her heart thumped a little faster. Don’t. Just enjoy the moment. She closed her eyes. I wish…things could have been different. She leaned in and blew out the candle.
Beside her, Dom clapped. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
She sliced off two mega-hunks of the rich cake. “How did you know to get chocolate cake?”
“You told me you loved chocolate.” He held out a plate while she slid the slice of cake onto it.
“When did I say that?” She slid the spatula under the second slice and plated it.
He set the plate down and locked gazes with hers. “A year ago.”
“You remembered that?” She raised her brows.
“I remember a lot of things.” His eyes lowered to her mouth. “Plus, it was written on your calendar. Speaking of which, when do I get my first paycheck? As you so snarkily enjoy reminding me, I do work for you.”
“Ahh.” She nodded, holding up a finger. “So that’s what the cake is about. Sucking up to the boss.”
“No. I can tell you’ve been down lately and thought you deserved something nice on your birthday.” The humorous look on his face suddenly faded as he picked up a fork. “Try the cake.”
She’d been about to, but his comment stopped her. That he’d done something so thoughtful on her birthday was almost too hard to believe. She swallowed a bite and moaned in pure ecstasy. “This is the richest, most chocolaty chocolate mousse cake I’ve ever had. It’s better than sex.”
Ironically, he’d been the last guy she’d had sex with. But for the second time since he’d walked in the door, she found herself laughing with the last person she ever expected to share her birthday with.
After finishing their cake, she carried two mugs of hot tea into the living room and handed one to Dom. He reached for it, and when she would have sat opposite him in her overstuffed chair, he patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Sit here. I have something else for you.”
She twisted her lips, then narrowed her eyes. “Oh, really?”
“Not that.” He frowned. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Fine.” She sat next to him, but not too close.
He set his mug onto a coaster and tugged a small red velvet box from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “I hope you like it.”
She stiffened, not reaching for the box. “I—I don’t know what to say. You shouldn’t have gotten me anything. The cake was more than enough.”
“Take it.” He held the box closer to her. “Happy birthday, Daisy.”
She set her mug onto another coaster and accepted the gift. With unsteady fingers, she flipped open the lid and gasped. “Oh…Dom.” Tears stung her eyes as she gazed down at the beautiful piece of jewelry. An antique gold broach in the shape of a vase, bursting with cloisonné enamel flowers—a perfect match to the necklace her parents had given her.
Tears began tumbling down her cheeks. “How did you know?”
He touched his fingers to the chain around her neck. “You wore that a year ago. Here,” he added as he took the pin from her trembling fingers, “allow me.”
He affixed the pin near the collar of her sweater, and when his fingers grazed her skin, a warm flush heated her neck. But it was more than just his touch that affected her. Her heart did a little flip-flop at the incredibly kind, incredibly thoughtful gesture. “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “How could you remember all these things from a year ago? Why would you—of all people—do that?”
