Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Dom’s image ran through my head. He wanted to be around. The truth was, I enjoyed his company. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.
Was I ready to do that?
I wasn’t used to putting myself first. What I needed, what I wanted, always came second. To Hannah. To my business. To what the world demanded of me.
Perhaps it was time for a change. He certainly seemed to want that.
Every day, I got a text from him—often more than one. He dropped little tidbits of himself into them, often referred to our night together, but, more importantly, checked in on me.
Dom
Hope your day was good. I was thinking of you, so mine was.
It feels like years since I kissed you. How has it only been 2 days? I need to rectify that. I miss you, Cherry G.
Or last night’s…
Dom
My sheets still smell like you. Us. I like falling asleep to your scent. But I prefer falling asleep with you beside me. Let’s make that happen.
Sometimes, I responded. Other times, his words left me so overwhelmed, I couldn’t find a way to reply. Sometimes, I was so breathless, nothing formed but a sense of desire and longing so intense, I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
My buzzer rang out, startling me. I shut the fridge door and crossed over to the front door. I wasn’t expecting anyone or a delivery, and I was too short for the peephole to do me much good.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Cherry G, it’s me. Open up.”
“Dom?” I said, surprised and frankly delighted.
“You have other men calling you Cherry G?” He paused, his voice becoming gravelly. “You have other men visiting you?”
I tried to tamp down the thrill that shot through me at his words. His possessive tone. Not even my husband had been possessive. He had been too laid-back and friendly to act that way. Dom was the exact opposite of Mike. In every single way.
“You gonna let me in, woman?” he growled.
Laughing, I flipped the lock and opened the door, stepping back and bracing myself. Still, the sight of him made me inhale quickly.
He wore his usual jeans and leather jacket. A blue T-shirt stretched across his chest. He carried a bag and a bouquet of flowers. His Doc Martens were dusty, his jeans tight, and his expression intense. Yet his eyes were soft as they met mine. His gaze was focused on me and me alone. He stopped in front of me, swooping down without a word and capturing my mouth. His kiss was powerful. Drugging. I whimpered into his mouth as he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close. I felt the scrape of his scruff along my jaw. The fullness of his lips on mine. His minty fresh taste. His manly scent that wrapped around me as tight as his embrace. His long exhale of air, as if he’d been waiting to breathe until he kissed me. As if he couldn’t live without doing so.
He pulled back, cupping my face. “Hello, Cherry G.”
“Hi,” I replied, breathless. “I-I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I told you I’d see you this week. Chase mentioned Hannah said you had today off. I thought I’d give you a break and come make you dinner.” He winked as he strode past me. “And these flowers are for you.” He deposited the large bouquet in my arms.
“You cook?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Of course I do. I’m a single guy. I can’t survive on takeout.”
He took off his jacket, the muscles in his arms rippling, making his tattoos stand out. “I hope you like steak, Cherry G, because that’s what’s on the menu.”
“I do.”
“Great. Now, shut the door and come sit down. Tell me about your day.”
I watched Dom move around with the confidence of a man used to being in the kitchen. He located the wineglasses and corkscrew and poured us each a glass of wine, then got busy, rubbing spices into two thick steaks, prepping potatoes, and, with another wink, pouring a salad into a bowl. “I cook,” he said with a grin. “But it’s simple. I use a lot of shortcuts.”
“Still beats takeout every day.”
He nodded. “It gets tiresome after a while. I enjoy a meal out, the occasional pizza or Chinese in, but I like good, homemade food. I taught myself the basics.”
I set the table, easing around him as he moved. He was in control and smooth as he worked. He turned as I sidled past, pulling me close and kissing my neck. “You smell so good,” he murmured. “Right here, especially,” he added, nosing my collar out of the way.
I shivered. “You’re supposed to be cooking.”
“Oh, baby, believe me, I am.” He bit down playfully. “I’m boiling up for you.”
I laughed at his cheesy remark, but for some reason, I wound my arms around his waist and held him tight. He tossed the utensil in his hand to the counter and spun me in his arms, humming in my ear. We danced around my small kitchen, holding each other, him humming, me smiling. It was ridiculous—and fun.