Why does he always have to act like such a stone wall? Why does he seem so afraid of losing control? If Slade at least would maybe mouth back at me, then maybe I wouldn’t dislike him so much. And maybe I would like him more if he at least bothered talking to me some time.
I wouldn’t mind hearing him tell me that I look pretty, or that he likes my new dress, or the way I wear my hair...
“Did you hear what I said?” Crossing my arms, I smile again but bitchier this time, “Pick up the bags.”
We watch each other for a moment and I would kill to at least have him snap at me, or discipline me for my obnoxiousness but Dom seems intent on not giving me the satisfaction and it stirs something in me, making me uncomfortable.
It makes me uncomfortable that I crave something from him that he doesn’t seem to be willing to give.
Turning, Dom picks up the bags without a word and to me they were so heavy that my fingers are still aching but Dom looks like he’s carrying balloons. He’s strong. A lot stronger than me and I stop smiling, walking ahead of him, up the staircase to my room.
As per usual, no pleasant small talk is exchanged between us and I grind my teeth because Dom makes me feel the exact way my parents make me feel. Insignificant and pointless.
My stomach turns at the sight of the giant “family” portrait on the second floor. Not that we look like a family. Melody and I are seated, hugging each other and smiling and my parent’s stand in the background, their faces severe and they’re not touching.
Like this they look like evil and in a way, I suppose they also are. After all, look what my father did to Melody. That knot in my stomach intensifies when I think about how he treated her, the yelling, the slamming of doors, the time he grabbed her by the arm so hard, she had bruises for a week...
He couldn’t stand her partying, the fact that she made him look bad. The fact that she wasn’t the perfect, robotic daughter he always wanted.
Melody’s only eleven months older than me but my father always put harder expectations on her to be a good representative of the Michaels name. She could never live up to it and so six months ago, Melody disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving everything behind.
She gave me no warning, not even an extra hard hug that evening or a secret wink to let me know that something wasn’t right before she disappeared.
Her disappearing makes no sense. Both of us have deals with sponsors and Melody used to take it pretty seriously. For her to just leave like that is not like her. I miss her like crazy but one day we will meet again. I will find her and we will be together. And then...
Then we will be happy.
Quickly glancing over my shoulder, my eyes land on Dom’s stony face and I want to grimace. I’m expecting him to at least be taking sneak peeks of my pert derriere but his gaze is fixed forward and I clutch my small fists. What is wrong with him? He’s a man isn’t he? Why don’t I have an effect on him?
Pouting inwardly, I open the door to my luxe bedroom and I immediately get attacked by my white, Pomeranian Persnickety. Getting up on her hind legs she scratches at me to pet her and a genuine smile crosses my face.
“Hey, princess Persy,” I coo and she rolls over to her back and I titter, “you’re such a little, roly poly, aren’t you?” At that she barks and I scratch her belly until there’s a clearing of a throat behind me.
Right, Dom needs inside.
Standing, I get out of his way in a very dignified manner and he puts the bags down on my fluffy carpet. If he has a problem with my shameless consumption, he doesn’t show it and with my hand on the doorknob, I order,
“You can leave now.”
As always I expect him to leave my presence without a word but there is some tension around his eyes. “Why is the door to the balcony open?” he says and his tone sometime gives me goosebumps. There’s something artificial about it, like he’s hiding his true voice. And sometimes I can detect a growling rumble in the background that gives me the shivers.
Tilting my head to the side, I reply, “Because I want to keep it that way. I like the fresh air coming in from the gardens. Now leave,” I tug at the thick straps of my dress, “I need to change into something more comfortable.”
As he’s standing in the middle of my room, I watch his eyes change. They turn deep, hard and punishing, his gaze brushing down my body like the licks of a wicked tongue and my veins fire with heat, making me feel exposed and like I’m the one who needs to please him and not the other way around.
It makes me insecure because for the first time Dom is not lookingthroughme. He’s looking rightatme. And suddenly I care about the way I come across to him so much so that I hate it. I wanted him to look at me but now I don’t. Not if it’s going to make me feel like his gaze is stripping me of all my power.
Jerking my chin, I say, “Stop looking at me like that.” My voice trembles and it embarrasses me. “I want you to leave.” To my surprise he doesn’t hurry but firmly shuts the door to the balcony and I stomp my foot. “What are you doing? Said I want it open.”
He’s defying my orders. Defyingme, when he’s not allowed to.
“The balcony stays closed,” he says, that rare expression in his eyes that was there recently, now gone.
“You’re my father’s bodyguard. Not mine.” My mom has one too, an older guy in his mid-forties. Melody and I never had one though, not even when we were kids.
“The balcony stays closed, Miss. Michaels,” Dom repeats formally. I gawk at him and just to spite him, I shove it open again, my eyes flaring when they meet his. He doesn’t say anything, but a sudden energy rolls off his body, a lashing one that makes me go dizzy and I can feel his agitation in the air.
Without a word, he leaves, shutting the door harder than usual and a tremble moves through me. It’s not like him, to show emotion. He doesn’t react to my whims and antics. Has he all this time kept something hidden underneath that sturdy, immovable surface?