It feels poignantly sweet to have Dominic sit next to me. I know he considers me a snake, but right now I’m willing to take comfort where I can. He hands me another vodka, and I drink it.
I feel tension slowly leave as his body heat seeps into me, and I close my eyes for a moment and pretend the last ten years didn’t happen.
Maybe it’s the alcohol—no. It isn’t the alcohol. The Pryce metabolism ensures that it’s never the alcohol. But my shields are down for now, leaving me vulnerable.
Without thinking, I lean closer to him. Back then, I would have sought his protection, comfort and love. And he would have given it all to me freely, never holding back.
He’s going to push you away.
I know, but I can extract a fraction of a second more of make-believe happiness…can’t I? Surely he doesn’t hate me as much as he says he does. He isn’t probing, he isn’t raging…
He actually seems unhappy I’m a mess.
But then he was never cruel or mean. Even if he hates me now…even if he wants to eventually get his pound of flesh, he isn’t going to hurt and humiliate me any more than required to get satisfaction.
Maybe it’s his way of finding closure so he can move on from our young, foolish romance.
To be able to go back in time…
A sense of loss throbs like a bruise. I’d give everything I have if we could be two happy kids all over again. Then I wouldn’t be so exhausted from pretending I’m fine. Everyone says if you fake something long enough, it becomes your reality, but no matter how long and hard I feign being okay, I’m not. I feel worse each day.
“Don’t cry.” His thumb brushes away tears I didn’t realize I’d shed, and I look at him. My heart is breaking again. I miss this touch… The tenderness, the caring.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed by old grief and the need for any scrap of affection. Nobody knows me the way Dominic does. Nobody ever had my love like he did.
He used to be the center of my universe. The whole celestial vault—it was all him. I should’ve kidnapped him, just dragged him away by his hair, using whatever means necessary. Then I’d still have the sun, the moon and the stars.
Except I know it was the right thing for him to stay. Running away with me wouldn’t have given him what he needed to fulfill his dream, give him the life he imagined.
Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum. My heart beats, the throb so hard and painful I can feel it all the way to my fingertips. My eyelids lower. That way I don’t have to see the hate and disgust in his eyes…but can still bask in the heat from his body, smell the malt, spices and soap on him.
Then I feel it—his lips on mine. My mind is so sluggish I don’t even know who started the kiss, but I don’t care.
The touch is tentative at first, more of a stolen breath…barely there. I hold myself as still as possible, afraid he’s going to pull away.
His lips continue to move over mine, feather soft and sweet—like he’s afraid to spook me. The heat from his mouth slowly warms my lips, and I tremble as the rest of my body starts to thaw, my senses spinning.
“Breathe, Elizabeth,” he whispers against a corner of my mouth, still using only his lips to tease me.
Only then do I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I inhale shakily, and he runs his tongue along my lower lip.
A tide of longing spreads through me. My fingers fist around his shirt, pulling him closer. I part my lips, stroke his tongue with mine. He boldly slides his tongue in, and a hot bolt of lust crackles through me, chasing away the chill and ugly memories. I suck on his tongue, desperately wanting to cling to the hot need and sense of safety.
This is probably just temporary, and might just be sex, but I want it. My starving body wants it.
Breathing roughening, he deepens the kiss, using his lips, tongue and teeth, putting a big hand on my back, pulling me closer. I’m crushed against him, my heart beating fast and hard. The old scar underneath my left breast twinges dully. I kiss him as though my very existence depends on it, as though sanity can only be found in the breath we share.
I press my hands on his chest, feel his heart hammering. I don’t care if he hates me. I don’t care that he’s Andy’s cousin. Tonight, he can be my anchor.
“Elizabeth—”
I put fingers over his lips. “No, Dominic. At least for tonight, the last ten years didn’t happen.” Hesitation still flickers in his dark blue gaze. “Please.”
If he turns away, I’m afraid I’m going to shatter. I wait, holding my breath, praying he can let go for just a few hours.
After what feels like an eternity, he releases a shuddering breath. Overwhelming relief flows through me when he picks me up and carries me to bed, his mouth on mine again. Without breaking the kiss, he undoes the knot holding my wrap dress together. My bikini top is the next to go. The air in the room feels chilly on my bare skin. My nipples bead. He runs his hand over one breast, shaping it, weighing it, then suddenly stops, his thumb over the scar on the underside.
I flinch, growing rigid under his probing hand.