mirrored in his.
“Well. It’s not really that good of a story. I stopped for flowers and the line ended up being really long and I don’t have your phone number.” He holds the bouquet out for me and I take it with a smile.
“Hmm,” I say as I wander into the kitchen, searching for a vase, leaving Dominic in the living room studying the place like he might find the answer to our existence in the décor. “I’m not sure if that story counts or not. I may not be ready to forgive you.”
“I guess I’ll just have to find other ways to make you forgive me,” he says. Anticipation zings through my body and I’m glad he can’t see me because I visibly shiver and press my thighs together against the little surge of desire that pools between my legs.
“Okay.” I try to make it sound like I haven’t already forgiven him as I come out of the kitchen, vase in hand. I’m sure he can hear the truth in my voice. See it in my eyes. I’m not exactly known for my poker face. “But you’re going to have to really try.”
Dominic smiles widely, his gaze hot and heavy and burning so deeply into my eyes I kind of stutter to a stop in the middle of the living room.
“What?” I ask, uncomfortable.
“You,” he replies.
“What about me?” I find the ability to move again, but it’s all shorted out and I don’t exactly feel graceful as I finish crossing the living room to put the vase on the coffee table.
“Everything,” he says in a voice so sexy my insides clench deliciously. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I swipe my jacket up off the couch and grab my keys. Dominic puts his hand on my lower back as we head out the door, uses it to guide me towards a gleaming Mustang
“Okay. So maybe it wasn’t just the flowers that made me late,” he says when I turn to him, eyes wide. “I had to turn in the Sentra I rented when I first got here for this baby.”
“Wow.” I run a finger across the hood, shaking my head. “Why?” I’m genuinely curious, although I’m pretty sure the answer is obvious. Why drive a Sentra when you can get a Mustang?
“Because,” says Dominic as he opens the passenger door for me. “You are not the kind of girl someone drives around in a Sentra.”
Chapter Eight
W e zoom through the familiar streets of my hometown in this hot ass car, Dominic exclaiming over what he sees and pointing out the details of all the things I’ve taken for granted over the years. By the time we’re heading out of town, nothing about the place feels familiar anymore. He’s got his phone on his thigh, Google Maps open and navigating him out into the boonies. We pass cornfields and cows, the Mustang devouring the road, hugging the curves, the sun warm in the wide blue sky.
Dominic has been all secretive about where we’re going, but I’m a pretty smart cookie. Judging by his request that I wear sensible shoes and the route he’s taking, I’m pretty sure we’re going to go hiking on one of the nature reserves nearby. While, again, this is nothing like what I had in mind—I’m more of a let’s hang out and get rowdy kind of gal—I do love to walk in the woods. We chat about the places he’s been to in the car ride over and I start to feel more and more like a country bumpkin. I grew up here and I never left here and how in the world am I going to be able to keep the interest of someone who’s been hiking in the Himalayas? Someone who’s been face to face with a lion and lived to share the picture? Someone who told me it was easier to tell me where he hasn’t been than to list the places he has been.
“I always wanted to travel,” I say as Dominic pulls into a parking spot near one of the few national parks I haven’t explored.
He pops the trunk and pulls out a huge ass backpack, his camera and gear, a monstrous water bottle. “Why didn’t you?”
I try not to stare as he heaves the backpack over his shoulder and fail miserably. What kind of hike is he planning?
“Well. It’s not really that good of a story. I stopped for flowers and the line ended up being really long and I don’t have your phone number.” He holds the bouquet out for me and I take it with a smile.
“Hmm,” I say as I wander into the kitchen, searching for a vase, leaving Dominic in the living room studying the place like he might find the answer to our existence in the décor. “I’m not sure if that story counts or not. I may not be ready to forgive you.”
“I guess I’ll just have to find other ways to make you forgive me,” he says. Anticipation zings through my body and I’m glad he can’t see me because I visibly shiver and press my thighs together against the little surge of desire that pools between my legs.
“Okay.” I try to make it sound like I haven’t already forgiven him as I come out of the kitchen, vase in hand. I’m sure he can hear the truth in my voice. See it in my eyes. I’m not exactly known for my poker face. “But you’re going to have to really try.”
Dominic smiles widely, his gaze hot and heavy and burning so deeply into my eyes I kind of stutter to a stop in the middle of the living room.
“What?” I ask, uncomfortable.
“You,” he replies.
“What about me?” I find the ability to move again, but it’s all shorted out and I don’t exactly feel graceful as I finish crossing the living room to put the vase on the coffee table.
“Everything,” he says in a voice so sexy my insides clench deliciously. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I swipe my jacket up off the couch and grab my keys. Dominic puts his hand on my lower back as we head out the door, uses it to guide me towards a gleaming Mustang
“Okay. So maybe it wasn’t just the flowers that made me late,” he says when I turn to him, eyes wide. “I had to turn in the Sentra I rented when I first got here for this baby.”
“Wow.” I run a finger across the hood, shaking my head. “Why?” I’m genuinely curious, although I’m pretty sure the answer is obvious. Why drive a Sentra when you can get a Mustang?
“Because,” says Dominic as he opens the passenger door for me. “You are not the kind of girl someone drives around in a Sentra.”
Chapter Eight
W e zoom through the familiar streets of my hometown in this hot ass car, Dominic exclaiming over what he sees and pointing out the details of all the things I’ve taken for granted over the years. By the time we’re heading out of town, nothing about the place feels familiar anymore. He’s got his phone on his thigh, Google Maps open and navigating him out into the boonies. We pass cornfields and cows, the Mustang devouring the road, hugging the curves, the sun warm in the wide blue sky.
Dominic has been all secretive about where we’re going, but I’m a pretty smart cookie. Judging by his request that I wear sensible shoes and the route he’s taking, I’m pretty sure we’re going to go hiking on one of the nature reserves nearby. While, again, this is nothing like what I had in mind—I’m more of a let’s hang out and get rowdy kind of gal—I do love to walk in the woods. We chat about the places he’s been to in the car ride over and I start to feel more and more like a country bumpkin. I grew up here and I never left here and how in the world am I going to be able to keep the interest of someone who’s been hiking in the Himalayas? Someone who’s been face to face with a lion and lived to share the picture? Someone who told me it was easier to tell me where he hasn’t been than to list the places he has been.
“I always wanted to travel,” I say as Dominic pulls into a parking spot near one of the few national parks I haven’t explored.
He pops the trunk and pulls out a huge ass backpack, his camera and gear, a monstrous water bottle. “Why didn’t you?”
I try not to stare as he heaves the backpack over his shoulder and fail miserably. What kind of hike is he planning?
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