Forever with Me (With Me in Seattle, #8)(24)

“I’m not at your f*cking beck and call,” I reply hotly, and immediately hate myself.

What the f*ck is wrong with me?

I’m damn sexually frustrated and having a shit day.

“So, what crawled up your ass today, Leash? Because whatever it is, can we pull it out, so you can stop with the crabby-ass attitude?”

Dominic Salvatore is my issue.

So not telling him that.

“I’m sorry.” I sigh and round the island to give Blake a hug, and sigh when his strong arms circle around me and hold me tight. “I’m a bitch.”

“You’re not a bitch. But you’re not yourself.”

“It’s a big event,” I say again.

“You never used to lie to me.” I cringe and think of Dom’s words about lying in the sunroom.

“It’s just a bad day. Honest.” I plaster a smile on my face and look up into his big brown eyes. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I was distracted last night.”

He quirks a brow.

“Not like that.” I pull away and reclaim my water before heading for the door and away from Blake’s all-knowing gaze. “I’ll call you later.”

“Be careful, Leash.”

“I’m fine.” I roll my eyes to make him smirk and head back outside to work.

***

I can’t freaking sleep.

Again.

There were no more issues with the construction crew this afternoon, but we were set back long enough that we all worked through dinner, and by the time I was done for the day, I just didn’t have it in me to face the sexual frustration that comes from being with Dom. I made a hasty retreat up to my room to return calls, check my email, and get ready for tomorrow.

And now my work is all caught up, it’s late, and I should be fast asleep.

Instead, all I can think about is the sexy Italian most likely asleep just a two-minute walk away.

I blow out a gusty sigh and toss the covers aside, throw my hair up into a messy knot on the top of my head, and pull on a pair of yoga shorts with my plain white tank before opening the door to my room and sticking my head out to make sure no one is walking down the hallway.

No one, meaning Dominic.

Assuring myself that the coast is clear, I pad down the hall to the linen closet and almost jump with joy when I find cleaning supplies. I load my arms with sponges and cleaners and pad back to my room, close the door, and march into the bathroom.

When I’m stressed out, I clean. It’s soothing, and I do my best thinking when I’m scrubbing the hell out of something.

I pull my travel speakers out of my computer bag and connect the Bluetooth on my iPhone to them, then set my music to my angry cleaning playlist.

Eminem and Rhianna begin singing about Monsters and away I go, swinging my hips with the blaring music.

It’s a good thing I’m the only one on this side of the villa. No one will be able to hear my music.

Half an hour later, I’ve scrubbed the sink, the toilet and the shower and I’m on my hands and knees, cleaning the floor around the sunken tub.

Where does Dominic get off, always coming on to me anyway? I’ve said no to his advances in the past. You’d think the man would take a hint, for crying in the night!

And what’s up with his arms? Why do they have to be so…defined? I bet he doesn’t even have to try to look like that.

He just looks like that.

I scoot backwards toward the door and scowl.

“And what’s up with his secret Italian home remedies?” I ask the room at large, just able to hear myself over the sound of Lady Gaga singing to Alejandro. “I wonder what the Italian home remedy is for sexual frustration?”

A deep, male voice chuckles behind me, making me still, and then hang my head in resignation.

“Shit.”

I glance back over my shoulder and sure enough, there he is, leaning against the doorjamb of the bathroom door, arms crossed over his naked chest and a mischievous grin on his delicious lips.

“Don’t you know how to knock?”

“You didn’t hear me over the music.”

I stand and shut the music off, immediately sending the room into a shocking silence.

“What can I do for you?” Can you please cover your ridiculously muscled chest? Jesus, is that chest even legal?

“You didn’t come down for dinner.”

“I had work.” I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to cover the fact that I’m not wearing a bra and tear my gaze from his torso. “And it was late by the time I was done.”

“You know, I have people who do this.” He gestures to the cleaning supplies on the floor.

“I clean when I’m stressed.”

His face sobers. “What’s stressing you out, cara? I’ll take care of it.”

I bark out a humorless laugh. “Right.”

“Talk to me.”

I bite my lip and then shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“That’s number two.” His normally calm and easygoing voice is now hard, just like his eyes.

“Okay, you want to know what’s wrong with me?” I push away from the sink and pace across the bathroom. “I had too many construction issues to deal with today, which put us behind by hours that had to be made up today in order to stay on deadline.”