Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2)(18)

“That dance next Friday,” he’d said, trying to keep his demeanor casual even though she was even prettier up close. “You coming with me?”

Gasps and giggles from every corner.

She’d tried to look bored, but Dominic could see the burnished rose on her cheeks and was already counting the days until he could kiss the spots where that color bloomed.

“Are all city kids this brave?” Rosie had asked, studying her apple.

“This one is.”

“You’ve been looking at me a lot.”

“Yeah.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

Dominic had shrugged. “Better than a yes from someone else.”

He’d started to turn and walk away.

She’d shot to her feet. “Yes.”

They’d gone to the dance together the following Friday. He’d worn jeans and a black button-down. She’d rocked a yellow strapless dress and white sandals—and when she’d come down the stairs of her parents’ house, fingertips trailing on the railing, his palms had started to sweat, his pulse jackhammering, and he’d known there would never be anyone else. Never.

The sound of a car pulling into the lot broke into Dominic’s thoughts. He experienced that same rollicking anticipation, just like all those years ago before the dance. His pulse still went crazy, his heart echoing in his ears, although the anticipation had a much more mature element now. The kind that made his dick grow heavy in his jeans just watching her climb out of the car, her tits shaking around in the neckline of her shirt. Fuck, there really was no one hotter than his wife.

Sunday morning in the gym, he’d thought, This is it, she’s giving in. There hadn’t been a doubt in his mind that he was going to fuck her up against the bathroom tile, one hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. They’d been at what he considered the point of no return, also known as that ass had been backed up in his lap, rubbing all over the wood he was sporting.

Yet she’d been able to put on the brakes. Last time, too.

Whenever he’d been worried about their marriage, their sex life had reassured him that Rosie still felt something for him. Without that reassurance . . . he was scared. Scared enough to talk about his emotions in front of some quack—and that was really saying something, because he barely acknowledged them himself. Keeping a stiff upper lip was a trait he’d always admired in his father. Whether he’d had a bad day at work or money was tight, Dominic’s father kept his head down and grinded. No complaining, no showing signs of worry or stress. He simply got the job done and his family never wanted for anything. If there were cracks in his fa?ade, he certainly never showed them. Wouldn’t it have made everyone around him less confident in his abilities as a provider?

“Hi,” Rosie said, drawing even with him. “You saw the sign and you’re still here, huh?”

“That’s right.”

She shrugged her purse higher on her shoulder and started toward the building, leaving Dominic to follow behind her. “How was work today?”

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

How many times had they asked the same question and given the same answers? Thousands? In a setting outside of their kitchen or living room, it really hit home how hollow the words sounded. An exercise in going through the motions. They rarely elaborated and the closer they got to the entrance of the shrink’s office, the more Dominic’s skin started to prickle. He didn’t want to find out this therapist really was a last resort. And not just Rosie’s way of making him suffer to get her back.

He stepped around Rosie and opened the door for her, trying to be subtle about taking in a lungful of her perfume. Coconut. The gold bottle with a crystal pineapple on top was still sitting on her dresser in their bedroom, so she must have sprayed some on at work. As she moved past him into the building, Dominic looked for the pulse in her neck and was pleased to see it pumping quickly. Beat-beat-beat. The proof of her awareness gave him enough hope to follow behind her into . . . the sixties.

Dominic came to a dead stop just inside the door and cursed under his breath. No. This couldn’t be real. Each wall boasted a different mural, and if he wasn’t mistaken, they were trying to celebrate the four elements. Earth, wind, water, and fire. A mélange of blues flowed into a nature scene, then erupted into flames, only to be blown apart by a cloud. With a face. A chandelier of purple feathers hung from the ceiling, so long it almost reached the floor. A bubble machine sent sprays of floating orbs throughout the room, and soft music played, some kind of combination of xylophones and harps.

“I had no idea you hated me this much, Rosie.”

Was it his imagination or did she almost smile? Warmth in the center of his chest caught him off guard and he found himself needing to see that smile again.

“I didn’t know it was going to be quite so . . . colorful,” she murmured. “The reviews online were overwhelmingly positive.”

Dominic turned in a circle, finding his rear end mere inches from a giant snap dragon plant and stepping away before it took a bite out of his ass. “There’s a good chance his patients were high when they wrote those reviews,” he muttered. “And one of them must be his decorator.”

A laugh bubbled out of her, but she silenced it immediately, seeming almost surprised he could still get that reaction from her. How long had it been since he’d made her laugh? When no amount of mental searching landed him on an answer, his throat grew tighter.