Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2)(21)

“For chrissakes.”

“For now, though, we’re going to focus on Rosie, since she’s the one who was troubled enough to leave the marriage.” He paused. “I’m going to give you a homework assignment. A few of them, really. Since you’ve already separated, we’re working on an accelerated healing track.”

“He just made up that term,” Dominic muttered in her ear.

“I heard that.” Armie laughed heartily while leaning back against his desk, but he eventually grew thoughtful. “In my thirty years as a marriage counselor, I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed such a raw sexual charge between husband and wife. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.” He whistled under his breath. “It’s quite breathtaking.”

Rosie was suddenly much more aware of Dominic’s nearness. The scent of sawdust and male and menthol. How large he was in comparison to her and how one step backward would press their bodies together.

“Unfortunately, I think sex is getting in the way of really seeing each other.” He stared down his nose at them. “Being partners out of the sack.”

“We aren’t . . .” Rosie licked her dry lips. “Doing that now.”

Behind her, Dominic muttered something about putting their business on the street.

“Great,” Armie said.

“Says who?” Dominic asked.

“Says me. One of your homework assignments is to keep not having sex.” He split a speculative glance between them. “I will allow kissing.”

Anticipation almost swallowed her whole. Kissing. God, she hadn’t been kissed in so long, without sex happening at the same time. Oh, there was an occasional hard press of mouths or brief, cursory pecks, but one of her favorite pastimes with Dominic had been making out. Getting hot and bothered, just for the sake of needing. They were professionals at it. Had gotten that way by waiting until she turned seventeen to have sex. They’d dry humped through their first three years of high school and had so many orgasms with their clothes on, she’d truly lost count. And she’d never felt more connected to Dominic than when their mouths were communicating like that. Eye contact wasn’t something that made her uncomfortable back then; it was expected. Craved, along with the words he used to whisper in her ear.

I love you.

I need you, honey girl.

We’re in this forever.

“Kissing is often more intimate than sex and it breeds further intimacy, such as talking or looking into each other’s eyes. Tapping into one another’s energy,” Armie was saying. “Now. For the next assignment. Dominic, you’re going to write Rosie a letter.”

“Come again?”

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think words come that easily to you. Just like Rosie with the eye contact, we’re going to ease into it. Let’s try verbalizing on paper first.”

Dominic shifted behind her. “What am I supposed to say?”

Armie smiled broadly. “That’s up to you to decide.”





Chapter Eight


Dominic had never written a letter in his life. Mainly because of technology. Text messaging had been around since he was old enough to spell, so there’d never been much of a need to put pen to paper, apart from the odd note. When he and Rosie were younger, they passed a couple of them between classes, but they were short and sweet. You look cute in that skirt. I missed you this weekend. Come to the movies with me on Saturday. Et cetera.

He couldn’t help but remember that she’d looked kind of . . . excited about the prospect of receiving a letter from him, and, God, he’d missed that expression on her face. It brought back memories of the morning they’d run hand in hand through the rain into the courthouse, determined to tie the knot before he was deployed. Raindrops had still been lingering on her eyelashes when they’d presented their marriage license moments later, holding each other and rocking as they waited for their turn to say “I do.”

Well, if she was excited about the letter, she was about to be sorely disappointed with the results.

Dominic tossed the pen onto the lowered gate of his truck, scrubbing a palm over his shaved head. About fifteen minutes ago, Stephen had called a lunch break and everyone spread out on the job site, sitting in groups with their foil-wrapped sandwiches while Dominic retreated to his truck to get started on the letter. After therapy yesterday, he’d gone home and attempted to get his thoughts on paper, but nothing came—and he needed to get it done today. The urgency gnawing at his gut wouldn’t allow for any further delay.

She couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Every time he thought about that moment she’d ripped her gaze away like she was in pain, he felt sick. Hadn’t even packed a lunch this morning because his appetite had dwindled to nothing. Sex was off the table. He couldn’t make her feel better with his body. She needed this letter. She needed words. And he had no idea where or how to find them.

A rock bumped against Dominic’s shoe, and he turned to find Stephen and Travis approaching with a third man, someone he was seeing for the first time. The guy was young—probably younger than all of them—but he made up for those missing years in height and walked with a shit ton of confidence that only someone in a cowboy hat could pull off.

“Dominic,” Stephen said, “this is Wes Daniels. He’s going to be working with us for a while. New in town.”