Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2)(62)

Bethany gasped.

“Hear me out,” Rosie rushed to say, laying a hand on her friend’s forearm. “You know your own mind and how you feel toward Wes. But. Well, I think if you do decide to enter into a long-term relationship with someone, he needs to be a certain way. Strong. Capable of . . .”

“Putting up with my shit?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Yes, it is,” Georgie piped in, sucking down half her drink with relish. “Oh my God, this is already shaping up to be an amazing night.”

Bethany wrinkled her nose at her sister. “You’re all dead wrong on this one. Sorry.” She shook around the ice cubes in her tumbler. “I’ll admit there might be a certain unfortunate sexual . . .”

“Synergy,” Georgie supplied.

“Ooh!” Kristin danced in her seat. “Magnetism.”

Rosie tilted her head. “Connection?”

“Scourge.” Bethany pushed her fall of blond hair back over her shoulder. “It’s an affliction. An annoyance.”

“Only one way to get rid of it,” Kristin singsonged.

Bethany smiled sweetly. “Drop it or I’ll tell Stephen you’re pregnant.”

Georgie did a spit take. “What?”

Rosie covered her mouth with both hands and tried not to laugh.

“How did you know?” Kristin gasped, hands flying to her stomach to feel around. “I’m not even showing yet.”

“The level of your drink never goes down. You’re just pretending to sip.” Bethany shook her head. “How are you planning on using this to make my brother insane?”

“I’m not revealing my secrets.” Kristin huffed for a few seconds. “You’re really taking the wind out of my sails here. Is a surprise pregnancy-announcement-slash-gender-reveal soiree with a Venetian theme really so much to ask?”

“Yes,” Bethany and Georgie said at the same time.

Rosie needed to get out of there before she burst into a fit of laughter. “I’ll go to the bar and get you a ginger ale, Kristin,” she said. “We’re all going to keep your secret, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” the sisters grumbled.

A moment later, Rosie breezed back into the even busier club, the dark, anticipatory vibe swallowing her whole. Since being seated outside, the music had grown louder, the lights dimming even more. The bar was packed with people trying to get the attention of the bartenders, but she didn’t mind waiting and soaking up the atmosphere. The later hour had turned people more amorous. There wasn’t a hint of air between the dancing couples. As Rosie watched, a man’s hand slid down his dance partner’s back and massaged her bottom, making the woman’s mouth open against his neck. Rosie could almost hear the heavy breathing, the groaning, the whisper of clothing rasping together.

As she got closer to an open space at the bar, Rosie’s pulse rippled in time with the bass. Heat slithered around in her belly and pressed her thighs together. Dominic would know what was happening below her waist at a single glance. What would he do? She’d always done her best to keep her arousal hidden on days that weren’t Tuesday, but on that scheduled night, she would finally let the veil drop. He’d strip her naked and press her facedown on the couch, bring her to a blistering orgasm to take the edge off, then embark on a slower, more deliberate round two.

Rosie’s nipples beaded inside her dress, her shaky inhales loud in her ears.

God, she needed to be touched so badly. Kissed, stroked, embraced. All of it. She and Dominic might have been relying too much on sex to bolster their marriage, but it had been satisfying in the moment. A fleeting connection during which she could feel the pull of a deeper one. One they’d neglected for years. After what happened in therapy yesterday, she couldn’t sense his dependable presence at her back anymore. The rug had been pulled out from under her feet and she was in a continuous freefall. She might be mad as hell at Dominic for several things, but she would never stop wanting those arms to wrap around her. To catch her.

The bartender appeared in front of Rosie with a tight smile. “What can I get you?”

“A ginger ale, please. Thanks,” she managed over the music—and then realized she’d forgotten her purse outside. “Oh, shoot,” she muttered at the ceiling, torn between explaining the situation to the bartender or running back outside and attempting to retrieve her purse before he came back . . .

Dominic saw Rosie the second he stepped off the elevator.

He came to an abrupt halt, blocking everyone’s exit behind him.

Jesus. It wasn’t news to Dominic that his wife was fine as hell, but that fact wasn’t usually on display quite so fucking clearly. She could have walked out onstage at the Grammys to accept an award in all those sequins. And with those legs. And that ass.

Even in the dark club, her skin glowed. What little light there was flocked to her, highlighting the smooth curve of her calves, the plump side of her breast—which definitely should not be showing. Not here in this public place with hundreds of men. He could feel the primal tug of possessiveness in his gut, his throat, his clenching fists.

My wife. No one looks at my Rosie but me.

It was written in his DNA to charge over like a bull and demand to know what the hell she was thinking. He wanted to rip off his shirt and wrap it around her, hiding every delicious inch of skin from anyone who might want a taste. Taking her home was a given.