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His mask has slipped.
Every breath feels weighted. “What’s going on here, Dominic?”
“Nothing.” His body twitches as the storm rolls in. He expects me to hurl both of us into a tirade of hysterics. But I’ve learned.
Sometimes a gust of wind can cause more destruction than a hurricane.
“Violet told me you had an arrangement,” I say, my voice calm. “When were you going to tell me that? Or were you ever?” Before he can piece together a response, I hit him with another accusation. “How do you just happen to have someone who can falsify DNA tests? That’s not normal, Dominic.”
He swallows hard. “Rook...”
“Is that part of your past?” My voice hitches up an octave. “The one you won’t tell me about. How are you connected to Luciano Ricci?”
Dominic’s expression changes. Leaning forward, he presses our faces only inches apart. Startled, I lean back, only to have him erase my gains, his hands pinning me against the arm of the couch. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I’m both terrified and exhilarated.
As if reading my thoughts, his lips part in a salacious smirk, and he surges forward, crashing his mouth onto mine, commanding a kiss my body is conditioned to want. For a moment, I lose myself in the feel of his possession. Then I remember this is what he does.
He uses my weakness for him as a weapon against me.
Breaking the kiss, I push him away as I press the back of my hand against my lips. “You were late for the party. Where were you?”
“Angel,” he groans, diving toward my lips again, but I block him, with a palm against his chest.
“Where. Were. You?”
A dark scowl clouds his face. “Can we not do this right now?”
The night we ran lines together runs through my mind. It was the night Rubio confronted Dominic in the garage. I asked him about it, and he told me not to worry.
But detectives don’t show up at your house for no reason.
“That was the night that the photographer ‘jumped’ off the Colorado Street Bridge. The same one you argued with at your house. Was that you?” I shout, shoving his chest. “Did you kill him?”
His stare turns cold. Unfeeling. Black.
“Oh God.” I shudder, the room starting to spin.
Dominic lets out a roar, and I flinch as he wraps his fingers around my jaw. “You want to play show and tell? Fine.” Releasing my face, he grabs a tight hold around my arm and yanks me off the couch. He barely gives me time to stagger to my feet, before dragging me down the hall.
“Dominic,” I beg as he stalks down another hallway like a man possessed. “Stop!”
Finally, he pulls us both into the study. After tossing me into the desk chair, he opens my laptop and logs into his email account. Seconds go by, my heart thundering in my chest until he finds what he wants and clicks on the attachment.
“There,” he growls. “You want to see what I’ve been dealing with? Take a good fucking look.” Once I see what he’s pointing at, my stomach turns inside out. “Thanks to Freddy Wiseman, your pussy was about to become a national headline.”
The image swims in front of me. “No.”
“We were being blackmailed, sweetheart. Good old-fashioned extortion. So, am I sorry that shitbag is dead? No. If you hate me for that, so be it. But I won’t apologize for protecting the woman I lo—”
“No!” I shriek, leaping out of the chair and barreling into him with both hands. “Don’t say it! Not now!”
He doesn’t. His hands seize my face, pulling me against him and kissing me hard. I want to fight him, but I collapse under the force of his touch. I want him. I want this. I need to feel something other than lies and loss. I need his voice in my ear, not hers.
I need to feel what’s real.
In this life.
“Fuck me,” I groan against his mouth.
