Page 47 of Say My Name

I hold his eyes, daring him even as something in me quietly steps aside, making room. “You’re welcome to try.”

Dominic’s hand closes around my waist, pulling me into him. I release a sharp exhale against his mouth.

He kisses me once—slow, deliberate, almost polite. A kiss with enough restraint that I could still turn away. His lips taste faintly of whiskey, sweet and tannic. Every rational thought dissolves.

He draws back barely an inch. “Still tastes like tea,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Sweet and delicious.” He nips at my bottom lip once, a devlish grin on his lips before doing it again.

My body is already pulsing with desire. But we’ve already crossed the line. I fist my hand in his shirt and drag his mouth back to mine.

His restraint shatters.

His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, pressing me flush against him. His other hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth before his tongue slides past my lips. The sound he makes—a quiet, rough noise against my mouth—goes straight through me. I heard it years ago through a phone speaker, thin and distant; feeling it vibrate through his ribs into mine is something else entirely.

He tilts my head back and deepens the kiss. I tighten my grip on his shirt, holding him there while his thumb strokes the sensitive skin beneath my ear.

This is Dominic. My boss. Cliff’s best friend. The man I’m supposed to meet at a fertility clinic next week. His name echoes uselessly in my head.

He kisses me again, deeper now, and I don’t want him to stop.

A car door closes somewhere nearby.

He lifts his head slowly. His hand remains firm on my waist. We’re both breathing unevenly.

I glance toward the house. No one’s outside.

When I look back, his eyes are on my mouth. He looks… pleased. Smug, even. It annoys me enough to summon a shred of common sense before pressing against his chest to put some distance between us.

“One kiss proves nothing,” I say, the lie tasting like him—like us, like tea and poor decisions.

“Your mouth says that,” he murmurs, his voice a low, throaty rumble against my ear. “But your pulse is hammering right here.” His fingers drift to the base of my throat, pressing lightly where my heartbeat thunders. “And your skin is flushed everywhere I’ve touched you.” His gaze drops to my parted lips. That’s not nothing, Elena. That’s a whole fucking argument.

CHAPTER 8

Dominic

Ican still taste the sweet tea on her lips. Still feel the exact moment her mouth softened against mine, the small involuntary sound she made when I nipped her bottom lip, the way her fingers found the fabric of my shirt and twisted.

The whiskey was a low buzz in my blood, but it didn’t put her hips against mine or coax her tongue past my own. It didn’t make her tilt her head back when my thumb traced her jaw, or pull her closer when she should have stepped away. It wasn’t responsible for the hard, insistent ache that followed me all the way to the car, or for the fact that I stood under the motion-sensor light in her parents’ driveway for a full minute trying to collect myself before I could face the kitchen window.

The drinks made it harder to keep pretending. They didn’t manufacture a single thing I felt.

I’m in my home gym before six the next morning because lying in bed has become an exercise in remembering her mouth. The treadmill does nothing to help. Neither do the weights or the cold shower afterward.

By the time I reach Rowe Holdings, I’ve accepted that I want to kiss Elena again, and she’s going to act as though the first time never happened.

She proves me right just after eight.

Elena steps off the elevator in a charcoal suit with her hair pulled back and a leather portfolio tucked beneath her arm. She pauses when she sees me outside the executive conference room, but the hesitation lasts less than a second.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning.”

Her eyes meet mine and shift to the conference room doors. “You’re early.”

“So are you.”

“I’m usually early.”