Page 42 of Bound in Ruin

With a sharp, violent wrench of the steering wheel, Dominic throws the Corvette into a tight, impossible drift around a blind cliffside hairpin.

The back tires scream against the pavement, kicking up a cloud of white smoke. He stomps on the brakes just long enough to slide the long nose of the car into an obscured dirt turnout tucked behind a dense patch of pines, cutting the engine and lights instantly.

The dark SUV roars past on the main road, its tires screeching as it disappears down the highway, completely oblivious to where we vanished.

Silence drops over us, heavy and thick, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine.

Dominic lets out a breath, releasing his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. As he pulls his right hand back, I catch a flash of deep crimson.

"Dominic, you're bleeding!" I gasp, panic spiking in my chest.

During the sharp shift, a jagged piece of metal trim along the vintage center console sliced deep into the meat of his palm. Blood is already pooling down his wrist, dripping onto his trousers.

"It's fine, sweetheart," he says, his voice completely calm as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it tightly against the wound. "Just a scratch. Let's get back before those bastards realize they lost us."

He restarts the engine, keeping to the quiet back roads, and races us safely through the gates of the estate.

The moment he kills the engine in the main driveway, Dominic opens his door. "I'll go find Helena downstairs. She used to be a field medic before she took over the estate management—she'll patch it right up."

"No," I say instantly, grabbing his uninjured arm before he can step out. "No, you're not going to Helena. I'm taking care of it."

Dominic blinks, looking at me with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Rosalia⁠—"

"I said I'll do it," I insist, my tone leaving no room for argument.

I take his good hand and lead him upstairs straight into our master suite, pulling him into the spacious, marble-tiled bathroom. I make him sit on the edge of the deep vanity counter, instantly pulling out the first-aid kit from the cabinet.

I turn on the faucet, running warm water, and gently pull his hand toward me.

"This might sting," I whisper softly, looking up into his eyes.

"Go ahead," he grunts, his dark gaze pinned entirely on my face.

I carefully wash away the blood, using a wet cloth to clear the cut. Dominic doesn't flinch, doesn't even draw a sharp breath. He just sits there, towering over me even while seated, watching my every movement with an intensity that makes the air between us feel thick and heavy.

I pat the skin dry and open a roll of sterile gauze, stepping even closer between his knees to get a better angle. The scent of motor oil, warm leather, and sharp cologne radiates off him, invading my senses.

My fingers brush against his skin gently, as I wrap the white bandage around his palm and pull it snug. Standing this close, I can feel the heat radiating off his chest. My breath hitches slightly, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs—not from fear of the chase, but from the sudden, suffocating intimacy wrapping around us.

When I tie off the bandage, I don't pull away. My hands linger over his wrist, my thumb softly tracing the edge of his pulse point.

I look, and Dominic is already staring at me, his eyes dark, heavy, and burning with an undeniable fire. He slowly lifts his bandaged hand, the back of his calloused knuckles brushing against my cheek, tucking a stray lock of wind-tangled hair behind my ear.

Neither of us says a word, the silence in the bathroom stretched taut, vibrating with a tension so thick it feels like a spark could set the whole room on fire.

Our faces are suddenly so close together. I don’t know who leans in first, but I can feel the hot, steady whisper of his breath against my lips. My pulse skyrockets, every nerve ending in my body screaming for him to close the tiny distance between us. I'm desperate for him to kiss me, but I'm completely frozen, too nervous to make the first move.

Dominic’s thick lashes flutter lower, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

Just as he tilts his chin—thud!

A heavy, clumsy slam echoes from the bedroom, followed by the frantic patter-patter-patter of tiny paws. Before either of us can react, a furry little missile shoots into the bathroom, yapping at the top of its lungs and skidding across the marble floor straight into my feet.

Dominic swears softly, jerking back as the romantic tension vanishes like smoke. I burst into a fit of breathless laughter, looking down at the ecstatic stray tail-wagging like crazy at my toes. In the chaos of Dante, lawyers, and high-speed car chases, I had completely forgotten I brought a dog into the house!

Dominic is scowling down at the puppy as if it personally insulted him.

"Get it out," he grunts, his voice flat. "I don't want it."