Page 54 of Bound in Ruin

Before my skull can make violent contact with the marble, a heavy, iron-hard arm wraps firmly around my waist and yanks me straight against a broad, solid chest.

I hit his front with a soft thud, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it feels ready to shatter them. My hands instinctively slap onto his bare shoulders to steady myself, my breath coming in short, ragged hitches.

The towel I was holding has completely abandoned ship, fluttering to the wet floor below. I am entirely, completely naked in his grip.

"Careful," Dominic grumbles, his deep voice vibrating right against my wet skin.

"What is wrong with you?!" I snap, raw panic and immediate fury flaring through me in a blinding heat wave.

I try to wrench myself backward, struggling to cross my arms over my chest and cover my stomach, my ribs, my hip—every single scar that feels suddenly exposed under the bright vanity lights. "Do you not know how to knock?! Get out!"

Dominic doesn't let go. His grip on my waist tightens just enough to keep me pinned, his dark gaze dropping down, taking in every exposed inch of my skin without a single shred of shame or hesitation.

"I've already seen you, Rosalia," he says softly, his voice sending a treacherous shiver straight down my spine. "I’ve touched every inch of this body. You're breathtaking. There is absolutely no reason for you to hide from me."

"Dominic—"

"I loved everything I saw last night," he interrupts, his thumb tracing a slow, burning circle into the damp skin of my hip, right over a pale, jagged line. "And I want you again."

"No," I push out, my voice trembling as I try to hold up my collapsing defenses. "This... last night was a mistake. It shouldn't happen again."

Dominic's eyes darken, a dangerous, magnetic heat flaring in his gaze as he leans down, his lips hovering mere millimeters from mine.

I catch my breath, my pulse skyrocketing, my mind betraying me as my body completely freezes, waiting for the impact of his mouth. The steam in the room turns suffocating, thick with a sudden, unbearable tension.

He holds me right on the edge of the cliff for three agonizing seconds... and then slowly pulls back.

"We need to go to bed," he says, his voice gravelly as he finally releases my waist. "We have somewhere to be early in the morning."

I blink, thoroughly thrown off balance by the sudden shift. "Where are we going?"

"A cooking class," he answers simply, stepping back toward the doorway.

My jaw drops. "A... what?"

I open my mouth to demand a full explanation, but Dominic holds up a single, firm hand, cutting me off before a word can escape. "I won't be answering any more questions until we get there tomorrow morning."

Suddenly remembering that I am still standing in the middle of the bathroom stark naked, with his dark, hungry gaze sweeping down my frame one last time, a hot blush explodes across my cheeks.

I huff loudly, snatch the damp towel off the floor to wrap around myself, and march straight past him out of the bathroom with every ounce of dignity I can muster.

The next morning, our black SUV pulls up to a sunlit, high-end culinary studio in the heart of the city.

I step inside, looking around at the gleaming stainless-steel counters, artisan wooden cutting boards, and all the excited guests scattered around. I turn to Dominic, completely floored.

"You were actually serious?" I whisper, my eyes wide. "Why on earth are we really here, Dominic?"

Dominic leans in close, his voice lowering into a barely audible rumble near my ear. "Judge Arthur Sterling handles high-value probate cases—including the dispute Dante is trying to ignite over Luciano's estate. He and his wife, Eleanor, attend this class every single Saturday morning. We need to make sure Sterling stays impartial, or better yet, leans our way."

I stare at him in disbelief. How does he even know this? The depth of his intelligence network never ceases to amaze—and terrify—me.

Before I can open my mouth to ask what he plans to do, the instructor claps his hands to gather the room, and the class officially begins.

As fate—or Dominic’s careful maneuvering—would have it, our station is set up directly beside Judge Sterling and Eleanor.

"Good morning," Judge Sterling offers with a warm, measured smile, tying his apron around his waist. "Arthur Sterling. And this is my wife, Eleanor."

"I’m Dom. This is my wife, Rose," Dominic introduces smoothly, shaking the judge's hand with practiced, effortless charm.