Page 71 of Bound in Ruin

I roll my eyes, shaking my head at his absurd, overbearing nature. "In the real world, Dominic, people wait their turn. That's how things work. And Marcus is my hairstylist. Please, don’t cause problems when he arrives, or I’ll never come to a salon with you ever again.”

That’s already a given. But he doesn’t have to know that.

“Fine.” Dominic lets out a harsh scoff, turning his head toward the window, but he says nothing. He stays firmly planted in the chair, radiating enough dark, restless energy to keep every other client in the room at a respectable distance.

Eventually, after about twenty minutes of Dominic brooding like a dark cloud beside me, the lead stylist, Marcus, finally steps out from behind the partition.

He takes one look at Dominic's terrifying, stone-cold expression, then at my flushed, exasperated face, and lets out a warm, delighted laugh. "Rosalia, darling! So sorry for the wait!"

"Marcus, hi!" I greet him, jumping out of my seat with a relieved breath. "It's so good to see you."

I step aside and gesture toward the giant wall of a man beside me, who slowly rises to his feet like a shadow blocking out the ambient salon lighting. "This is my husband, Dominic."

Marcus steps forward with a bright, welcoming smile, offering his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Dominic! I've heard so much about Rosalia's mysterious man. I'm so glad you could join her today."

Dominic looks down at Marcus's outstretched hand for a beat longer than necessary before giving it a firm, brief shake.

"Mmm," Dominic grunts, a sound that could mean anything from nice to meet you to if you burn her hair, you die.

Marcus just chuckles, and gestures toward the back. "Right this way, my dear!"

We walk into the main salon area, a sleek, bright space filled with long mirrors, and metallic swivel chairs. Marcus gently presses me down into one of the plush leather styling chairs, draping a black cape over my shoulders.

I brace myself for Dominic to cause another scene—to demand a private room, clear out the surrounding chairs, or glare down the poor apprentice mixing dyes in the corner.

Surprisingly, he behaves himself.

He takes a seat in a sleek leather armchair positioned directly behind me, stretching out his long legs and leaning back. He goes completely quiet, settling into a dark, watchful silence.

I watch him through the wide vanity mirror as Marcus combs out my damp hair. Dominic’s eyes never leave me. His gaze is steady, and intense, tracking every movement of Marcus’s hands, every snip of the shears, every strand falling around my shoulders.

After forty-five minutes of washing, trimming, and sectioning, Marcus begins blow-drying my hair, turning it into a cascading wave of rich, dark volume.

"Alright, darling," Marcus says, holding up a smaller hand mirror behind my head so I can see the back. "I was thinking of keeping the long layers light, but if you want to go a little shorter around the collarbone to frame your face, we can do that too. What do you think?"

I tilt my head, studying my reflection as I deliberate. "Hmm... I'm not sure. Short might be nice for a change, but I usually like keeping the length."

"Keep it long," a deep, gravelly voice rumbles from behind us.

I catch Dominic’s eyes in the mirror. He’s leaning forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his dark gaze locked strictly onto mine through the glass.

"You like it long?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him through the mirror, a tiny smirk touching my lips.

"I like being able to hold onto it," he says plainly, his tone carrying a sexual lilt that goes completely over Marcus's head, but sends a sudden, scorching wave of heat straight down my spine. "And it frames your shoulders when you wear silk. Keep the length."

Marcus glances between the two of us, a sly, delighted grin spreading across his face.

I stare at Dominic in the mirror, my pulse doing a strange, fluttering flip in my chest. To my own absolute surprise... I don't argue with him.

"Keep the length, Marcus," I hear myself say, my voice softer than intended. "Just touch up the ends."

Dominic’s lips curl into a slow, dark, terribly satisfied smile in the mirror, his eyes never leaving mine.

Marcus finishes up with a flourish of hairspray, stepping back to let me admire the dark, silky waves cascading down my back and shoulders. I run a hand through the freshly styled strands, feeling the sleek texture, and catch Dominic's gaze in the mirror once more.

The low heat in his dark eyes has darkened into a smoldering, dangerous fire. He slowly rises from his chair, his broad frame filling the mirror, and walks up behind me. Leaning down until his warm breath brushes against the shell of my ear, his voice sends a shiver straight down my spine.

"You look breathtaking, Rosalia," he murmurs, his voice thick with a raw, undeniable lust. "It’s taking everything in me not to tear your dress off you right here."