Austen was cute and smart and clearly in need of either a palate cleanser bang or some therapy.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off the door of the bar long
enough to decide if I was interested in him.
Because I was waiting for a man who didn’t want to want me.
Ugh.
Purposefully, I turned my back to the door and my attention on the forty-two-year-old, divorced civil engineer. He’d ordered a glass of merlot and given the bartender a hard time about the pronunciation. I’d ordered a cheap, draft beer in case he insisted on splitting the check. He’d told me fifteen things about his ex-wife, and I’d mentioned Dominic’s name twice.
As far as I was concerned, neither one of us was a catch.
I could feel it the moment he walked in. The air in the bar became electrically charged as if a bolt of lightning was about to strike the liquor bottles. I willed myself not to turn around, to focus on what Austen was saying.
“God, you must think I’m such a loser,” he said, slumping his shoulders. “What? Why?” I couldn’t quite remember what he’d been saying. I was
too busy trying to look like I was listening.
“I’ve told you more about my ex-wife than myself. I’ve asked you like one question, and that was just so I could lead in to another story about my ex. I’m so not ready for this.”
“You and me both, pal,” I said, raising my beer to his wine glass.
“My friends told me I needed a palate cleanser,” he confessed, then blanched. “And I probably shouldn’t have told you that. I’d find that really offensive if I were you. I am so bad at this. I’m not ready to date.”
He was adorably bad at this.
“Don’t feel bad,” I said, bumping his shoulder companionably. “I’m not exactly in a healthy relationship space either.”
“We’re not going to hook up, are we?” Austen guessed.
I shook my head. “Nope. But you can tell me all about your ex and your divorce if you want.”
He brightened.
The adorable man started at the beginning. Sophomore year of college. I felt a tingle between my shoulder blades and knew. I didn’t even jump when a familiar hand closed around my shoulder.
“Ally.”
I turned and almost choked on my own damn tongue. Dominic had ditched his jacket and was rocking the rolled-up sleeves and suspender look. I finally felt like I understood what it was like to swoon. But there were no fainting couches in this place.
And then there was the other complication.
The stunning six-foot-tall woman who looked like she’d strutted off the cover of Label in a pearl pantsuit. She had flawless dark skin and the kind of short haircut that only really, really confident women with excellent bone structure could pull off. The only makeup she seemed to be wearing was a perfectly drawn red pout.
I was pretty sure I’d just fallen in instalust with Dominic’s date. “Dom—Mr. Russo,” I croaked.
His eyes narrowed.
It was a stupid game to be playing. I’d told him I’d be here. He’d told me he’d be here. And yet we were pretending to be surprised.
“Austen, this is—”
“Dominic Russo,” Dom said, offering his hand.
Poor unsuspecting Austen took it, and I thought I heard bone crunch.
“This is Delaney,” he said, introducing the unfairly beautiful woman. “Delaney, this is Ally.”
Delaney not only had a flawless complexion, she also had a brilliant smile. I really, really wanted to hate her… or maybe make out with her.
“So nice to meet you, Ally,” she said warmly.
Why couldn’t she be a terrible person, I moaned internally.
Then I perked up. Maybe she was one of those closet bad people. Like one who parks in handicap spaces and throws fast food bags out the window of her sports car at bike messengers.
“Ally and I work together,” Dominic said. But the way he said it made it sound sinister. Like there was so much more to it than that. And if I were the beautiful Delaney, I’d be immediately suspicious.
“I work for Mr. Russo,” I corrected.
Dominic clearly did not like me calling him that. Which made me want to do it more often.
Delaney and Austen introduced themselves to each other since Dominic and I were too busy glaring at each other to do it.
“Get you something?” the bartender asked, interrupting Awkward Hour.
They ordered, and then Dominic took the freaking stool right freaking next to mine and pulled it out for Delaney.
She even smelled good.
The bar was busy. If Dominic Russo hadn’t wedged himself in between me and his date, I would have been thinking about the tips the bartender was making. Instead, I was thinking about my boss’s hand resting on the back of my stool. His leg pressing into my knee.
It was blindingly unfair that a man who didn’t want to want me could get me in a s*xual lather just by standing next to me. It had to be the cheese. I seriously needed to cut back. Everything Dom did felt like foreplay.
Austen picked up the thread of the history of the greatest tragedy of all time with his proposal at their college graduation.
I tried to focus. But when Dom picked up his drink, he kept his other hand on the back of my chair like he was claiming it. Claiming me.
The lightning feeling was back. Only now, it felt like the bolt was heading straight for me, and when it struck me, my head was going to explode. I didn’t understand what this feeling was. All I knew was that I didn’t have the time to explore it or the will to survive it. I wanted his hand there. I wanted him crowding me. I wanted those blue eyes locked on mine and those firm, stern lips moving against my ear as he told me he wanted to take me home.
I wanted to breathe.
“Would you excuse me for a minute?” I asked, cutting off Austen mid- opine.
“Oh. Uh. Sure.” He blinked his way out of his walk down memory lane.
I slid off my stool and had to press my entire body against Dominic’s side to get out. I didn’t bother apologizing, just made a beeline for the restroom. It was down a long hall, and at the end of it, just past the ladies’ room, was an alcove that led to an emergency exit.
I’d made a logical claim. That I was capable of controlling myself around the man. That we could be friendly, not flirty. And yet here I was, trembling with s*xual frustration in a bathroom hallway while the man I couldn’t stop thinking about was on a date with the most beautiful human being in the entire universe.
What. The. Hell. Was. Wrong. With. Me?
Did I really just need to get laid? Would that uncoil this tightness in me?
Would a few orgasms render me immune to him? “Are you okay?”
I jumped and turned.
Dominic was staring at me like he couldn’t decide whether to chop me into pieces or pull my hair and French kiss me.
“No, I’m not okay!”
“What’s wrong? Did that twerp say something? Do something?”
“Austen?” I laughed. “No. He’s fine. He’s still in love with his ex-wife.” “Then what’s wrong?” he demanded, looking like he wanted to fix
whatever it was.
“This is stupid, Dom.”
“So it’s Dom again?” He took a step closer, and that electricity fired up inside again.
“Shut up. I panicked.”
“Why?” He had a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “For starters, I think I might be in love with your date. She’s stunning.” “She is,” he stupidly agreed. “She’s a human rights lawyer.”
So much for hurling fast food bags at bikers.
“You should get back to your date,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
When I didn’t answer, he took my arm and drew me into the alcove. The emergency sign burned red like a beacon. I felt like this situation qualified.
I was boxed in between the door and Dom’s broad chest. He rested his hands on either side of my head, caging me in between tattooed forearms.
“Talk.”
“I’m not mentally prepared for another round of honesty with you,” I confessed.
“Tough shit. Spill it, Maleficent, or I’m not letting you out of here.”
He’d keep me there, boxed in without actually touching me, all weekend just to prove a point.
“Fine,” I said. “I might be more attracted to you than I thought I was.” “And?” he said arrogantly.
“And I don’t love seeing you on a date with a really, really, really
beautiful, smart woman.”
Those blue eyes weren’t cold now. There was a victorious fire burning in them. And I was acutely aware that I was in immediate danger.
“I think I need to get laid. It’s been too long,” I confessed in a rush. “There’s some kind of weird build-up of s*xual energy, and if I don’t let it out, I’m going to Mount St. Helens on you or some other innocent bystander.”
He leaned in, waaaaaay too close for it to be anything but a come on. I stood stock-still as he traced his nose over my cheek and jaw. “Good,” he whispered.
“Good?” I gasped. I really wanted to hate him. But apparently my current priority was lusting after him.
“I want you to suffer the way I suffer,” he said, his breath hot against my ear.
My heart was trying to blast its way out of my chest. I didn’t know where the organ had gotten actual sticks of dynamite, but that’s what was happening. My insides had turned to lava… or magma, whichever simile was most appropriate. And I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter between my legs. “That’s not healthy, Charming. Friends don’t want friends to explode.”
“We’re not friends,” he said.
“What are we?” I asked. I was actually physically shaking from being so close and yet not close enough to the man.
“Feels more like enemies,” he said. “One of us has to win, and one of us has to lose.”
He didn’t want to want me. But if he had to, he wanted me to suffer with him. Ass.
That felt accurate, but I was pheromone-drunk enough to wonder if we could both get what we wanted if we got naked once together. Enemies with benefits.
My skin was on fire. My little red thong was sopping wet. And my inner walls were having some kind of seizure. If he didn’t back up or put some part of his body inside mine right now, I didn’t think any court in the country would hold me responsible for my actions.
I reached up, and we both watched as I placed my palms on his chest.
He was so warm, so solid. So obnoxiously s*xy. “You need to quit, Ally.”
I dragged my eyes away from his chest. “Excuse me?”
“Quit your job,” he said slowly. “If you don’t work there, we can do something about this.”
“You want me to quit my job so we can fuck each other out of our systems?”
So this was what an aneurysm felt like.
I’d always wondered.
His nostrils flared, and I swear his erection grew another half inch in diameter and flexed in his pants. “That’s exactly what I want.”
I was angry now. Incredibly turned on but very, very, very angry.
“We’re both on dates, and you’re telling me that if I quit my job—a job that is essential to my family’s survival—that you’ll be happy to fuck me,” I summarized.
“I’ll find you another job,” he said, ignoring the being on dates part.
The smug, problem-solving balls on this guy. I wanted to kick him in them with the pointiest stilettos I could find.
“I can’t afford to start over again.” I kept my voice low, but it shook with emotion. I had nothing left in my account. I was hanging on by a thread until payday Friday. The beer on the bar? That was being paid for by lowering the thermostat to fifty degrees for the next two days. And Dominic Russo thought he had the right to demand that I give up my employment for him. “Besides, what makes you think you’re worth it?” I seethed.
His blue eyes flashed, and he leaned in even closer.
I wanted to punch myself in the face for how much my stupid body still
wanted him to touch me.
“We both know how it would be between us.”
No. No. No. Nope. Never. Not gonna happen. No.
“Here’s a thought. How about you go back to your date before you say something even more incredibly offensive and stupid? Though I’m not sure you could if you tried.” Fueled by feminine rage, I gave him a solid shove.
He took a step back, his gaze heated, hands fisted at his sides.
Oh. My. Lanta. That hard-on looked like it was determined to tunnel its way out of those very expensive trousers.
Dominic kept his gaze on me and reached down to adjust himself.
Holy baby goats in pajamas. I swear I almost blacked out. It was the most blatantly s*xual thing he’d done in front of me.
And I wanted more.
I wanted to see him naked, spread out before me like a buffet. I also never wanted to see him again.
He turned and started back toward the bar. Now I was staring at his very nice ass, wondering why I wanted to bite it and kick it. Then that unfairly fine ass was pausing.
“Oh, Ally?”
I made some kind of noise between a “huh” and a “murf.” “Delaney’s not a date. She’s Harry’s wife.”
“You smug son of a bitch. You brought her here to screw with me.” His smile was pure evil. “I’m not a good guy, Ally. Remember that.” “I’ve never forgotten it, you pompous jackass.”
He started toward me again, and I held up both hands. “This isn’t fair, Dom. I don’t like you playing with me like this.”
His face hardened. “You think I like this? You think I like being the asshole who can’t have you so I don’t want anyone else to either? Do you know how I felt all day just knowing that you were dressing for someone else? That you were going out with someone? That another man was going to touch you tonight?”
I wanted to scream in frustration.
“This is so stupid. It’s not that you can’t have me. You don’t want me. We could go home right now, get this out of our system, and be normal by tomorrow morning. But you don’t want to.”
“As long as we both work for Label, you are untouchable, Ally.” He said it with an icy calm. “Quit.”
I wanted to rearrange his stupid, s*xy face. “No,” I hissed. I needed a paycheck more than I needed a callus, condescending cock inside me.
“Then that means I’m not going to touch you. It also means that every time you have a date, I’ll show up to ruin it because I am that asshole.” It was his turn to show a flash of anger now. And for some reason—most likely cheese hormones—I didn’t think it was directed at me.
No, Dominic Russo hated himself right now. For wanting me.
“That is a crock of shit, and you know it.” I was losing my sanity. That was the only explanation for this night.
“I am aware. And I’m sorry. I am,” he said, closing his eyes when I started to argue. “It’s not fair. It’s not remotely healthy. Believe me. I get that. It’s not your fault. But I’m not a good guy, Ally. And life isn’t fair. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
“Oh, I get it loud and clear. And just what exactly will you be doing while I’m not dating? Fucking your way through every woman in Manhattan who doesn’t work for you?”
He was back in my space again, and I could feel the pulse of his anger.
It matched my own.
“I’ll be doing what I’ve been doing since I met you,” he rasped. “What’s that?”
“Fucking my goddamn hand and wishing it was you.” And there went my knees, buckling under me.
