Chapter Seventeen
Dripping with sweat, Daisy turned off the Body Combat video and dragged a towel down her face and neck. She chugged the last of the bottled water, then went into the bathroom and stripped out of her workout clothes.
Nothing like a punching and kicking, pulse-pounding routine to work off emotional flab.
It was a therapeutic ritual she’d begun years ago, a way to land imaginary body blows on the people who’d hurt her the most. Not the most exciting way to spend her birthday, but for forty intense minutes she wasn’t plagued with sadness. Unfortunately, the effect never lasted long enough, and tonight it dissipated all too quickly.
“Dammit.” She cranked the water on in the shower, then yanked back the plastic curtain with such force she nearly ripped it off the metal rod. She stepped in, jerked the curtain closed behind her, and tilted her face to the spray.
If only her grandparents hadn’t been so obsessed with the so-called purity of their family line. It was archaic, really, and all because half her genetics wasn’t blue blood, like theirs. Her mother had been a beautiful, loving woman from the Scottish Highlands, but she was a commoner and had never been welcomed into the family.
Most of the rage had diminished long ago, but she had to accept that some of the hurt and resentment would always be there. If she didn’t get over this woe-is-me mentality it would consume her. She grabbed the bottle of body soap and a washcloth, then vigorously scrubbed herself clean and shampooed her hair.
After toweling off, she applied a fresh Band-Aid to her cut finger, which had finally stopped throbbing, then she stepped into a pair of low-cut jeans and an oversize canary yellow, V-neck cardigan. Next she blow-dried her hair and brushed it until it hung around her shoulders in dark, shiny waves.
The face staring back at her in the mirror was thirty-five years old. “Happy birthday to me.” For the first time since she could remember, she regretted being alone on this day. Mostly she regretted not stopping on the way home for one of those mini-chocolate mousse cakes she habitually treated herself to on her birthday. Why, oh why did I not bring home some kind of chocolate to get me through the night?
Out of nostalgia, she dug into her jewelry box and slipped on one of the necklaces her parents had given her. She didn’t know if it was real gold and couldn’t have cared less. Looking in the mirror, she fingered the antiqued gold chain dotted every inch or so with tiny enamel cloisonné flowers. This had been one of the last gifts her mother and father had given her before they died, and she loved it.
The doorbell rang, and she frowned. No one had buzzed her on the intercom, and both neighbors on her floor were away for the weekend. She set the brush onto the vanity and tiptoed in her bare feet to the front door. Leaning in, she looked through the peephole. She gasped and stepped back.
Dom was outside her apartment.
She held her hands to the sides of her face, ignoring the bell when it rang again. The sight of him standing there, so close and yet so far, had her mind jumbling.
Should I let him in? No. But he’ll just keep ringing the damn bell.
Why is he here? To get a piece of my ass. Probably. Maybe.
I don’t want to be alone tonight. There it was. She was so freaking tired of being alone.
“Daisy, open up,” he said through the door. “I know it’s your birthday. I brought cake.”
Cake? She narrowed her eyes, then peered again through the peephole. Sure enough, he had a bakery box in his hands. “What kind?” she asked through the door. Don’t say chocolate, don’t say chocolate, don’t say chocolate. Because if he did, she’d have to…
“Chocolate.”
…let him in.
Groaning, she pressed her forehead to the door. “Don’t do this to yourself,” she whispered, both sides of her brain at all-out war.
She opened the door.
For a moment, they stared at each other across the threshold, neither one moving or saying a word. Finally, he gave her a hesitant smile. “You gonna let me in?”
She stepped aside, and as he brushed past her, the shifting air brought with it his clean, fresh scent.
“Where do you want it?” When he held up the cake box, his dark blue Henley tightened across his chest, outlining firm pectorals.
“Kitchen.” She closed the door and followed him, her gaze inevitably drawn to his muscular jean-clad ass.
When he set the box onto the table and opened the lid, her taste buds did a little jig. The cake had to be six inches high and covered in what looked like the richest, most decadent chocolate frosting she’d ever seen. And if that wasn’t enough, the top of the cake was mounded high with chocolate roses and curls, adding another two inches to its height.
Unable to resist, she dragged her finger through the side of the cake, then stuck her finger into her mouth. “Mmmm.” She scooped up more and opened her mouth.
“Hey.” Dom grabbed her wrist. “No more until you make a wish and blow out the candle.” Leaning in, he closed his mouth over her finger and sucked off the frosting.
She gaped at him, totally unprepared for the lightning zing of goose bumps pebbling every inch of her skin.
Without missing a beat, he turned and opened the refrigerator. “Milk?”
“Uh, yeah.” She cleared her throat, then set the table with glasses, plates, forks, and napkins.
While she poured the milk, he extracted the cake from the box and stuck a pink candle in the center. He surprised her even more by pulling out her chair for her. Before sitting, she looked up into his eyes, confused and delighted by his unexpected thoughtfulness.
“You didn’t have to do this.” She sat as he pushed in her chair.
He gave her a pensive look, then sat in the adjacent chair. “I wanted to.”
“Why?” She crossed her arms. “And how did you know it was my birthday? For that matter, how did you even get into my building without being buzzed in?”
Dom had pulled a small butane lighter from his pocket. “You wanna interrogate me or eat cake?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Both.”
“Fine.” He set the lighter on the table. “I wanted to do this for you because you deserve it. Everyone deserves DiFonzo’s triple-chocolate mousse at least once a year.”
Triple-chocolate mousse cake? Daisy’s mouth watered so much she had to swallow. “And?”
“And I knew it was your birthday because I looked at the calendar on your desk.”
“Which you just happened to notice while you were ravaging me against the wall?” As much as she knew she shouldn’t, Daisy grinned.
“Nope.” He shook his head, grinning back. “Trust me, you had my full attention while I was ravaging you against the wall.”
“And?” she prodded, wanting to know how he’d gotten in.
“And my powers of persuasion are so finely honed that getting into your building was a…piece of cake.”
She burst out laughing. This was totally not how she’d expected to spend her birthday or whom she’d expected to spend it with.
“No more questions.” He picked up the lighter and lit the candle. “Make a wish, birthday girl.”
She set her palms flat on the table and leaned in, about to wish that the rest of the cake tasted as good as the frosting.
Dom rested his hand on one of hers, squeezing it. “Make it a good one.”
She glanced at their hands, then looked into his eyes. So blue, like the ocean. Her heart thumped a little faster. Don’t. Just enjoy the moment. She closed her eyes. I wish…things could have been different. She leaned in and blew out the candle.
Beside her, Dom clapped. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
She sliced off two mega-hunks of the rich cake. “How did you know to get chocolate cake?”
“You told me you loved chocolate.” He held out a plate while she slid the slice of cake onto it.
“When did I say that?” She slid the spatula under the second slice and plated it.
He set the plate down and locked gazes with hers. “A year ago.”
“You remembered that?” She raised her brows.
“I remember a lot of things.” His eyes lowered to her mouth. “Plus, it was written on your calendar. Speaking of which, when do I get my first paycheck? As you so snarkily enjoy reminding me, I do work for you.”
“Ahh.” She nodded, holding up a finger. “So that’s what the cake is about. Sucking up to the boss.”
“No. I can tell you’ve been down lately and thought you deserved something nice on your birthday.” The humorous look on his face suddenly faded as he picked up a fork. “Try the cake.”
She’d been about to, but his comment stopped her. That he’d done something so thoughtful on her birthday was almost too hard to believe. She swallowed a bite and moaned in pure ecstasy. “This is the richest, most chocolaty chocolate mousse cake I’ve ever had. It’s better than sex.”
Dom huffed. “Then you’ve been having sex with the wrong guy.” He stuck an enormous forkful into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “This cake really is kick-ass.”
Ironically, he’d been the last guy she’d had sex with. But for the second time since he’d walked in the door, she found herself laughing with the last person she ever expected to share her birthday with.
After finishing their cake, she carried two mugs of hot tea into the living room and handed one to Dom. He reached for it, and when she would have sat opposite him in her overstuffed chair, he patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Sit here. I have something else for you.”
She twisted her lips, then narrowed her eyes. “Oh, really?”
“Not that.” He frowned. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Fine.” She sat next to him, but not too close.
He set his mug onto a coaster and tugged a small red velvet box from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “I hope you like it.”
She stiffened, not reaching for the box. “I—I don’t know what to say. You shouldn’t have gotten me anything. The cake was more than enough.”
“Take it.” He held the box closer to her. “Happy birthday, Daisy.”
She set her mug onto another coaster and accepted the gift. With unsteady fingers, she flipped open the lid and gasped. “Oh…Dom.” Tears stung her eyes as she gazed down at the beautiful piece of jewelry. An antique gold broach in the shape of a vase, bursting with cloisonné enamel flowers—a perfect match to the necklace her parents had given her.
Tears began tumbling down her cheeks. “How did you know?”
He touched his fingers to the chain around her neck. “You wore that a year ago. Here,” he added as he took the pin from her trembling fingers, “allow me.”
He affixed the pin near the collar of her sweater, and when his fingers grazed her skin, a warm flush heated her neck. But it was more than just his touch that affected her. Her heart did a little flip-flop at the incredibly kind, incredibly thoughtful gesture. “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “How could you remember all these things from a year ago? Why would you—of all people—do that?”
He drew his brows together, his expression hardening. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Look, I’m sorry.” Needing space to clear her head, she stood and took a shuddering breath. “I don’t understand what this is all about. None of this makes any sense.”
“I know it doesn’t.” He held out his hand to her. “Sit with me so I can explain.”
“Explain what?” She swallowed hard, willing her heart to stop pounding in her chest and her hands to stop trembling.
“Why I left. Why I never called or reached out to you afterward.” His jaw clenched, making his face even more handsome.
With her heart threatening to burst from her chest, she put her hand in his and sat next to him.
Releasing her hand, he tugged a wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a photo, handing it to her. It was old and wrinkled, as if it had been in his wallet for ages and been looked at many, many times over.
As she studied the couple in the photo, the thumping in her chest slowed to a dull thud. This is the reason he left me. More specifically, she’s the reason he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing me again.
“She’s stunning,” Daisy said, unable to tear her gaze from the truth. The love in Dom’s eyes as he gazed down at the petite brunette was obvious, as was the complete adoration the woman had for him. It was in the way she was touching his chest, and the intimate way she leaned into him. As if they were one.
She handed the photo back to him. “Now I understand.”
He began slipping the photo back into his wallet but paused. “Understand what?”
“Why you left without a word. It’s obvious how much you love her.”
“I did.” He again looked at the photo.
Did? As in, no more?
“She died fifteen years ago.”
A lump the size of a golf ball lodged in Daisy’s throat. “How did she die?”
“Anika was killed.” His face tensed. “She was a doctor in Afghanistan where Gray and I were stationed. The hospital where she worked was targeted by missile fire. I heard the blast and was first on scene. She was dead before I even got there. She—” He shut his eyes, obviously struggling for control.
Daisy gasped. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I feel so stupid. I didn’t know.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath, his shirt tightening over his broad chest. When he opened his eyes his deep blue gaze was distant, and she guessed he was reliving that horrible, horrible moment.
“There was blood and body parts everywhere—all the children who were patients and most of Gray’s unit that was there giving blood. Everyone blown to bits. I found Anika—what was left of her—beneath a mountain of rubble and debris.” He absently rubbed his leg where she knew there was a long, jagged scar running up the outside of his thigh. “I collected her and buried her in the desert.”
Collected her? “Oh, Dom.” Instinctively, Daisy rested her hand atop his. The image of him forced to gather body parts of the woman he loved brought tears to her eyes. She could only imagine how deeply such a horrific event still haunted him. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.
He suddenly cleared his throat, then tucked the photo back into his wallet and tossed it on the table. He faced her and took her hands in his. “I’m not telling you this because I want your pity. Anika died a long time ago, and I’ve been using her death as an excuse to avoid getting close to a woman.”
The pain of loss in his eyes seared a hole straight through Daisy’s heart. She, too, understood the loss of loved ones. “I understand. You’ve never gotten over her. But as a man, you still needed sex from time to time.”
“No.” He shook his head, frowning. “That’s not the way it was with us. You”—he squeezed her hands—“scared me to death. It took me years to get to the point where I could make love to a woman without being drunk off my ass. When I finally did, I never stayed the night at a woman’s place. I never wanted to. Ever.”
And you didn’t stay the night at my place, either.
“That one night with you, I wanted to stay. For the first time in fifteen years I wanted to fall asleep next to a woman and wake up in the morning and have her face be the first thing I saw. Your face. You, Daisy.” He brought her hands to his mouth for a soft kiss.
“Then why didn’t you stay?” she whispered.
“Mainly because I was chickenshit.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I knew staying the night could have been the beginning of something real. So I left.”
“Mainly?” she asked, wondering if there was another reason. He hesitated before answering, confirming her suspicion that there was.
“There were other things going on that stopped me from getting involved,” he said finally.
“Another woman?” She held her breath.
“No.” He shook his head. “Just, other things.”
She wanted to pry into what other things he was talking about, but when he began stroking her cheek so tenderly she forgot all about it.
“From the moment I laid eyes on you I wanted you, but I never counted on it being anything more.”
“What are you saying?” She waited for his answer, silently praying it was the one she so desperately wanted to hear.
The look in his eyes was both fierce and tender at the same time. “I’m saying I want another chance with you. I’m asking you to let me spend the night and wake up in the morning beside you, even if all you let me do is hold you.”
Daisy could only stare, wide-eyed. It hadn’t exactly been a declaration of love, but the intensity of his words and the emotion with which he’d related his lover’s death resonated so passionately with her that she believed him.
He cupped her face and gently brushed at her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I sure hope those are happy tears.”
Without waiting for an answer, he kissed her. His lips were soft, the kiss tentative, a stark contrast to the fiery, demanding kisses she’d become accustomed to with him. This time there was no urgent insistence. This time he was asking her permission. Whatever did or didn’t happen between them next was entirely her decision to make.
He pulled back enough to look into her eyes, and the stark emotion, the raw and hungry longing she glimpsed in his gaze, had her shaking all over. Her heart skipped beat after beat, as if it were somersaulting down a steep ravine, not knowing where the emotional fall would take her. Only one thing was certain.
I want to find out.
She drank in the hard lines of his chiseled face, the roughened, hardened beauty of the powerful man humbling himself before her. She sifted her fingers through his thick hair. He closed his eyes and made a low groan in the back of his throat. She touched her lips to his. When she laid her other hand on his chest his body trembled, and it occurred to her that he really was leaving the next move up to her.
Deepening the kiss, she lay back on the sofa, pulling him down on top of her. His body was heavy as he settled between her legs, his erection long and hard against her thighs. She slipped her hands under his shirt, reveling in the thick, hard muscles rippling beneath his taut skin. And all the while, their kisses deepened, unleashing a torrent of passion that could no longer be restrained.
“I never forgot this.” His voice was husky as his lips trailed a heated, sensual path along her neck to her collarbone, pausing at the deep V of her sweater above her breasts. “How beautiful you smell. How sweet you taste.”
When he nuzzled her breasts through her sweater, she ached with need. Too many clothes. If she didn’t feel his hands and mouth on her bare skin soon, she would surely die.
As if reading her thoughts, he lifted his head and swallowed, breathing hard, a questioning look in his darkened gaze. “Daisy—?”
“Shh.” She covered his lips with her fingers. “Make love to me.”
He crushed his mouth to hers in a searing kiss that made her heart feel as if it would pump right out of her chest, then he scooped her up gently in his arms as if she were no heavier than a delicate piece of lace.
Once in her bedroom, he released her slowly, letting her body slide against his as her feet met the plush carpet. He tugged her sweater over her head, dropping it to the floor. His nostrils flared as he stared down at her satin- and lace-covered breasts.
His eyes roved her body with an intensity that made her shiver. Making love with this man had been soul-rocking the first time. Then, they’d barely known each other. Now there was an even deeper connection.
Her nipples tightened almost painfully, and when he cupped her breasts, rubbing them with the pads of his thumbs, she couldn’t stop the throaty moan that escaped her lips. She covered his hands with hers, urging him to caress her breasts harder. He did, then slid his hands to her back and unfastened her bra. His fingertips made a fiery trail on her skin as he slid the bra down her arms and let it fall to the floor. Locking his gaze with hers, he began a slow, erotic massage of her body, his hands roaming her back, her buttocks, up her rib cage to her breasts again.
Frenzied need bloomed deep inside her, like spring flowers getting their first glimpse of sunlight after a long, cold winter. She yanked his shirt over his head, then dragged her fingernails across the taut skin of his back, digging them into his thick muscles. He responded with a deep, masculine groan.
“I’ve always loved your fingernails, all pretty and pink.” The look in his eyes was pure sex as he gazed down at her. “But I also love these. Your breasts are so damn perfect.” Dipping his head, he captured her nipple in his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue before nipping it gently with his teeth.
She gasped and clasped his head tighter to her breast. He shifted to her other breast, suckling and nipping like she was an ice cream cone. Lightning bolts of pleasure shot to her core, and she hissed in a breath. He kissed his way down her belly to the waistband of her jeans. With a flick of his finger, he undid the button and zipper, then tugged her pants and panties down her legs, his fingertips caressing every inch of her thighs and calves along the way.
When she stepped out of her pants, he looked up at her, his blue eyes dark and laden with lust. He slid his hands up the insides of her thighs, and she stepped wider while his thumbs grazed her wet folds. Again she moaned, resting her hands on his shoulders for balance while his thumbs slid back and forth, delving deeper with every path, teasing, torturing her sweet spot until she whimpered.
“Sit on the bed.” When she did, he placed his hand on her belly and pushed gently. “Lie back. The chocolate mousse cake was great, but I’m in the mood for something else.”
Her body trembled with need and expectation as she lay backward. Dom draped her legs over his shoulders, holding the tops of her thighs. Using his fingers, he spread her slickened folds, then flicked his tongue at the tender, sensitized bud. She shivered and bucked in his grasp. Instinct took over, and she surged her hips forward, pressing against his mouth. His tongue pushed inside her, sucking her folds into his mouth. He sucked gently at first, then went deeper, licking faster, hotter.
She clawed her fingers through his hair and circled her hips, grinding against his mouth. The sensation of his long, wet tongue laving her most sensitive parts was almost too much to bear.
The first wave of her orgasm built in the pit of her belly, spiraling outward until she spasmed and cried out.
He held her thighs down firmly, flicking his tongue faster at her clitoris before nipping it gently with his teeth. A second wave of orgasm gained momentum, building and building until it washed over her, and she cried out again, louder this time, her hips bucking wildly.
She closed her eyes, sucking in deep breaths as her heart pounded. “Oh. My. Gosh,” she managed to say between breaths.
The mattress shifted, and she opened her eyes to see Dom shucking his jeans and tight boxers, setting his phone on the bedside table. At the sight of him standing beside the bed, naked and golden and magnificent, she propped herself up on her elbows, her mouth watering. She noted the jagged scar on the side of his left thigh and wondered if it had anything to do with his limp. But the scar looked old, as if it had been there for quite some time, and she had only a vague recollection of it from when they’d made love a year ago.
His erection jutted out proudly between two of the longest, most muscular legs she’d ever seen, and she licked her lips, imagining how he would taste as she ran her tongue along every ripped muscle of his powerful, sexy body. Just looking at him was enough to give her another orgasm. In response, her body jerked as a tiny jolt of awareness flared between her thighs.
As he pulled a condom from his wallet, the muscles in his arms rippled and danced. Her heart rate had finally begun to slow, but then he rolled the condom onto his enormous erection, and her pulse fluttered out of control all over again. Though they’d made love once before, that had been a year ago, and she hadn’t been with anyone since.
She swallowed, her breathing coming faster now as he rested one hand beside her, slipping his other hand beneath her ass and easily repositioning her onto the center of the bed.
His biceps and forearms corded as he held himself over her. She looked up into his eyes and skimmed her hands down his back, raking her nails gently over his skin. His firm, muscular ass was taut beneath her seeking fingers. Licking her lips again, she closed one of her hands over his stiff erection.
He threw back his head and groaned deep in his throat. “Daisy.” His body shuddered as she began stroking him through the condom. He was warm and hard, pulsing and vibrating in her hand. “Keep touching me like that and I’ll come before I ever get inside you.”
“Then we’d better hurry.” She pulled him down and guided him to her entrance, lifting her hips as the head of his erection nudged her wet, swollen folds.
He clasped the sides of her face and kissed her deeply, with slow, languid swipes of his tongue, as if he were savoring her very essence.
While his tongue invaded her mouth, the head of his erection pressed inside her, an inch at a time, allowing her body to relax and adjust to his size. He lifted his head, breathing hard, nostrils flaring as he pushed deeper. Wet and slick though she was, the pressure against her inner walls made her tense.
He withdrew. “Am I hurting you?” His forehead creased, and the look of unmistakable concern in his eyes made her heart squeeze. He stroked her cheek, his voice thick with emotion. “Have you been with anyone else since the last time we were together?”
A frisson of embarrassment shot through her when she shook her head. She’d been tempted to lie but couldn’t.
“I’m glad.” He smiled, and her immediate reaction was that he was gloating, as if he’d made such a sexual impression on her she’d been spoiled for anyone else.
“You’ve been with other women, haven’t you?” When he closed his eyes she knew the answer. He’d all but admitted it when they’d nearly had sex several days ago.
He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes. “I’m not proud of it. And I never stopped thinking about you.”
“You’re kidding.” But the look on his face was dead serious. “Aren’t you?”
“No.” He touched his fingers to her cheek. “I would never kid or lie to you about something so important. I mean it. I never stopped thinking about you.”
She shook her head, uttering a disbelieving sound, but when their gazes reconnected his eyes held nothing but raw, blatant honesty. He continued to hold himself over her but made no attempt to reenter her, and she understood why. He was waiting. For her.
Searching his face, she stroked the hard planes of his jaw, trailing her fingers over his stubble before pulling his head to her for another deep kiss.
When he pushed against her folds, she spread her legs wider, welcoming him. He kissed her tenderly, and her vaginal walls relaxed until he was fully sheathed. She closed her eyes, joining him with every thrust, rocking her hips against his.
Wetness flowed inside her, lubricating her walls, easing the tightness until all she felt was the sensual slide of him in and out, deeper and faster. The force of his thrusts increased, and she locked her legs around the backs of his thighs, gripping his ass tighter.
The orgasm built until they were both gasping for air. The powerful shock wave hit her a split second before his, and she threw back her head and cried out. He pressed his lips to her neck and thrust once, twice, the third time holding himself inside her as he came.
His rough growl against her neck sent a spiraling vibration throughout her body, intensifying the final throes of her orgasm. For several long moments, they stayed that way, his powerful body pressed against hers, their chests heaving.
He turned onto his side, snuggling her to him. “Hey.” He nudged her chin up with his finger and grinned down at her. “Happy birthday.”
She smiled, realizing this man, the same man she’d once believed was the epitome of a womanizer, living for nothing more than personal and sexual gratification, was anything but that. Beneath that happy-go-lucky facade lay the most sensitive and deeply troubled man she’d ever known. And he’d given her the one thing no one else had in over twenty years.
A happy birthday.