Page 38 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

The brass bell over my door chimed, and that familiar pine and spice scent wrapped around me before I even looked toward the door. Dominic stood in the entryway, his steel-gray eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my hands still on the leather samples.

“You’re here early,” I said, setting down the purple leather and trying to read his expression. There was something differentabout his demeanor—a tension that could mean either very good news or very bad news.

“I wanted to see you before the day gets complicated,” he said, stepping into the shop and letting the door swing closed behind him. The soft click of the lock engaging made my pulse quicken.

“Complicated how?” I asked, studying his expression. There was something in his demeanor that reminded me of yesterday—that same careful evasiveness when I’d asked about his and Blake’s plans.

“Just a busy day ahead,” he said, moving closer to my workbench. His gaze took in the spread of materials before settling on my face. “How’s the commission coming along?”

The deflection was immediate and obvious. “Yesterday you were vague about your ‘developments,’ and now you’re deflecting again. What’s going on?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Blake has some useful connections in city planning. We're exploring possible avenues through those channels.”

I folded my arms across my chest at the non-answer. “That’s not an answer. In fact, it sounds like corporate speak for something you don’t want to tell me.”

Instead of answering, he reached out to touch one of the leather samples, his fingers tracing the smooth surface. “This is beautiful work. Your grandfather would be proud.”

The deflection was so obvious it made me bristle. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Let me handle the bureaucratic complications while you focus on your commission,” he said, stepping closer until I could feelthe heat radiating from his body. His hand came up to trace along my jaw, thumb brushing across my lower lip. “You said the commission was important to you.”

“That’s not a satisfactory answer.” His touch sent heat straight through me, but I forced myself to step back. “I’m not some delicate omega who needs to be protected from difficult information. If you’re making moves that affect my community, I have a right to know.”

“Blake understands how these systems work,” he said, following my retreat until my back hit the edge of my work table. “I understand how to motivate people to do their jobs properly.”

“Motivate people how?”

“Through appropriate channels,” he said, his voice carrying that same smooth deflection. “Sometimes a conversation from the right person can help clarify priorities.”

The vague response made my stomach clench with unease. “What kind of conversation?”

“The productive kind,” he said, his hands coming up to grip the edge of the workbench on either side of me, effectively caging me in. “You’re overthinking this, baby. Blake and I know what we’re doing.”

“I’m not overthinking anything,” I shot back, meeting his gaze with all the defiant omega independence I could muster. “You’re making decisions about my life, about my community, without consulting me. You think you know what’s best for everyone.”

“I know what’s best for you,” he said, leaning closer until our faces were inches apart. “And right now, what’s best for you is letting me handle the red tape.”

“You mean letting you control everything while I play with my leather samples like a good little omega?”

His jaw tightened, the muscle beneath his skin jumping as those cool gray eyes darkened. “I mean letting me take care of the business side so you can focus on what makes you happy.”

“What makes me happy is being treated like an equal partner,” I said, pushing against his chest though he didn’t budge. “Not like someone who needs to be managed and protected from reality.”

“Reality is dealing with people who respond better to pressure than politeness,” he said, his voice rougher now. “That’s not your world, Leo. It’s mine.”

“And you’re so much better at handling pressure than I am?”

“I’m better at handling certain types of people,” he said, his mouth moving closer to my ear. “I’m better at speaking their language. Let me do what I’m good at while you do what you’re good at.”

“I want to be kept informed,” I managed, though it was getting harder to think with his scent and body in my space, overwhelming my senses.

“And I want you safe and happy,” he said, finally pressing his lips to the side of my neck.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” I protested, but my hands were already fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

“They are when the process gets complicated,” he said against my throat. “When dealing with certain people requires a more direct approach.”

“What kind of direct approach?”