Page 19 of A Taste For Trouble

“Sorry, babe. I have a hot date tonight,” he replied regretfully. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to escort the two of you to Mrs Carlisle’s door since I like my head attached to my body, thank you very much.”

“Ugh, I don’t think I can eat anything after this,” I grumbled. “Do we need a restraining order against Joe?”

“Well, first we need to find him so we can find out why he broke in. Can’t take a call on the RO until that happens.”

“Fine. Please let me know if you find anything. I’m heading to bed,” I replied wearily, ignoring his protests as I went back to my room.

It was very sweet of Dom to order my favourite meal, especially since I had no idea he knew what I liked. But there was nothing worse than eating alone, in state, at a massive dining table that could easily seat twelve people on your first night in a new place.

Sweetpea came up to me, complaining about being left alone, and I was glad to see he hadn’t taken his rage out on the room for a change. It seemed my cat was as intimidated by my surroundings as I was. I picked him up and crooned sweet nothings in his ear, as I carried him to bed. After I petted him for a bit, I got out of bed and had a quick shower in the en-suite bathroom.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the scene in Dom’s bedroom. Had I really been as bold as that? And how far would we have gone if Trevor hadn’t interrupted us? I didn’t think either Dom or I were in any state to stop before it went too far. He might not be interested in me romantically, but in that moment, Dominic Carlisle had wanted me as much as I wanted him.

I towelled myself dry and got into the only pyjamas I had packed, which happened to be hole-free for a change. It was time to forget what had happened and focus on getting home as soon as I could.

I got into bed with a pretty notebook and a pen, and decided to outline the next series I was planning to write. My editor wanted an exotic billionaire romance series with the characters jetsetting all over the world, and I wondered how I was going to write that when I had never so much as stepped out of Maplewood. I was an armchair traveller because my budget only allowed me to afford fancy travel magazines that went to places I never could.

I pulled up the online edition of one of those magazines on my iPad, and pored over the pretty pages for a while, trying to pick between St Tropez and Amalfi as a setting for my next book.I was close to giving up in despair when there was a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I called absently, with my head still bent over the iPad.

“You didn’t eat your dinner,” said Dom, and I looked up in surprise.

“I’m sorry?” I stammered.

“You didn’t eat your dinner,” he repeated. “I thought you liked spaghetti and meatballs.”

“I do…But…Well, I wasn’t hungry,” I replied, not wanting to admit that I didn’t feel comfortable eating all alone in that massive room.

“I haven’t eaten either,” he said quietly. “Care to join me?”

“I thought you were going to eat in your study,” I pointed out.

He just shrugged in reply, and I tried to tell myself it meant nothing.

“Give me five minutes to change out of these PJs?”

“Come as you are,” he replied. “We’re not formal around here at all.”

I called myself a fool for following him out to the living room, but it was just dinner. And he hadn’t eaten either. The formal dining table was empty when we got there, and Dom nodded his head towards the kitchen island, which held two plates and silverware, along with steaming bowls of spaghetti and meatballs.

“There’s tiramisu in the refrigerator,” he said, as I climbed on one of the barstools and he took the one across from me.

We ate in silence until Sweetpea jumped onto the stool next to mine. He hissed a warning at Dom, who merely rolled his eyes at him and went on eating.

“Do you have enough cat food for him?” he asked suddenly, and I nodded.

“I packed more cat food and treats than clothes,” I said with a laugh.

Sweetpea put a paw on my arm, clearly begging for food, and although I knew he was supposed to be on a diet, I couldn’t resist giving him a meatball. He scarfed it down while still glaring at Dom.

“How’s your leg?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“I’ll live. But I can’t make any promises about that hairball if he attacks me again,” he said sternly.

Strangely, his words didn’t frighten me as much as Joe’s had. I knew Dom would never hurt an animal. I had known him almost all my life, and though he was considered a shark in business circles, I had never seen him be anything but kind to the people around him.

“That hairball can slice and gut you in seven seconds, so I wouldn’t make any threats around him if I were you,” I replied dryly.