Page 145 of By A Thread

“You’re my employee. You concern me. Are you dancing again?”

I rolled my eyes. Which was a mistake because a) it hurt my face and b) it really pissed Dominic off.

“Again. None of your business. And no I’m not dancing. It was an accident. He—” I choked on the word and immediately shut up.

“He.” His voice simmered with rage on the pronoun.

“Dominic, stop. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s my responsibility,” I said, my voice breaking.

I realized with horror that my eyes were going hot and glassy. I thought I’d gotten a hold on the waterworks. But it was like someone had turned on a freaking geyser.

“Ally.” He whispered my name. It was like a caress.

I shook my head. “Don’t do this, Dom. Don’t be nice. Don’t ask me questions. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

He pulled me out of the chair and into his arms.

It was a hug. A hard, breathless hug.

And that’s what broke me. The unyielding contact of his body pressed against mine, his arms wrapped around me tight enough that the only thing I knew for certain was that I was safe.

“I can’t take this anymore, Ally,” he breathed against my hair. “I can’t just watch from the sidelines and pretend it doesn’t fucking kill me that I can’t touch you.”

I didn’t trust my voice. Didn’t have any words worth saying anyway. I just wanted to be held like this.

The tears I’d been holding back for so long burst through the dam. Those defensive walls trembled once before crumbling to dust beneath the weight of relief. I was going to ruin his very nice shirt with my silent but dramatic waterworks.

“Baby,” he whispered against the top of my head. “Talk to me. Please.”

I shook my head.

His arms tightened around me. “Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?”

Again, I shook my head. “Notwon’ttalk.Can’ttalk,” I managed between shaky breaths.

“You’re killing me, Ally. Right now, I just want to murder whoever put that mark on your face without letting go of you.”

That only made me cry harder.

In a moment that would have been incredibly romantic had I not been squirting liquid from both eyes and nostrils, Dominic picked me up, tucking my face under his chin, and carried me into his office. He kicked the door shut, threw the lock, and crossed to the couch.

He settled with me in his lap. Which was a much different feeling from the last time I’d been in it. Though, despite my hiccupping sobs, I still managed to engage my Dominic Dick Radar to notice that he was indeed hard. Definitely a permanent condition.

“You can’t murder him,” I told him mournfully.

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“He’s my father.” He stiffened against me.

More tears poured forth. An entire six month’s worth of banked hurt, angst, and fear flowed down my cheeks and onto Dominic’s crisp, white shirt.

He clutched me tighter to him. Murmured softly in my ear. Making promises we both knew he couldn’t keep. Through it all, he stroked my hair, my back, in long, comforting sweeps. The sweetness, the gentleness of his touch when I could still feel him vibrating with anger beneath me steadied me.

“Tell me, baby,” he demanded.

So I did. In fits and starts while silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

“Once I sell the house, that money will go to the nursing home, and he’ll be safe for at least a couple of years. It’ll buy me time to figure out how to make it work. I don’t want to have to move him to another facility if I can help it. But it’s so expensive. I’m not going to have a choice if I can’t get the house on the market.”