Page 188 of By A Thread

Soof courseI’d entertained myself—and tortured him—by trying on his vest collection and sending him selfies while wearing nothing else but a glossy coat of lipstick. Checking all the photos and video footage to see if he had a visible erection from one of the pictures was my new favorite game.

Speaking of photos, Dominic hadn’t been photographed with his arms around any of the bevies of stunning models flooding the city. In fact, in every photo, he had a camera-thrilling scowl and both hands in his pockets. I hadn’t asked him not to hug beautiful women. But he’d refrained anyway.

I was starting to think the man liked me. Really, really liked me.

Of course, just to make sure I wasn’t feeling totally confident, there had been a handful of mentions of Dominic flying solo with the speculation that our relationship was on the rocks. The jabs felt almost personal, but I tried not to read too much into it.

My phone buzzed again.

Dominic: You in my vests. Next year you’re coming with me.

I felt a thrill rush through me that had nothing to do with the seat warmer.

Were we really talking about next year? Was I okay with that? I checked in with several of my organs. Yep. Most of them reported back with resounding hell yeses. My brain was a little more pragmatic. There were a lot of things still up in the air. I was still behind on the bills. The renovations were stalled until Dom came home since the man forbade me from going over there alone. It was one little carpet tack puncture and a tetanus shot. Dom acted like I’d been held up at gunpoint.

But it was only a matter of time until the house was done and on the market and… Okay. I was overthinking. We hadn’t defined what this was other than “a relationship,” and we certainly hadn’t talked about anything relating to the future.

Me: Count on it. I miss you.

Dominic: Good.

* * *

I woke earlythe next morning with Brownie’s warm furry body cuddled into my side and a figure looming over us both.

The dog and I were epic sleep partners. It took a lot to drag us from our slumber.

My confused screech and subsequent flailing to free myself of blankets and pillows roused Brownie, who grumbled lazily and did not leap into attack dog mode.

The laugh was soft and undeniably familiar.

“Dominic?”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my mouth. I didn’t care about morning breath or the fact that we were squishing Brownie. I just wanted to pull the man into bed.

“How? When? I thought you were staying for two more days? What time is it? Is everything okay?”

“So many questions,” he teased, running a hand down my side to squeeze my hip.

“Wait a minute. What day is it? Did Brownie and I accidentally sleep for two days?”

“It’s obscenely early Saturday morning. I took a red-eye. You have fifteen minutes to pack.”

“Pack?” I croaked.

This was a dream. One I was going to be really, really disappointed to wake up from.

“Pack,” he repeated with a grin. He looked tired too. “I’m whisking you away for the weekend.”

Brownie wriggled his way in between us and showed Dom his expectant belly.

“You, too, buddy,” Dom said, giving the dog the required pats.

I sat up. “Oh, my God. You’re really here. This is really happening!”

He laughed, and I threw my arms around him, raining kisses on his face and neck.

“Baby, I may never say these words again, but I really need you to get out of bed.”