Page 82 of By A Thread

He was back in my space again, and I couldfeelthe pulse of his anger. It matched my own.

“I’ll be doing what I’ve been doing since I met you,” he rasped.

“What’s that?”

“Fucking my goddamn hand and wishing it was you.”

And there went my knees, buckling under me.

27

Ally

It had not been my finest night.

After Dominic caught me when I all but swooned on him, I went back to the bar. Back to Austen. Back to the stool that my boss guarded like a gargoyle. And pretended like everything was just fine.

My neck hives had hives.

Dominic didn’t touch me again. But his hand remained a firm presence on the back of my chair. A reminder of his claim.

I wished I had it in me to flirt with my “date” to knot Dominic up the way he did me, but I could only stare blankly at Austen while he talked about his wedding.

There I sat, debating my options.

Quit and get fucked.

Or stay and get fucked over.

I, of course, was taking the high road. My situation demanded that I keep this job. My circumstances would force me to keep my dignity when my body didn’t seem capable of it.

Beside me, Dominic gave a rumble of a laugh in response to something Delaney said.

I was so tired. And sad. And angry. I’d wasted a night off. I could have had a visit with my father. I could have taken a catering shift or spent the entire evening figuring out how to patch the living room ceiling. Or, you know, makingactualprogress on a monumental task that was going to give me some breathing room.

Hell, I could have called my best friend, Faith, and caught up with her.

All of these things were better than being sandwiched between a man who wasn’t over his ex and one who was punishing me for not being stupid enough to quit my job to spend one night naked with him.

Because I was the one who had to compromise? Bullshit.

I fantasized about jabbing my elbow into his too close torso, tossing my drink in his face, and then kneeing him in the balls.

Right now, I hated him. I loathed him.

The only thing I hated more was the fact that Istill wantedDominic Russo.

It was pathetic. My father hadn’t raised pathetic. He’d instilled in me a deep and abiding faith in my inherent value. I was more than just some toy for a bored, horny executive to play with. I was better than a quick fuck.

But even as I told myself that, my underwear was getting damper and damper by the second. As if sex hormones had destroyed my brain so that nothing else mattered but being touched by the man next to me.

Every touch, no matter how innocent, how platonic, took on layers of meaning. Each one kicked off chain reactions in my body’s chemistry. The brush of his pant leg against my calf right now was demanding more of my attention than Austen’s story about… Oh, good God. His honeymoon.

Behind me, Dominic talked to Delaney easily, casually. They discussed everything from spring lines to kids to a humanitarian crisis her firm was following. But Ifeltthe intensity he directed at me.

I’d had enough. I felt battered, exhausted, and sexually frustrated. The fact that I still wanted him to touch me made me doubt my decision-making abilities. Not since junior high had I been so hormonally compelled to make such a terrible decision.

That is what Dominic Russo was. A terrible fucking decision.