Page 43 of Careless Whisper (Modern Vintage Romances #11)

Dominic

L una Steele is the first girl who ever kissed me. It was a sweet kiss, a peck on the cheek. She was seven and I was eight.

She’s the first girl I made love to. She was sixteen, I was seventeen.

She’s the first girl whose heart I broke. She was twenty, I was twenty-one.

I fell in love with Luna when she first kissed me.

I was in love with her when we lost our virginities to one another.

I was in love with her when I broke her heart.

Now, she’s thirty-one. I’m thirty-two.

I still love her.

She thinks she hates me.

“Moonbeam, what do you want me to do?” I ask her patiently.

“ First , you can stop calling me Moonbeam,” she grits out. “And second , you can tell Tommy that you don’t have the time to work on the Minton Memorial Hospital project.”

“But I do have time,” I remind her, pushing back against the leather of my office chair, my hands on the steel arms of the chair. A necessity to stop myself from grabbing her like a caveman and having my way with her.

I came back to Savannah a year ago with one goal: to win my girl back.

She hasn’t made it easy for me.

If you want easy, Dom, swipe right! Easy is not trying to climb Mount Everest in your flip-flops while Luna is trying to knee you in the nuts.

Despite the risk of bodily harm, when Tommy Minton, the patriarchal asshole, told me that he wouldn’t give the Minton Memorial Hospital project to Savannah Lace, the company Luna worked for because he didn’t want some woman architect fucking it up—I convinced him to do it anyway by agreeing to partner with her, or in his words supervise her.

She’ll kill me if she thinks I’ll do that.

And, I won’t. Why would I? She’s an ace architect. She knows hospital code better than anyone I’ve ever worked with.

Hell, she’s going to teach me, not the other way around.

She narrows her eyes at me like she’s measuring the exact pressure required to crush my windpipe. Luna’s like that—brilliant and cold when she wants to be, and fire when she needs to be.

She wasn’t always this sharp-edged, but I suppose I honed that blade.

God, she’s beautiful.

She always was—back when she wore her hair in pigtails, and now, with it cut short to frame those sharp, unforgettable features.

She’s forever been a tomboy, always favored denim and leather over silk and pearls. But nothing—and I mean nothing—is sexier than seeing Luna ride her badass Triumph Bonneville T120 Black.

That bike is Luna.

Understated elegance.

Not too flashy.

Classic lines with a modern edge.

Heritage styling and serious horsepower—1200cc of parallel-twin muscle that doesn’t suffer fools.

Definitely not a beginner’s bike. It’s powerful, precise, and completely in control.

Just like her.

The first time I saw her ride it was a year ago, right after I moved back to Savannah. Lev—her brother, my best friend—told me it was a new acquisition for her, replacing a Ducati she had previously owned.

I was mesmerized watching her as she pulled up, the bike humming beneath her, then went quiet as she flipped up her visor and tugged off her helmet.

Fingers combed through her wind-tossed hair, and the engine clicked as it cooled in the heavy, golden heat of a Savannah dusk.

She looked like a storm rolling in.

Black armored Roland Sands jacket.

Short, scuffed riding boots that said she didn’t just ride for show.

Reinforced knuckle gloves.

And green eyes lit with adrenaline, danger, and sensuality.

Fuck!

If I hadn’t already been in love with her, that would’ve done it.

“That’s rich, Dom.” Luna gives me a withering look as she folds her arms across her chest. “You think I’m going to believe you just happened to be available for the biggest damn hospital project in the Southeast?”

“I am available,” I reply calmly. “I was invited. Just like you.”

“You orchestrated this, I just know it,” she accuses, voice low, even.

God, I love the way her brain works . She cuts through bullshit like a scalpel.

“No, Luna,” I say quietly, wanting to reassure her, calm her. “Tommy asked, and I said yes. Nina is on board with this. It’s a partnership, Moonbeam, not the end of the world, and absolutely no reflection of your abilities as an architect.”

Nina Davenport, the CEO of Savannah Lace and Luna’s boss, had taken some convincing, but she understood that Tommy was a misogynist, and I would be good for the project.

Luna stares at me like she’s trying to read the fine print on my soul. After a long moment, she sighs. “Stop calling me Moonbeam.”

I lean forward. Not too close. Just enough to make sure she hears every word. “You are and have always been my Moonbeam.”

Her lips twitch—like the nickname is digging into her skin.

She’s still fighting me—fighting us, the future we could have—because of the past. And I get it.

God, I hate that I get it. I wish she’d let it go.

But I know she can’t. Luna has integrity.

She holds the truth like a sword, even when it’s cutting her open.

And in her truth, I cheated. I broke her.

And now, she thinks letting me back in would be betraying her values.

I could tell her the real reason I walked away—what her father did, what I was trying to protect. But it won’t save me. If anything, it’ll confirm what she already believes: that I’m weak. That I chose fear over love.

I was stupid. Clueless. A kid terrified of a life I didn’t think I deserved.

Now I’m a grown-ass man. Still stupid. Still clueless. Still scared.

But even if I was ready to bare it all, she refuses to talk about the past.

“We’ll work together if I have no choice, but that’s all it will be,” she warns. “Don’t get any ideas.”

I smirk. “You’re cute when I’m irritated with you.”

She scowls. “Fuck off, Dom.”

She glances at the hospital blueprints spread across my desk, then at me. Her eyes have softened just a little.

“Moonbeam, we can build something together and?—”

“A hospital. That’s what we build.” The hard is back in her eyes.

“Can you not let it go?” I ask, feeling just a tad desperate.

Her expression goes emotionless, blank. “We don’t talk about that .”

“Why not?”

“Dominic, please .”

Damn the woman! She uses her vulnerability, which you seldom see, like a weapon, like now.

She lets out a deep breath, stands up.

“I’m not giving up on us,” I warn her.

She doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead saying, “I’ll see you in half an hour for the kickoff meeting.” Then she turns on her booted heel and walks out of my office.

I resist the urge to follow, because this time, I’m not chasing her like a boy with a crush. I’m playing the long game. I came back to Savannah to win her heart. And I sure as hell didn’t agree to work on this project to watch her walk away from me.

She just doesn’t know it yet, but we’re building more than a hospital.

We’re rebuilding us .

One brick. One fight. One stolen kiss at a time.

I’m not going to lose her again.

Can’t lose her, dipshit if you don’t have her in the first place.