Page 51 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

“Go inside!” I shouted back.

“Come with me!”

“No! I need to— Hey!” I glared up at him when the shovel was ripped out of my hand. He was dripping wet, the heat of his breath forming little puffs of irritation above me.

“Whatever you’re trying to achieve with your little performance can wait until tomorrow morning,” he said through the rumbles of thunder. “We’re going inside.”

My mouth fell. “Whatever I’m trying to achieve with my little performance?”

He grabbed my arm without missing a beat, tugging me back toward the house. And he’d have been a lot more successful in getting me there had he not royally pissed me the fuck off with his comment.

My heels dug into the mud, and I ripped my arm out of his grip.

He whipped around, eyes burning. “Are you fucking— Alice!”

I made it halfway back to the garden before he caught up and blocked my path.

“Move!” I shouted.

“I said it can wait.”

No, it couldn’t.

I’d be seeing her in less than three weeks, and unless Dominic was willing to cut my hours back significantly, the one thingitcould not do waswait.

Lightning split the sky, followed by a crash so explosive I inadvertently ducked, covering my head. Dominic, ever the opportunist, swooped right in while my eyes were squeezed shut and threw me over his shoulder.

“Dominic!” I shouted, bracing my hands on his upper arms, trying to push myself off. His flexed bicep dug into my thigh as his grip on me tightened. He charged us inside, slamming the door shut before he finally put me down.

The second my feet hit the floor, I was sliding past him and reaching for the doorknob.

“Alice—Alice.” He grabbed my arms and pulled me back. “Relax for a second.”

I wasn’t planning on it, but then he made me turn around and look at him, and every bit of my defiance melted into confusion. He was soaked head to toe, his white shirt now entirely see-through, his dark hair curled into wet, glossy tendrils.

But that wasn’t what made me pause.

My lips parted as I tried to figure out where the pink, blooming stains over his shoulders had come from. “Holy shit,are you bleeding?”

How? And why all of a sudden?

His forehead pinched as he followed my gaze.

“What the fuck did you do to yourself?” I semi-yelled, my voice pitched far too high. “Let me s—” He snatched my wrist from the air and flipped my hand over.

Oh.

Never mind.

I let out a relieved breath, tempted to laugh. I’d have apologized if it were anyone else, but there was no need in this instance. He could just get a new shirt.

“Any chance you have a spare pair of gardening gloves?” I said instead, making a mental note to ask Amber to pick up a pair for me tomorrow.

Dominic continued to stare down at my hand like it was in the active process of sprouting a sixth finger, a cloud of tension gathering around him. I tried to wiggle free, but his grip wouldn’t let up.

“What…” he started, bright red color climbing up his neck.

“It’s nothing,” I insisted, again trying to free my hand, and again failing. It wasn’t even that bad—just a few cuts from gathering dead branches. It wasn’t exactly easy to identify and avoid rosebushes and their thorns in the dark.