Page 83 of Laced With Secrets
He made a surprised sound against my mouth but responded immediately, his hands coming up to cradle my face as he kissed me back with equal fervor. His scent wrapped around me—pine and cinnamon and pure alpha—grounding me in the present moment.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Dominic searched my face with concern and heat.
“What was that about?” he asked, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. “Not that I’m complaining, but?—”
“I just… I needed to…” I struggled to find words for what I was feeling. How did I explain that watching Richard’s grief had made me realize how lucky I was? That hearing the years of regret in his voice had made me appreciate every day I had with Dominic? That understanding how easily everything could be lost made me want to hold tighter to what we had?
“I think we should leave the investigating to Sheriff Hawkins from now on,” I said finally, surprising myself with the words.
Dominic’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Leo Sterling-Hart, voluntarily stepping back from sticking your cute little nose into places it doesn’t belong? Are you feeling alright? Should I take you to the hospital? Check for fever? Maybe an exorcism is necessary?”
“I’m serious,” I said, weakly slapping at his chest before placing my hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm. “Richard said he’s going to turn the letter over to Sheriff Hawkins. It’s time to let the authorities do their job while we focus on…”
I gestured between us, then down to my stomach where our baby grew. “On this. On us.”
Dominic’s expression shifted through several emotions at once—relief and joy and something deeper all tangled together. His hand covered mine, pressing my palm more firmly against his chest.
“I’m very glad to hear you say that,” he said, leaning in to kiss me again, softer this time but no less intense. “Very, very glad.”
When he pulled back, his dark eyes were searching mine, trying to understand what had changed.
“What made you decide this?” he asked quietly. “What happened in there?”
“Richard,” I said simply. “Hearing him talk about how he thought he had time, how he wanted Thomas to choose him, how he would have forced Thomas’s hand if he’d known about the baby…”
I swallowed hard against the emotion rising in my throat. “He loved Thomas, but he didn’tchoosehim. Not when it mattered. Thomas died thinking the man he loved had abandoned him.”
Dominic fingers brushed over my cheekbone with infinite tenderness, tucking a windblown stand of hair behind my ear.
“You chose me,” I continued. “When you could have followed through with the original plan for the District, when it would have been easier to just… not. You chose me.”
“I’d do it again,” Dominic said, like it was the simplest thing in the world, like there had never been any other option. “From the moment I saw you in your shop, every other consideration became irrelevant.”
I leaned forward until our foreheads touched, breathing in Dominic’s scent, letting it calm me.
“I don’t want to waste a single moment of what we have,” I whispered.
I pulled back to meet his eyes. “I want to focus on us. On our baby. Is that selfish?”
“No,” Dominic said firmly, his strong arms drawing me into his warmth. “It’s not selfish. It’s smart. It’s healthy. It’s exactly what I’ve been hoping for.”
He kissed me softly.
“Take me home,” I said against his lips. “Let’s go make sure Penny is alright. Then, I want you to take me home.”
His eyes darkened with immediate understanding, his scent sharpening with carnal interest.
“We have the centennial celebration tonight,” he said. “The party starts at seven, and you promised Mrs. Henderson you’d be there early to help with final preparations. That’s…” He glanced at his watch. “Four hours from now.”
“Rain check then,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment even as my inner omega whined at the delay.
“Absolutely not.” Dominic’s smile turned wicked. “Four hours is more than enough time for me to thoroughly demonstrate exactly how much I appreciate you too.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
We arrived at Fairfax Mansion fashionably late, after the party had reached full momentum. The grand ballroom had transformed into a 1970s discotheque—a massive mirror ball hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting fractured light across the ballroom’s wooden floors. Music from the era pulsed through expensive speakers, and the crowd had fully embraced the theme in bell-bottoms, platform shoes, and enough polyester to outfit the entire decade.
I adjusted my collar self-consciously, still not entirely convinced about the vintage velvet suit jacket Penny had insisted was “absolutely perfect” for my coloring and growing bump. The deep emerald fabric caught the light beautifully, and the cut was forgiving enough to accommodate my bump. But it was still… a lot of velvet.