Page 95 of Laced With Secrets
The shoemaker’s elves had apparently already been here. The apartment was stocked with groceries, the heat turned up, fresh linens on the bed. Dominic’s medications were organized on the kitchen counter with detailed instructions, and there was a note in Blake’s precise handwriting outlining the doctor’s orders and emergency contact numbers.
“He’s good at this,” I said, reading through the note.
“He’s terrified I’m going to drop dead and leave him to run Steele Industries and Harrington Development Corporation alone,” Dominic said dryly. But there was affection in his voice.
Dominic headed toward the bedroom. I trailed behind, watching his careful movements, my good hand already half-raised to help steady him if needed.
He froze mid-step at the bedside, looking at the sheets and blankets with an expression of mild frustration.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I want to build you a nest,” he said. “But I can’t fucking do it one-handed, and asking you to build your own nest feels wrong.”
My heart squeezed. “Then we’ll build it together.”
It took longer than it should have, with Dominic limited to one-handed assistance and me moving slowly to avoid aggravating my bruised shoulder. But we gathered every soft thing in the apartment—blankets from the closet, throw pillows from the couch, Dominic’s softest shirts from his drawer. I arranged them on the bed while Dominic directed, his scent warming with satisfaction as the nest took shape.
When it was done, the bed was a cocoon of softness—pillows piled strategically, blankets layered and tucked, everything designed for comfort and security.
Dominic carefully removed his sling, wincing slightly, and began unbuttoning his shirt. The bandages wrapped around his torso were stark white against his golden skin, reminders of how close we’d come to losing everything.
“Let me,” I said, moving to help him. My fingers were gentle on the buttons, careful not to jar his injured shoulder.
When his shirt was off, he reached for mine. “I just want to feel you,” he said, his voice rough. “Skin against skin. Need to know you’re real. That we’re here.”
“I know,” I whispered, because I felt it too—that desperate need for physical confirmation, for the warmth of living skin and the steady beat of a strong heart.
We undressed carefully, helping each other, leaving only the essentials. Dominic kept his bandages, obviously, and I left my briefs on for comfort. Then we climbed into the nest together, Dominic settling on his good side. I pressed against him, my head on his uninjured shoulder, one leg hooked over his, my hand splayed across his chest where I could feel his heartbeat strong and steady.
His good arm came around me, pulling me impossibly closer. His hand settled on my lower back, thumb stroking gentle circles. Through our bond, I felt his relief deepen, felt some of the terror finally begin to ease as the physical contact soothed instincts that had been screaming danger for hours.
“This,” Dominic murmured against my hair. “This is what I needed.”
We lay like that for a long time, just breathing together, feeling the rise and fall of each other’s chests, the warmth of skin on skin, the incredible reality of being alive and together and safe.
Then I shifted slightly, tilting my head to look up at him. “Can we talk about something?”
“Anything,” he said immediately.
“What you said before you pulled me off the trigger,” I said, watching his face. “Before you did, in Blake’s words, ‘that cowboy shit.’”
Dominic actually chuckled—then immediately winced, his hand going to his ribs. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh, baby.”
“Sorry,” I said, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest in apology.
He took a breath, then another, his expression sobering as he looked down at me. “I meant every word,” he said quietly. “I love you, Leo. I’m completely, irrevocably in love with you. Have been for months, probably since that first night in your shop when I looked at you and realized you were the answer to something I didn’t know I was searching for.”
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with infinite tenderness. “You don’t have to say it back,” he continued. “I don’t want you to feel obligated or pressured. I just needed you to know?—”
I kissed him. Cut him off mid-sentence by pressing my lips to his, pouring everything I felt into that contact. When I pulled back, I looked directly into his silver eyes.
“I love you,” I said clearly. “I love you, Dominic Michael Steele. Completely.”
His breath caught. “Leo?—”
“I love you,” I said again, because once wasn’t enough, would never be enough. “I love you.”
“I love you,” he echoed, and kissed me again—deeper this time, with promise and possession and profound relief.