Written By Fate (7 page)

Crumble

I’m stunned at Sawyer’s resolve. He hasn't spoken to me
since Dom showed up at our house three days ago and it’s torture. I miss him.
He even brought Kylie over. He never brings her to our house. I’ve never
actually witnessed him this angry with me before. Four years together and Dom
is the one who sends him over the edge. He certainly seems to have that effect
on me, or maybe it’s like that with everyone. I’ve managed to bury myself in
appointments to get through the days and--with the help of some Tylenol PM--sleep
through the nights.

It’s Friday and I’m a nervous wreck. I haven’t heard a peep
from Dom since agreeing to this date. Not a text, not a phone call, and no
surprise visits to work or my home. It relieves me and irritates me. He causes
all kinds of shit then I agree to one date and he drops off the planet. I don't
think I’ll ever understand this guy. I pull in the driveway at five and as I
trudge up the front steps I notice a gorgeous arrangement of lilies next to a
large box. I sigh and shuffle the gifts through the door with me. The card with
the flowers simply reads “Dominic.” I set the bouquet on the counter and open
the box. There’s a stunning scarlet red silk backless gown inside. Checking the
tag I find that it’s my size. I bristle at the audacity of his gift. I am
perfectly capable of picking out my own attire and there is nowhere in town
that warrants a dress like this.

I shower, dress, and just to spite him I tug my cowboys
boots on under the gown. I leave my hair hanging straight down my back. I give
myself a light smoky eye look and paint my lips to match the dress before
heading down the stairs.

“Please, Clara. Be careful tonight,” Sawyer says, resting
against the door jam of the entry way. There is no love lost in his voice, only
pleading, as his gaze drags down my body. I’m happy he’s talking to me at all.

“I promise,” I say softly. The knock at the door interrupts
our moment and Sawyer disappears into the house without another word. I open
the door to Dominic looking as handsome as ever. He grins as his gaze rakes
over me.

“Clara. You look stunning,” he greets. I flush.

“Uh, thanks,” I mumble at him.

“I believe you require this,” he says, handing me an
envelope. I open it and find a typed contract instructing one Mr. Napoli to
have no contact with me after our date should I request it. It’s signed and
notarized. I chuckle at the absurdity of it all before placing it on the side
table near the door.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and I nod. He takes my elbow and
leads me to the car. So formal. Something's wrong when you regret things that
haven't even happened yet, and I do. I already know everything's going to
change. I can feel it in my bones.

“Where are we going?” I ask as the driver takes us through
town.

“Hampton,” he says.

“That’s five hours from here,” I say in disbelief.

“Not if you fly,” he smirks. Moments later we pull onto a
private airfield where a Napoli-branded plane waits for us.

“This is a little much, don't you think, Dom?” My tone is
snide and I’m definitely not impressed at the ludicrous show of wealth.

“Perhaps,” he retorts as he escorts me from the car to the
plane.

“Dom, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this. I’d rather
stay close to home.”

“I’ll take you home whenever you request. I promise,” he
offers, but it doesn't really make me feel any better. His fingers graze the
exposed skin of my back and I shiver at the burning sensation left in their
wake. His eyes are trained on the exposed skin and they scream desire. I can’t
help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. The plane is spotless and comfortable.
Dom sits across from me as we make the forty-minute flight.

“How was your week?” he asks.

“Busy. Yours?” I respond curtly.

“There was an incident in the Miami club that I tended to
but other than that it was relatively quiet,” he shares.

“What happened at the club?” I ask.

“It came to my attention that the manager was embezzling. I
took care of him and found a replacement.”

“Wow. That sucks,” I mutter.

“It’s the nature of the business. Night clubs don't attract
the most upstanding citizens,” he answers.

“I suppose not,” I sigh and look out the window, feeling on
edge about this date. The sky is clear and beautiful. All the houses look like
tiny toys as we fly above them.

“Are you going to be so distant all night?” he asks. I look
back to him and feel bad. He seems to really want this opportunity to prove
himself and I’m not being very open to this whole thing.

“I’m sorry. I’m just...unsure of you,” I explain.

“You don't know me.”

“That line sounds familiar,” I retort.

“Touché.” He grins and I can't stop myself from returning
the smile.

We touch down near eight o'clock and my stomach growls loudly,
making Dom laugh and promise to feed me soon. Another black private car picks
us up and drives us twenty minutes to a marina where we are dropped off.
Dominic is a perfect gentleman the entire trip so I try to loosen up for both
our benefits. His charcoal suit clings perfectly to his frame, and his dark
hair--styled, but not to perfection--makes me want to run my fingers through
it, and I find myself lost in the movement of his lips as he speaks. They’re
full and expressive and I want to taste them.

“Clara?” he calls softly.

“What?” I say, snapping out of my thoughts.

“This is us.” He gestures to a large yacht to our right.
Well, hot damn.

“Get out.” I breathe in awe. He chuckles deeply before
escorting me onto the boat. I hoist up my dress on the steps and a deep roar of
laughter echoes across the water.

“What?” I ask.

“Nice shoes,” he chuckles.

“Oh. Right,” I laugh and drop the gown.

“Do you wear cowboy boots with everything?” The corners of
his eyes wrinkle with his grin.

“I wore them out of spite tonight,” I admit as we enter the
dining room. “To stick it to ya for assuming it was acceptable for you to dress
me.”

“Ah, so that was wrong of me?” he asks.

“I think more like presumptuous.”

“I’ll remember to ask your permission going forward,” he laughs.

Dinner is waiting for us and the smell of it makes my mouth
water. We sit down to enjoy the meal as the boat pushes from the dock and
starts motoring. The dining room is done in rich dark colors that scream
masculinity and luxury. It’s impressive, but a little much if you ask me. The
steak, potato, and asparagus meal is delectable, however--cooked to perfection
and I’m really enjoying it.

“So tell me about Sawyer,” he prompts as the server refills
our wine glasses.

“There’s not much to tell,” I shrug, stuffing my face with
the mouth-watering goodness.

“You live together, yes? That’s something,” he teases.

“Sawyer, Allie, and I are a family. Yes, we live together,
we work together, and occasionally we sleep together, but we’re not dating.”

His eyebrows furrow together.

“That’s a strange arrangement,” he finally says. His tone is
clearly disapproving.

“I guess, but it works for us.”

“I’m sure Allie loves having her dad around,” he murmurs.

“He’s not her father,” I say around a fork full of mashed
potatoes, and instantly wish I could retract my statement.

“I see,” he says shortly. “Where is her father?”

“Dom, let’s talk about something else, all right?” I suggest
lightly.

“How many men are in your life? That’s all I wanted to
know.” His question takes me aback and I feel my hackles rising.

“Excuse me, but there aren't men in my life. Sawyer is my
best friend and outside of him there’s no one. Were you asking how many men
I’ve been with? Do you need me to get tested for you? Because I’m sure a man
with your sexual prowess has numbers that triple mine. You’re probably a
walking case of gonaherphasyphilaids,” I blurt. He sits stone-still before
bursting out in laughter.

“Clara, are you always on defense?” he laughs. “And what is
gonaherphasyphilaids?”

“Apparently you ask stupid questions. It’s a combination of
all the gross STDs: gonorrhoea, herpes, syphilis, AIDS,” I explain. Wow, things
that should never come out of your mouth in the company of the rich and famous
just happened, I note to myself. His laugh is infectious. He throws his head
back like a little kid and roars. I love it. He’s dazzling when he laughs.

“Maybe so,” he says and gathers himself. “It seems as though
Sawyer considers you his. I was simply wondering if Allie’s father was another
guy I’d be stealing you away from,” he explains.

“Oh.” I’m shocked at his assessment of Sawyer seeing as
they’ve only growled at each other in a pissing contest. The server appears,
clears our plates, and brings out dessert as the lights dim in the stunning
dining room.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“A show,” he states, simply grinning.

Seven scantily clad women prowl into the dining room as “Seven
Devils” fills the room. Six are in black and one is in red. They undulate with
the music, moving sensually. They are quite good and I find myself mesmerized
with their fluid movements accompanying the haunting music. It’s almost
burlesque-like as they shift and slither in the dim lighting. Dom rests his
hand on my thigh but I’m too engrossed in the show to protest. I’m not even
interested in the dessert waiting on the table. His thumb sweeps back and forth
slowly, moving the silk softly on my skin. As the dance continues, his fingers
drift dangerously up my thigh and inward and I gasp as his thumb brushes the
spot where my hip meets my thigh. My eyes scan his face before locking on his
dark eyes. He leans forward. “Are you enjoying it?” he breathes in my ear. His
breath is hot and it tickles my neck. I feel like I’m on fire. How does he do
that? I turn my head slowly, bringing us nose to nose. His stare is intense and
unwavering as I answer, “Yes.”

I move my face a centimeter closer to his and watch his eyes
drop to my mouth as I wet my lips. I tilt my head a fraction in invitation and
am shocked when his lips crush mine. All my hesitation dissolves as my panties
dampen, lust gripping me so strongly I can't shake it. I’ve wondered what he
would taste like, what his lips would feel like. Reality is better than anything
I came up with in my head. I can't get enough. His tongue pushes into my mouth,
tasting and exploring, warm and hot. He runs it over my bottom lip before
biting it then soothing it again with his tongue. The sensations are electric
and shocking but I want more. I shift unconsciously in my seat, angling my body
towards his. His arm slips under my rear and he slides me onto his lap and he
continues to kiss me breathlessly. His hand slips along the silk of my dress up
my side and his thumb brushes the underside of my breast.

With his mouth on mine I can't form a thought and my blood
pressure rockets. His erection throbs under my rear, the flimsy material of my
dress hiding nothing. I wiggle, adjusting myself on his lap until I align his
hardness between my thighs. I rub myself shamelessly against his lap as he
feverishly kisses me. My chest heaves against his and I have no idea if the
dancers are still performing or not. Right now there is nothing else in the
world outside of Dom and me. The sensation of the silk on my skin, his hands in
my hair, and his lips devouring me have me lost in my own neediness. A low, raw
groan rips from him and his hands stop my hips from rolling as our kiss becomes
tender and lazy. My hips move on their own accord but he stills them, holding
me firmly in place on his lap and pulls his mouth from mine. I whine at the
loss of him and pout. He smiles broadly and looks me over.

“Let’s move out to the deck,” he says softly. I remove
myself from his lap and straighten my gown before taking his extended hand and
letting him lead me out into the warm salty summer air. The deck is
extravagant; instead of bench seating there are large pillows strewn about,
creating an Indian feel. He kneels down on one knee, still holding my hand, and
rests his head on my belly as I stand before him. He kisses just below my
bellybutton. My stomach clenches as heat flares deep in the pit of my belly.
“You really are stunning,” he murmurs into the fabric of my dress. The ocean
glistens in the moonlight and waves lap against the side of the yacht as it
cuts through the water. It’s gorgeous and peaceful.

“Dom,” I whisper while toying with his hair. He lifts his
head from my stomach and looks up at me. I unwrap his hands from my waist and
sink into the cushion next to him. We lie still, shoulder to shoulder, staring
up at the stars.

“You scare me,” I whisper and bite my lip. The cushion moves
and I know he’s looking at me. I roll my head to the side, meeting his stormy
black eyes. He looks conflicted and shocked.

“I don't want to scare you, Clara,” he admits. I sigh,
knowing he means it.

“When you touch me...it dominates me. I feel an insatiable
need to feel you. It’s a reckless and demanding feeling. Like I can't control
myself. Like I want you to devour me.” My voice is soft but steady. “I’ve never
felt so out of control.”

He holds my gaze and smiles. He’s so handsome and he looks
relaxed and approachable right now. Grabbing my hand, he laces his fingers
through mine and squeezes. Surprisingly it feels completely natural.

“Now you know how I feel, only I didn't have to touch you to
feel it. I was struck dumb just seeing you that night at my club.” He pauses
and sucks in a deep breath. “When I touched you, heard your voice, I was
consumed by you. I’ve not acted myself this last month. I’ve been desperate and
have acted like a fool,” he finishes. Suddenly I know I have to end this. There
are too many variables that I can't control with him and I don’t do out of
control. Well, not normally.