by Tessa Bailey
A growl interrupted Rosie. It was coming from her stomach.
A beat of silence passed before they both broke into laughter. Dominic unfastened his jeans and shucked them off with zero fanfare, leaving him in a tight pair of black boxer briefs. Rosie was granted only a glimpse of his inked, honed muscle glory before he planted a knee on the mattress and dove onto the covers beside her. “Would you rather . . .”
Laughing, Rosie turned to her husband and buried her face in his chest. “I remember this game.”
“You should.” He slipped his fingers into her curls and cradled her head. “We used to play it constantly.”
Rosie gave an exaggerated sigh. “We must have stopped because I won all the time.”
Dominic snorted. “You must still be half-asleep, because you’re dreaming.”
“There’s only one way to settle this.” She bit his nipple lightly and felt his sex thicken against her thigh. “Fire away.”
He caught her mouth in a quick, groaning kiss. “I’ll throw you a softball to start. Would you rather get room service for breakfast, or should we get dressed and go out?”
She fingered the waistband of his boxers. “Is that even a question?”
“Room service,” he rasped, rolling his hips forward. “Got it.”
“My turn.” She took a moment to think, her lips curling at the memory of how they used to play this game for hours at a stretch, trying to outdo each other by coming up with the most outlandish scenarios. “Would you rather walk through the lobby of this hotel without your pants on, or . . . with a face full of shaving cream?”
“Shaving cream.”
“Really? Why?”
“My legs are too sexy, honey girl,” he teased against her lips. “I’m not going to be responsible for inciting a riot.”
Rosie dug her fingers into his ribs and tickled him, resulting in Dominic flipping her over onto her back and pinning her wrists above her head. “Your turn,” she breathed.
He dropped his head to the crook of her neck and laid a hot, openmouthed kiss on her sensitive skin. “Would you rather take a bath in refried beans, or . . . with an iguana?”
“Oh God.” A shiver passed through her. “Beans. One thousand percent.”
His mouth spread into an amused smile. “I had a feeling you might say that.”
“I’m trying to get sexy here and now all I can feel is a scaly green body scampering around all nervous and shifty-eyed—”
“Christ. Maybe you’re right and my game is slipping.”
Rosie hummed and passed him a little side eye. In truth, she was having no problem getting sexy. At all. With her husband’s hips wedged up tight between her thighs and his erection at the ready, she was growing wetter by the second. God, he smelled like faded aftershave, sex, and man. But the best part of the moment was the ease between them that was returning. The time they’d spent together since she’d left had started off stilted, but this was the furthest thing from stilted. She looked up into Dominic’s eyes and saw her husband again.
He pressed his thumbs to the pulses of her wrists and gave her a cajoling look. “Can I get a redo?”
Her shoulder shrug was prim, as if she was in control and not at the mercy of her powerful husband. “I’ll allow it this once.”
“Thank you,” he murmured drily, before his expression turned thoughtful. “Would you rather spend the day in the city, or head back to Port Jeff and call the realtor so she can show you that building on Cove?”
In the space of a second, she was breathless, her heart fluttering wildly. “Go back to Port Jeff and look at the building.”
Dominic nodded, his gaze running over every inch of her face. “Good. Let’s call her.”
Rosie made a sound of agreement, positive she might explode into a million tiny pieces. Not only did she seem to have her marriage back and improved, but the silver lining she’d been reaching for was now closer than ever. And with her husband on her side, she felt as if she could do anything. “Yes, we’ll call. After.”
He tucked his tongue into his cheek. “After what?”
Rosie spread her legs wide and watched Dominic’s jaw slacken as gravity ground his hips down into the juncture of her thighs. “Would you rather . . .” she whispered, forcing him to lean closer to hear her, “finish with my ankles around your neck, or lay back and watch me ride?”
His breath released in a rush, warming the side of her face. “You’re right. You always did win this game.”
Their low laughter was warm, intimate. “I see your memory has been jogged.”
“Thoroughly.”
She freed her wrists from where he’d been keeping them stationary above her head. She slipped her hands down his back, into his briefs, and dug her fingernails into his rock-solid ass. “How do you want me?”
Before she could finish phrasing the question, Dominic rolled them over, his brown, tattooed skin beneath her on the crisp, white sheets, forming the most beautiful contrast. His pupils were dilated, his breath coming in short pants that shuddered in and out of his huge chest. While he shoved down the waistband of his briefs and took out his arousal, Rosie captured handfuls of her curls and lifted her breasts, making him moan in the quiet hotel room. She bumped her hips side to side, dancing seductively in the morning light, before leaning down and bracing her weight on his shoulders. Letting their sexes mold together and dragging her wetness up and down his length, glorying in the sight of his clenched teeth, his strained neck muscles.
“Fuck me, Rosie.”
Her nails speared into his shoulders. “Oh, I plan on it.” She reached back and took his thickness in her fist, guiding it home and impaling herself inch by painstaking inch. Enjoying the rare occasion of having Dominic underneath her, Rosie savored it, taking him deep, grinding lightly, and teasing herself back up to the tip. “Do you like that?”
His punctuated laugh was rife with frustration. “You know I fucking live for it.” Their eyes met. “That I live for you.”
With an emotional tide rising in her chest, Rosie reached up and gripped the headboard and rode her husband hard. His mouth fell open, hands flying to her hips and gripping tight. Yanking, pushing, shoving, bruising. After a handful of minutes, her thighs started to burn, but she didn’t cease the rough marriage of their lower bodies, even when the wet, smacking sounds blurred together and he shouted her name, his abdomen knitting in that telltale way. “Come with me, Rosie.”
She was close. So close. So close—
“Changed my mind,” Dominic said hoarsely, flipping Rosie onto her back, her head at the foot of the bed, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. “Your husband knows what gets you off. Get those ankles around my neck.”
“Yes.” One brutal drive of his hips and Rosie screamed, Dominic swooping down to eat the sound with a filthy kiss, his lower body pounding down again, again, until his face screwed up and he came apart along with her, holding his hardness in the deepest recess of her body and shuddering violently.
They collapsed side by side into the bedsheets a moment later, their heads turning at the same time, eyes locking. Their hands slid toward each other, fingers locking. And they smiled.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rosie checked her appearance for the tenth time in the store window. Smart jacket. Boots. Skinny black jeans. Did she look the part of a restaurateur? Or even an aspiring one?
She rolled her shoulders back and exhaled, a small smile curving her lips.
Yes. She did.
Fine, she was about to make a seriously lowball offer on this restaurant, but she watched enough HGTV to know that people did it all the time. It was practically expected. She just wanted her offer to be considered seriously enough to make it to the negotiation stage—and it would. What would her mother say if she were here, witnessing Rosie doubt herself?
Not much, probably. But she’d convey a well-meaning rebuke with a raised eyebrow that said, They should be nervous about meeting us, Rosie.
Rosie close
d her eyes a moment and breathed. She was here, she wasn’t an imposter, and her faith in herself was intact.
Grateful for the ride on a bubble of confidence her mother’s memory gave her, Rosie looked at the time on her cell phone and refused to panic. The realtor was late to show her the commercial space, but that didn’t mean she’d found her unprofessional over the phone or didn’t take her seriously. Briefly, she’d entertained the nightmare that the realtor and Martha belonged to the same knitting circle and had ruined Rosie’s chances of buying the space—it wouldn’t be so far-fetched in the small town—but she remained optimistic.
And wasn’t that nice?
Rosie tilted her head to one side and let the cool October breeze sweep along her neck. It was Saturday afternoon and she could still feel the Friday-night whisker burn there from Dominic’s unshaven jaw. A pulse fluttered between her legs and she took a shaky breath. Rosie wasn’t an expert on marriage or sex. She wasn’t an expert on anything, really, except maybe the amount of garlic to put in her chimichurri sauce. However. She was reasonably sure married couples didn’t usually have the best sex of their lives ten years after the wedding. Just a hunch.
Even now, standing outside the space where she dreamed of opening her restaurant, the legs keeping her upright were nothing more than holograms. She’d left the real ones back in the Gansevoort Hotel. Apparently her brain had been left behind, too, because mush had made up the contents of her head for the past few hours. If she licked her lips, she could almost feel Dominic’s good-bye kiss.
After calling the realtor and having beignets for breakfast, they’d shared an Uber SUV with Travis and Georgie from Manhattan to Port Jefferson. For once, Rosie and Dominic hadn’t been uncomfortable with the PDA taking place in their vicinity. Dominic had sat beside Rosie in the middle row, stroking her palm in circles with his thumb, his hot attention on her thighs enough to make her squirm in the leather seat. After they’d dropped off Travis and Georgie, her stop had been next. She’d had butterflies in her stomach as Dominic walked her to Bethany’s front door, kissing her before letting her inside. Kissing her. Sure. If that’s what you called utterly and completely claiming her mouth. Another brush of his tongue and she would have dragged him inside and hung a sock on Bethany’s guest room door.
Do not enter. Ravishment by husband in progress.
Rosie unbuttoned her jacket and waved some cool air toward her cleavage and underarms. Great. Now she was going to meet the realtor with sweat stains. Real professional and dignified.
It wasn’t only their lovemaking that continued to replay itself over and over in her mind. No, her thoughts were occupied by so many moments from Friday night. The things he’d said. How . . . capable and incredible he’d made her feel.
I loved you dancing in that dress. Looking so free. Like you could do anything. You can, honey girl.
Those sentiments were like echoes from the past. From Dominic before. And he’d meant what he said. Meant every word. The intensity in his touch, his stare, his kiss had been enough to make her believe . . . and now here she was. Ready to buy this space. She and Dominic were solid. And she, as her own woman, was solid.
She and her husband were entwined, and being separated from him had been hard as hell. On the ride from Manhattan, she’d decided to move back into their home. Really, she couldn’t imagine spending another night without him after the breakthrough they’d made. Even now, she had so much love blooming in her chest, she could break into a spontaneous dance at any moment. But she couldn’t regret her decision to leave in the first place. By following her gut and refusing to continue with the status quo, she’d learned a lot about her own strength. What she was willing to accept. She held on to that lesson now as she stood waiting.
While the afternoon clouds passed above, drifting in front of the sun and moving on, Rosie couldn’t help but replay Dominic’s words from the night before. After that, the only thing he felt confident in giving was stability. Maybe after being raised to believe that was a man’s job, it was easy to fall into it. She’d found her confidence, but did Dominic still lack his own when it came to being a good husband?
If they’d tackled those insecurities in therapy, she wasn’t certain they’d been resolved. Not if she still didn’t have a clear idea of the worries plaguing her husband. She only knew one thing for certain: he was making a real, concerted effort to give Rosie what she needed, and she had to do the same. What secrets lurked behind those beautiful green eyes of his? She tapped her cell phone against her leg for a few seconds, then lifted it to call him. He’d promised to meet her here after running a few errands—
“Mrs. Vega? I’m Emma. Hi.”
Rosie pushed the cell into her purse and faced the woman approaching on the sidewalk. She was around the same age as Rosie. Not a local face, but she nonetheless smiled warmly as if they already knew each other. They shook hands.
“Please call me Rosie. Thanks for coming to show me the space.”
The realtor pulled out a handful of keys and squinted down at the dangling white circles, each of which had a different address written in a scrawl. “Thank you for not giving me a hard time over being late. It has been a morning.”
“I hear that.” Rosie shifted in her boots and tried not to betray how anxious she was to see the empty space and visualize her own décor on every blank surface. “So . . . have you—”
“Shown this property to anyone else?” Emma winked at her as they pushed into the dark commercial space. “Two other people have been interested, although I have no current offers. That’s the good news.”
Rosie followed her inside. “What’s the bad news?”
Emma heaved a sigh and fumbled for the light switch, finally flipping it on and illuminating the room. Rosie swallowed hard, rapidly blinking back the moisture that sprung to her eyes.
My God, it’s perfect.
Last time she’d stood inside these four walls, there had been people and noise and slapdash decorating. Without those trappings to impede her creative process, her restaurant took shape around her. One wall would be a spicy, textured gold. They would need bold white accents, maybe some antique sconces. Bethany could help with that. No tablecloths on the tables—she wanted the candlelight to bounce off the gleaming wood surfaces and make the dark interior sparkle like stars in the sky. She would leave the rest of the walls in their natural exposed-brick state, and Dominic could repaint them, make them look beautiful. Cinnamon and cloves and orange—those scents would remind people of her place. An experience.
“. . . kind of finicky, truth be told . . .”
Rosie tuned back in to what the realtor was saying. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking loose the gorgeous illusion in her head. “Can you repeat that?”
Emma smiled knowingly and toed aside some left-behind debris, advancing toward Rosie. “They got some early interest in the building. Some credit issues popped up for the first applicant or it would already be sold. Nevertheless, after those bites we received right off the bat, the owner decided to increase the price.” She gave Rosie a commiserating eye roll that said she didn’t agree with the decision, but couldn’t do anything about it, either.
And then she rattled off a new number that made Rosie inwardly blanch.
“I see,” Rosie croaked. “I’m afraid that’s out of my—”
“She’ll take it,” came a gruff voice at the front door.
Rosie sucked in a breath and turned to find Dominic leaning against the wall, arms crossed. A badass hiding in the shadows, watching her. “When did you get here?” She shook her head. “What do you mean, I’ll take it?”
He pushed off the wall and came closer, hitting her with enough heat in one look to rival the power of a thousand suns. “You want it?”
“Yes,” she whispered, turning her back so they could have something that resembled a private conversation. “It’s . . . perfect. It’s everything I’ve been seeing in my dreams.” When his features softened and pure, unfiltered adoration
stared back at her, she stepped closer, sighing over the welcoming embrace of his heat. “It’s too expensive. We can find someplace else. Maybe they’ll even come down on the price at some point.”
Dominic tipped her chin up. “Rosie, look at me.”
She searched his face, her heart racing faster at the amused tilt of his lips.
“We got this. Okay? This is your place.”
Call her naive. Call her greedy. Call her whatever you wanted. She needed to hear those words, to live in that reality so badly in that moment, that she didn’t question her husband. If Dominic, a careful planner to the extreme, told her they could afford the building, then she believed him.
“Oh my God.” She leapt into his arms and released a watery laugh, feeling so amazingly whole when he laughed, too, free and unrestrained. “Oh my God, is this happening?”
Dominic stroked a hand down her back, taking a deep inhale near her temple. “Cash sale. Where do we sign?”
Emma sputtered a little. “W-well, there’s an application process, but I ran Mrs. Vega’s credit before driving here and I can say with confidence that . . . well, you’re paying cash and her credit is outstanding, so I’ll just make a quick call to the owner and—”
The front door of the restaurant burst open and Stephen stomped in with a long piece of plywood over his shoulder. Travis took up the rear, winking at Rosie as he passed.
“We’re just going to get a head start patching those floorboards in back,” Stephen explained to the realtor. “Water damage, you know. It will only get worse if not handled immediately, and then we’d have to renegotiate the sale, right? No one wants to buy a property with that kind of hassle attached.”
Before Emma could answer, Bethany danced in surrounded by a cloud of dust motes, already flipping through a book of paint samples. “I’m seeing textured gold and pops of white,” Bethany mused, throwing Rosie a wink. “Congrats, big shot.”
Wes filled the doorframe. After sending a long look at Bethany’s back, he tipped his cowboy hat at Rosie. “Obliged to return the favor, Mrs. Vega.”