Her Unforgettable Royal Lover(52)
“Only two?”
Her voice was wobbly, her eyes still tear-bright and drenched with a humiliation that made Dom vow to pulverize the scum who’d put it there.
“Where is this Jason character now?”
“Serving five to ten at the Danville Correctional Facility.”
“Well, that takes him off my hit list. For now.”
An almost smile worked through her embarrassment. “What’s question two?”
“How long are you going to keep mashing that piece of bread?”
She blinked and looked down in surprise at the pulpy glob squishing through her fingers.
“Here.” He passed her a napkin. “Eat your soup, drágám. Then we’ll go home and get back to work on finding your painting.”
* * *
Home. The word reverberated in Natalie’s mind when Dom opened the door to the loft and Duke treated them to an ecstatic welcome. She clung to the sound of it, the thought of it, like a lifeline while man and dog took a quick trip downstairs and she went to unpack the roller suitcase still propped next to the wardrobe.
Her toiletries went into the bathroom, her underwear onto the corner of a shelf in the wardrobe. When she lifted the neatly folded blouses, her mouth twisted.
Natalie knew she’d never been a Princess Kate. She wasn’t tall or glamorous or as poised as a supermodel. But she’d possessed her own sense of style. She’d preferred a layered look, she now remembered. Mostly slim slacks or jeans with belted tunics or cardigans over tanks…until Jason.
He’d wanted sexier, flashier. She cringed, remembering how she’d suppressed her inner qualms and let him talk her into those thigh-hugging skirts and lace-up bustiers. She’d burned them. The leather skirts, the bustiers, the stilettos and boob tubes and garter belts and push-up bras. Carted the whole lot down to the incinerator in her building, along with every other item in her apartment that carried even a whiff of Jason’s scent or a faint trace of his imprint.
Then she’d gone out and purchased an entire new wardrobe of maiden aunt blouses and shapeless linen dresses. She’d also stopped using makeup and began scraping her hair back in a bun. She’d even resorted to wearing glasses she didn’t need. Paying penance, she now realized, for her sins.
She was still staring at the folded blouses when Dom and the hound returned. When he saw what she was holding, he dropped the dog’s lead on the kitchen counter and crossed the room.
“You don’t need these anymore.” He took the blouses and dumped them back in the case. “You don’t need any of this.”
When he zipped the case and propped it next to the wardrobe again, Natalie experienced a heady sense of freedom. As though she’d just shed an outer skin that’d felt as unnatural and uncomfortable as the one she’d tried to squeeze into for Jason.
Buoyed by the feeling, she flashed Dom a smile. “If you don’t want me to continue raiding your closet, you’ll have to take me shopping again.”
“You’re welcome to wear anything of mine you wish. Although,” he confessed with a quick grin, “I must admit I prefer when you wear nothing at all.”
The need that splintered through her was swift and clean and joyous. The shame she’d tried to bury for three long years was still there, just below the surface. She suspected traces of it would linger there for a long while. But for now, for this moment, she could give herself completely to Dom and her aching hunger for his touch.
She looped her arms around his neck and let the smile in his eyes begin healing the scars. “I must admit I prefer you that way, too.”
“Then I suggest we both shed some clothes.”
They made it to the bed. Barely. A stern command prevented Duke from jumping in with them, but Natalie had to force herself not to look at the hound’s reproachful face until Dom’s mouth and teeth and busy, busy hands made her forget everything but him.
She was boneless with pleasure and half-asleep when he tucked her into the curve of his body and murmured something in Hungarian.
“What does that mean?”
“Sleep well, my darling.”
Her heart tripped, but she didn’t ask him to expand on that interesting translation. She settled for snuggling closer to his warmth and drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Natalie woke the next morning to the sound of hammering. She pried one eye open and listened for several moments before realizing that was rain pounding against the roof. Burrowing deeper under the featherbed, she resurfaced again only when an amused voice sounded just over her shoulder.
“The dog and I are going for our run. Coffee’s on the stove when you’re ready for it.”