"Hey." The awe in my voice is embarrassing, but I can't help it.
"Hey."
Callie clears her throat, snapping me out of my daydream.
"Oh. Dominic, these are my roommates, Callie and Emily."
He shakes their hands in turn and I swear I've never seen Emily blush so red. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He glances around the place with an amused grin, and I feel myself flushing too, now.
This is way too awkward, and I don't want him hanging out in our crappy apartment for a moment longer than necessary. "Ready?" I ask, steering him out. "Don't wait up!" I call back over my shoulder, as the door slams shut.
"Oh my God! He's freaking hot!" Callie's voice echoes down the hallway. Shit! I sneak a look at Dom, but he's smiling. Amused as always.
"She thinks I'm hot."
"She's female," I laugh.
He holds the exit door for me and I purposely brush against him as I pass. His hand reclaims its place on my back. "Flattering, but it's your opinion I care about."
I grab his tie. His eyes widen in surprise, but it feels great to take charge. He makes me bold. He makes me crazy.
I stand on my tip-toes and pull him down to me. "Are you fishing for compliments, Rexford?"
"Maybe." There's a flash of lust in his eyes, and I wonder who's really in control, but I don't care.
I kiss him hard, savoring every moment. His hands encircle my waist, pulling my hips against his solid torso. I moan against his mouth.
"I think you're OK," I breathe as I pull back. "In case you're not catching on."
"Damn it, Juliet. What are you doing to me?" Dom clenches his jaw.
"I don't know … " I tease. "What am I doing?"
Dom takes my hand and lowers it to the front of his pants. His cock stirs against my palm, and I feel a rush of heat. God, I want him. I want to curl my fingers around him and tease him until his eyes roll in the back of his head. I've never been one for exhibitionism, but right now I don't care that we're in my building's hallway where anyone could walk in.
I massage him through his pants, but he grabs my hand and pulls it away.
"Save it for dessert." He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers, moving to my palm. I forget to breathe as he swirls his tongue there. "Let's go."
We head downstairs and outside, and I'm surprised to find a silver Jaguar parked there instead of a limo. "What is this, car number three?" I ask, only partly joking.
Dom chuckles, taking the joke. "I call this one my weekend Jag."
I laugh. "Gee, sucks to be rich."
The car is sleek and luxurious inside, and I relax as he drives us through the evening traffic. When I'm not looking at his gorgeous profile, I'm eyeing how well his thighs fill out his pants. I can't shake the memories of him above me, his face tense with passion.
My body twists tighter, anticipation rising.
"Here we are." I snap out of it as we pull up to Vine, the most exclusive restaurant on this side of Chicago.
A valet opens my door and holds a hand out. "Good evening, Mr. Rexford. Ma'am."
Dom offers his arm to me and leads me inside. "Have you been here before?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No. Callie has been trying to get a reservation here for over a year, just to say she has one."
Inside, the place is packed. There's dark wallpaper and ornate chandeliers, with a wrought iron balcony running around the top of the open main floor. I'm in a state of giddy awe as we walk through the room. People stop talking to look at us, and I hear whispers as we pass. I guess Dom is like a celebrity in this town. The hostess shows us to the best table in the house: right in the middle of the action. But Dom frowns, and lowers his voice to speak quietly to the woman.
"Of course," she says quickly. "I just thought … I'm sorry." She quickly takes us to a new table, in the back of the room.
"Is something wrong?" I ask Dom, confused.
"No. I just want us to have some privacy." He caresses my bare arm as he speaks.
I'm not going to argue with that.
We're seated in a more secluded booth, but still, people nearby are glancing over. Dom murmurs to the sommelier and waiter, before settling back and focusing his gaze on me. My pulse quickens immediately now that we're finally alone. Sort of.
"So, this is what it's like, being you," I say, looking around.
"What do you mean?"
"The celebrity treatment. I bet the nine month waiting list for a reservation here doesn't apply to you."
He looks amused. "The owner was a friend of my father's. This table is nothing more than a favor from an old friend."
"Look around. Everyone is staring at us."
He reaches for my hand. "Because you're the most beautiful woman in the room."
Fine. I'll take the compliment. But I still shake my head at him to let him know he's not off the hook. I'm curious what it's like to be him.
Dom sighs. "People are impressed by the name, sure. But it's just a name. Take that away and I'm an ordinary man, subject to cheap wine and waiting lists like everyone else."
The alcove suddenly seems more private. Maybe because I block out the chatter around us and focus on him, excited that he might open up a little more about himself.
"Tell me about ordinary Dominic."
Dom pauses. "Well, ordinary Dominic used to scrub toilets on the fourth floor after school for less than minimum wage."
"No way." I can picture him, tall and gangly in his expensive prep school uniform, holding a plunger.
He shrugs. "I shadowed the maintenance crew for an entire summer, learning how to fix everything from wobbly door handles to electrical fixtures. Didn't get paid a dime for it, either."
I think of his hands, too calloused to be tapping at a keyboard all day. "You're still secretly fixing things, aren't you?"
Dom looks surprised, then gives me a grin. "Every chance I get. I like putting things to order. Gives me a sense of harmony amid the chaos."
"That's great. I never realized."
Dom shrugs. "I've had a lot of privilege, but that doesn't mean I never had to work for it. Unlike my brother," he adds, his smile turning colder.
I want him to talk about this-I know his brother's return is weighing on him-but I don't get the chance before our food arrives.
"Wow," I blink, as the wait staff unload dish after dish of amazing-looking food. "Did you order for us?"
"I wanted you to taste everything I love."
The waiter gestures, "Butternut ravioli with a filling of white chocolate, butternut squash and egg yolk, set in a fois gras sauce. Enjoy."
Dominic places his napkin on his lap and I do the same. The tension that crept into his face when he mentioned Alexander fades away now. I'm glad.
The textures and flavors of the meal are rich and delicate and I savor each bite. I glance up and find him watching me – looking as if he wants to savor me the way I'm eating this food. Sparks of desire shoot between my legs, and I take a sip of wine to cool down.
"I've been thinking," I say in a rush. If I don't get control over the growing ache in my panties, I'm going to be dragging him out of here by his tie. "About the gala."
"Me, too." He pauses. "Perhaps we should cancel it."
I set down my fork. "What? Why?"
"It might be better to wait until the drama dies down."
"No," I challenge. "This is the perfect time to remind people of the Rexford's heritage and the things that make it so renowned." The ideas I've been mulling over spark with new life. "There's a reason Chicago has so many historic buildings preserved around the city. People here are proud of their past and they love to show it off."
For a moment I think of my dad, but I push the memories away before I can miss him too much and lose track of where I'm going with this.
He looks interested. "Tell me more."
I pause as nerves roll through me. Who am I to be suggesting anything? But he looks genuinely interested, so I explain.
"The plans for the gala right now are standard-issue party stuff: black tie, canapés, champagne flutes making the rounds on silver trays … there's nothing exciting about it. But we could play up the history more, bring out old art or photographs, maybe even make it a theme with costumes. Showcase the impressive roster of celebrities and royalty who've enjoyed the hotel. Bring back the old menus, and then, let's show them how the hotel plans to sprinkle modern luxury with the-"
Dominic sees someone behind me. His face changes, tensing. I turn.
It's Blaine Prescott.
"Was I interrupting?" he asks, looking smug. Or maybe that's just how his face is, I can't tell. He looks super preppy in a polo shirt and khakis, all he's missing is an obnoxious Rolex and-no, wait, there it is. I feel like telling him the 80's called and want their movie villain back.