Midnight Heat (Black Phoenix Book 2) (21 page)

“You’re getting dressed,” she argued. “Forgive me if I’m having flashbacks of the last time you crawled out of my bed in the middle of a confession.” She watched as he pulled his shirt on over his head, stuffed his feet in his shoes. “You’re getting dressed,” she said a second time, heart in her throat.

“I need to be alone.”

“Why?” He didn’t answer and she panicked. He was leaving her, running away. Again. She’d thought this time would be different. This time
had
to be different. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He cared for her. He hadn’t said the words but the truth was in his actions. The way he looked at her, touched her. How he kept coming back no matter how hard she pushed him away. He wasn’t the same man he’d been before. So why was he leaving? “I’m sorry about what I said about everyone letting you down. Just…don’t go.”

He cupped her chin. “It’s not what you said, Becca. It’s what you haven’t said.”

“What I haven’t said?” Did he want her to relive the moment, the most painful moment of her life? The moment where she confessed her love for him and he ran? She loved him. She loved him so damn much it hurt. But the fear that her confession would be the final push out the door for him was too ingrained to shake loose. She wouldn’t relive that moment. She wouldn’t.

A storm rolled across his eyes. “You’ve got nothing, huh?”

“Dominic, I—”

“I pour my heart out to you, share with you the whole ugly truth about my life, and you still haven’t shared one thing about your family.”

Her family? Why would he want to know about her judgmental, managing parents?

“Do they know about me? About us?”

She looked away.

He dropped his hand from her face. “So, we’re all in the dark about each other. That’s telling, isn’t it?” He stared at her, then stared at his feet. “I know I’m not good enough for you, Becca. I’ve always known it. I just…” His voice broke. “
Fuck
!” He walked out the bedroom door.

“Wait! Dominic!” She tried to follow him, only to become tangled in the sheet. Struggling, she pulled the sheet off the bed and took it with her. Just as the front door slammed. “Dominic!”

She was too late.

He was already gone.

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning Rebecca stood outside the door to Dominic’s apartment, waiting for him to come to the door. His car was parked in its usual spot at the base of the stairs, but so far her knock had gone unanswered.

As had all the calls and texts she’d sent.

She was starting to become worried.

Raising her fisted hand, she rapped once in the center of the door before it was pulled open, revealing Dominic in all his glory. Shirtless, shoeless, he looked more than a little rumpled and sleep deprived.

And gorgeous.

With a bite mark on his pec.

She was surprised by the rush her mark on his flesh gave her.
Mine. You are mine.

She had to clear her throat to speak. “I tried to call you.”

“I wasn’t ready to talk to you.”

Ouch.
“Can I come in?”

He didn’t move.

“Or not,” she mumbled. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She laughed uneasily. “Not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

He arched his eyebrow. He stood leaning against the doorjamb, one ankle balanced over the other, hands tucked into his front pockets. His eyes, usually so vibrant, were flat and wary.

“For being afraid. For not trusting you. I know how different you are, I…”

He didn’t say a word, just watched her as she floundered.

Damn, she’d hurt him more than she’d thought.

“You say you only excel at two things, but being a woman I feel the need to tell you they’re both pretty spectacular talents.”

No change, not even a smirk.

“I’m sorry, Dominic, mostly for hurting you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “The things you said yesterday—you’re right, but you’re also so very wrong.”

“That’s clear as mud.”

“I know, but I can’t really explain it to you. You’ll have to see it for yourself. Will you come for a drive with me?”

His brow furrowed. “Does it require a suit, because I don’t have one?”

Rebecca glanced down at herself and sighed: perfect hair, perfect clothes. Perfect—for her father. “You know what, you’re right.” She slipped out of her jacket while still on the landing outside his apartment. Then began unbuttoning her blouse.

A few catcalls rent the air, and Dominic’s eyes flashed emotion for the first time that morning. Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her into the apartment.

Where she began to pace and strip. “What the hell am I doing?”

“You’re asking me?”

Wearing nothing but her bra and panties, she started for his bedroom. “I left a pair of jeans here the other night, didn’t I?” She turned to find him still at the door, watching her. But at least his ubiquitous grin was back. Sort of. Spotting her jeans over the back of a chair, she shimmied into them, then looked down at her chest. “Can I borrow a shirt?” She crossed to his closet and pulled it open. The scent of him washed over her and for a moment all she could do was stand there and absorb. Then she reached in, pulled out a tee and slipped it on, checking out her reflection in the mirrored closet door. Not bad. The shoes, unfortunately, would have to stay.

Heading back into the living room, she discovered he still hadn’t moved.

“Did you sleep at all last night, Becca?”

“No, why?”

He grinned. “The Energizer bunny wants his battery back.”

“Very funny. Are you ready?”

“I don’t think I am.”

For a moment she felt off balance, as if he’d said one thing but meant another. “Too late.”

“It is,” he muttered. Only the grin on his face kept her from panicking at his words.

“Dom, you should probably finish dressing.”

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

“So, put a different shirt on.” Why did it matter what shirt he wore? He had a closet full of them, couldn’t he just pick out another one? Men. She didn’t understand them sometimes.

“I’d planned to wear that shirt.”

“Fine.” With a sigh, she pulled his shirt off and tossed it at his head. Oh, how she wished she’d managed to sleep last night. Even just a few uninterrupted hours would have helped. Without sleep she talked non-stop, saying the first thing that popped into her head without filter. The very last thing she needed to happen when facing her father.

She gave an unladylike snort. Like what she had to say would matter to her father. He hadn’t approved of anything she did. Ever. But this was going to be the topper. The final straw that was going to push her father over the edge. She shook her head. She was mixing metaphors. Another black mark on her character.

She reached into the closet and pulled out a tee at random, not paying any attention past the softness of the fabric and pale blue color. Then she headed back to find Dom wearing both the shirt and his shoes. He was also wearing a very large grin.

She’d been played. She grinned back at him, unable to stop herself. “Just remember, you asked for this.”

* * *

For the second time that day Rebecca stood outside a door waiting for it to open. Only this time her stomach was knotted with dread over what awaited her on the other side.

Her father was a difficult man. He was arrogant, opinionated and at times cruel. He had a set of standards that he considered desirable in a person and anyone who didn’t fit them was unacceptable.

Not important.

Not worthy.

Shit.
She exhaled a shaky breath as her hands began to shake. Dad was going to reinforce the fear Dom had of not being good enough and that terrified her. Chilled her to the bone. Dominic was everything and more than she wanted. She’d longed for his return for nearly three years. Now that they were here, about to face her father’s disdain she had to wonder; would he still want to stick with her after seeing what loomed beyond the door?

“Hey.” Standing at her right, Dom settled a hand at the small of her back and rubbed a little circle. “It can’t really be that bad, can it?”

She looked into his eyes, and gave a stiff smile. “Just remember, you asked for this.”

“Shit. That’s the second time you’ve said that to me this hour. Now you’re making
me
nervous.” He ran his gaze over her, stopping on her breasts. His eyes darkened. “I’ve changed my mind about this shirt. I don’t want this one. Quick, trade shirts with me.”

“Very funny. You don’t have to tease me about my multiple changes this morning. I know I’m being ridiculous.”

Dominic palmed her ass. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her ear. “You can remove your clothes around me anytime you want, Becca. Hell, I’ll help you.”

Rebecca choked out a laugh. The front door swung open. Her father’s frown greeted her. “Hello, Dad. Can we come in?”

“Of course you can, dear,” her mother said from just inside the house. “Richard, move back and allow your daughter and her friend entrance.”

They stepped inside as her father closed the door with a snap. Rebecca didn’t know where to start, so she went with the basics. “Mom, Dad, I would like you to meet Dominic. Dom, these are my parents, Richard and Camille.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dominic,” her mother said, flashing him a genuine smile.

Her father…well, he didn’t exactly growl.

“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Dahlman.”

“What a fantastic accent. Are you English?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Which, because of his fantastic accent, came out sounding more like mum. Her mother went all dreamy eyed. Rebecca knew that feeling. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stared at him for a moment, marveling. He was all relaxed charm, while she was a bundle of nervous energy. She shifted in her pumps and he settled a hand at the small of her back again. His heat soaked through the tee. She concentrated on his touch, and her pulse slowed.

“How long have you known my daughter?”

“Going on three years now.”

“Really?” her mother said, pinning Rebecca in place with a look. “I wonder why she’s never mentioned you?”

Dominic focused on Rebecca, too. She waited for him to spin a yarn about their relationship, or lack thereof over the past few years. At the very least she expected him to look to her to answer.

He surprised her by telling the truth. “Probably because I was a bleedin’ fool and caused her pain when I should have been confessing my feelings for her.”

Heart lodged in her throat Rebecca could only stare at him as she fought a desperate desire to ask what those feelings were.

Her mother’s face registered surprise. “Oh, that’s so sweet. Isn’t that sweet, Richard?”

“Sure, sweet,” he said, his tone indicating he thought it was anything but.

“Oh, poo,” she replied, waving him off. “Tell me, dear, what do you do for a living?”

Dear?
Jesus, was there a woman alive he couldn’t charm? Not that he had to work at it. He succeeded just by being himself.

As if he read her thoughts, Dominic winked at her. Then he focused all of his attention on her mother. “I’m a musician.”

“Really? What type of music? Classical? Ooh, jazz perhaps?”

“Rock and roll.”

Her father’s look of disgust was impossible to miss.
Here we go.
Her stomach knotted.

Her mother chatted on, appearing to be genuinely interested. “Really? What instrument do you play? Are you famous? Would say, my neighbor’s son know you?”

“Bass. And he might. We were very popular about ten years ago.”

Camille smiled up at him, then stepped close. She cupped Dom’s face as she might someone she’d known a long time, not someone she’d just met. “You have incredible bone structure. Truly wonderful genetics.” She dropped her hand to his bicep and squeezed.

Good Lord, my mother is feeling him up!

“With your olive skin tone, I bet your of Italian descent.”

“I honestly don’t know.”

She studied Dominic a moment, an odd look on her face. “He’d make beautiful children, Rebecca.”

“Oh, my God,” Rebecca mumbled, her cheeks burning.

“Look at you, all embarrassed. Your man here isn’t embarrassed, are you dear?”

“Not at all,” Dom replied with a grin.

“Like she hasn’t already thought about what your children would look like,” her mother whispered conspiratorially. “Do come with me, Dominic. I could use your help in the kitchen.”

Stunned beyond words, Rebecca could only watch as they walked away.

“Menopause,” her father stated dryly. “It’s making your mother a little nutty.”

* * *

Dominic sat at the kitchen table while Camille made them tea. She was an interesting woman, Rebecca’s mother. Tall, curvaceous, with auburn hair a few shades richer than Becca’s and eyes the same emerald green. She wore black slacks and a green silk blouse, hair pulled off her shoulders in a fancy sweep, and a pair of heels on her feet. At ten o’clock in the morning. If this was normal daily attire for the house, it was no wonder Becca had been at his door in a fancy suit.

Camille placed a cup of tea on the table before him, then eased into the chair opposite. She fiddled with the handle of her own cup, fingers sliding up and down multiple times before she took hold and lifted it to her lips. She eyed him over the rim. “You don’t know your heritage?”

Out of all the things Dominic expected her to say, that was not one of them. “No ma’am. I don’t know who my father was. Not sure my mum did, either.”

She nodded, then worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Richard is all about breeding.” She placed her cup back on the table and shrugged. “He’s a Dahlman, after all.”

Was he supposed to know what that meant? “I’m sorry?”

“His is a family of doctors, every one of them. Mother, father, grandparents, even his aunts and uncles. Cold people, really. Superior intelligence, which makes them top in their field, but lacking compassion.” She shook her head. “Richard was the black sheep. Oh, he followed in their footsteps and went to medical school. Specialized, and became the best in his field. He didn’t marry well.”