Forever with Me (With Me in Seattle 8)

Not even if it were Armageddon and he was the last man on Earth.

“Oh, no thank you.”

“So, you’re just going to go home alone tonight?” Wilma asks with a sad face.

“Well, no, I’ll be spending the evening with Ben and Jerry,” I reply.

“She reads the naughty books too,” Miss Kitty says behind her hand to her sister, not bothering to be quiet.

If only my sex life were really that interesting.

***

He’s going to be late.

I check the time on my phone for the fifteenth time in the past twenty minutes and scowl.

I hate late.

The front door of the Starbucks near my condo swings open and I glance up. My jaw drops and my mouth goes dry at the sight of Dominic as he pulls his sunglasses off his face and scans the small coffee shop for me, his blue eyes heating when they rest on me.

He’s in a black T-shirt and jeans. The kind of jeans that mold around firm thighs and a tight ass and make a girl forget how to think.

Damn, what this man does to a pair of jeans. I rarely see him in jeans.

It’s a sight to behold.

“You’re almost late,” I inform him, as he approaches my table, making his lips twitch.

“But not quite,” he replies, and leans in to kiss my cheek, then places a bag on the floor by his chair. “Do you mind if I order a quick coffee?”

“Not at all,” I reply, and fist my hands in my lap so I don’t reach up and cover my cheek where his lips just were. I’m like a freaking lovesick teenager.

Check that. Horny teenager.

It’s disgusting.

I pull my notes up on my iPad and read through them while Dom orders his coffee and returns to me, carrying two cups, and places one next to me.

“What’s this?”

“Your tea,” he replies and sips his coffee.

“How did you know what I drink?”

“I asked the barista,” he replies with a smile. “Not a coffee drinker?”

“I hate it,” I reply with a shrug. “I prefer strong tea with honey.”

“So noted,” he replies softly. “How’s your head?”

I tilt my head and watch him for a moment. “Headache’s all gone. Your magical leaves worked.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “There’s no magic. My grandmother used to do that for us.”

“Us?” I ask before I can catch myself. What happened to keeping this strictly professional?

“My two cousins and myself. We all lived on my grandparent’s vineyard.”

“In Tuscany.”

“In Tuscany.” He nods and takes my hand in his, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and laces his fingers with mine.

“I’m sure it’s beautiful there.” My eyes are locked on our hands.

Pull away, Alecia Marie. Right now.

“Mm.”

My eyes find his again and I have to blink and shake my head to pull myself out of his trance.

This man is potent.

I pull away and return to my iPad. “So, we need to go over the vendors for the wedding.”

“I’d like a list of the vendor’s employees as well,” he replies without missing a step.

“Why?”

“I want my security team to run background checks.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“Yes. It is.” He holds my gaze firmly. “This is my family, Alecia. My very public, wealthy, celebrity family. I have hired security, and they will run background checks on all of the vendors. Even you.”

“Me?!” I toss my head back and laugh. “I’ve been working with the Montgomery and Williams families for two years.”

“Why is that?” he asks and the smile immediately leaves my face.

“Excuse me?”

“I think it’s a valid question.”

“I think it’s an asshole question.”

He quirks a brow. “If you like.”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest, all warm and fuzzy feelings toward Dom out the damn window.

“I work for them because I do a damn good job of it. I know their preferences, and I have a good relationship with them, especially the girls. I’m not star struck by them and I don’t allow my staff to be. I like them, damn it, so if you think I’d hire vendors that would put any of them at risk—”

“I didn’t say you would.”

“But you think I continue to work for them because, what, it gives me a rush to work with celebrities? Let me fill you in, Mr. Salvatore, I plan weddings and events for politicians, professional athletes, actors, and owners of Fortune 500 companies you can’t even pronounce the names of.”

“I’m quite good with languages, actually.”

“Screw you. Do you think they’d continue hiring me if I wasn’t excellent at what I do?”

“No.”

He’s perfectly calm, sipping his coffee while I rail at him, pissed and offended, and it occurs to me that it was a test.

I deflate and brace my head in my hands.

“I passed that test, I take it?”

“With flying colors, yes.”

I glance through my fingers to find him grinning at me.

“You’re not funny.”

“I enjoyed that.” He shrugs, his muscles straining under his T-shirt. His arms are tanned and strong, his hands long-fingered and I can’t help but wonder if he plays the piano.

“Do you play the piano?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You have hands for it.”

“That’s not all my hands are good at.”

I bite my lip and continue to stare at his hands as he runs the very tips of his fingers up and down his coffee mug.

I bet those hands are good at lots of things.

“Did you also hire your own security?” he asks.

“Mm.”

“Excuse me?” He chuckles, and I blush furiously.

“Yes, I did.”

“I’ll have the head of my security contact them so they can coordinate.”

“I’m going to want to meet with both teams next Friday on the site and go through the choreography of it all. Nothing can fuck this up.”

“Agreed.” He pulls a muffin out of a brown paper bag and peels the paper off the bottom, then passes me half of it. “Here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you have breakfast?”

“No.”

“Here.”

I sigh and take the muffin from him, knowing that arguing is futile. “Thanks.”