“Fuck,” Dom grunts, letting out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I’ll head to the city now. Motherfucker.”
He hangs up and drops the phone into his pocket, glancing at me with a tight jaw.
“I have to go into the city,” he says. “Goddamn, you have no idea how badly I want to stay here with you, Dreamer. But if I don’t go, people will get hurt, innocent people.”
“Then you should go,” I whisper, even if it costs me a great effort.
He sighs, nodding. “But not before…”
He leans in again, prying my lips apart with his tongue, the tips of our tongues clashing like swords as I moan and he groans through the kiss. I wrap my arms around him, not even thinking about it, as though we’ve kissed a hundred times before.
It feels new and natural at once, an intoxicating combination.
“Fuck,” he growls, stepping away. “I have to stop. If I don’t, I won’t be able to stop myself from claiming that perfect body of yours, Dreamer.”
The phrase perfect body bounces around my mind, followed by the word trick, ricocheting painfully as I silently pray I’ve got it wrong, that this isn’t a trick.
He’d never do that to me.
This stranger, this man I feel like I know, this man who’s awakened parts of me I never even knew existed.
“Okay,” I whimper, the only word I can summon. “I’ll be here. I’ll take care of Lucky. Go and keep the city safe, Dom.”
He smirks, reaching out and brushing hair from my forehead, his touch tingling, lingering.
“This isn’t over, Dreamer,” he growls. “Not even close.”
And then he turns and strides away from the pond.
I watch him go, my gaze glued to the broadness of his back, to the way his fingers twitch like all he wants to do is grab me again.
And all I want is for him to grab me again, to feel his confident touch on my body, telling me I’m wanted, I’m sexy, I’m all the things I never thought I could be.
Chapter Nine
Dominik
Kesha and I sit in the small living room, Kesha fidgeting beside me as we wait for the union boss’s wife to bring us in a tray of hot drinks. Jeffrey Kolinski is about fifty years old, with a band of gray hair around his temples and a gruff demeanor.
But gruff or not, he’s always been reliable, giving us a cut of the docks in return for our protection.
He drums his fingernails on his leg as his wife lays the tray on the coffee table between us.
“Thank you, dear,” he says, smiling at her.
She leaves the three of us in his living room alone, motes of dust dancing in the air as sunlight streams through the windows. The display cabinet shows snow globes from their various vacations, and I find myself thinking about what mine and Daniella’s home will display when we’ve been together for a few years, all the mementos of a life shared.
I’ve barely slept and yet I feel wide awake, both from this business and from what Daniella and I shared before I was forced to leave.
My body aches for her, the same way it pulsed for her during the drive from my estate into the city. I wanted to roar at Kesha several times and tell him to turn back so I could be with my woman, but we didn’t rise to the top by putting the personal before the professional, even if it’s never been this difficult before.
“Tell us what happened, Jeffrey,” Kesha says, keeping his voice calm.
At least, he sounds calm, but I can detect a note of rage boiling underneath it. He might be the calmer of the Dudnikov brothers, but people would be making a huge mistake if they mistook his quietness and his lisp for weakness.
Jeffrey sighs, glancing at us in turn.
“I was at the store, picking up a few things, and two Italians come swaggering over. I’m like, what the fuck do these guys want? You know. We sorted things with you. We thought they were going to back off.”
I nod. “That’s what they agreed to.”
“Well, they fucking lied,” Jeffrey snaps.
“Careful,” Kesha warns. “This is Dominik Dudnikov you’re speaking to.”
I wave a hand. “It’s okay. Go on, Jeff.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dudnikov. It’s just how they came over to me, all puffed up, thinking they were tough. And they knew I couldn’t beat them silly like I wanted to. Those sort of men, they’re nothing without the backing of the mob.”
“You’ve got that right,” I snarl. “Half of Flavio’s crew would crumble without him backing them up. What did they say?”
“Just the same old shit.” Jeffrey sighs, reaching for his coffee and then letting his hand fall. “We need to do what Flavio says. We need to call a strike. We need to let them control the docks. It’s always the same with these bastards lately.”