Chapter 6 #2
That’s how the old stories painted alphas. “We’re in the shop. In the middle of the day. Anyone could—”
“The door’s locked.” His nose traced the line of my throat. “I locked it when we started decorating. Didn’t want interruptions.”
“That’s—” My thought process derailed as his teeth scraped lightly over my pulse point. “That’s very presumptuous—”
“Mmm… but I’m entitled to it,” he countered, his hands sliding to the small of my back, and dragging me flush against him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you when you’re doing sweet omega things like nesting and rearranging the garland?”
His thumbs rubbed circles on my hip bones. “So I locked the door. Because I knew we’d end up exactly here. With you against this work table. With me trying very hard not to do something that would scandalize your forefathers’ ghosts.”
A laugh bubbled out of me despite the heat pooling low in my belly. “My forefathers’ ghosts?”
“They’re all probably watching, judging my technique.” But his smile faded as his gaze intensified. He took a breath. “Back room. Before I forget the display window has an unobstructed view of your work table.”
“We still have more garland to hang—”
“Back room,” he repeated, the alpha command back in his voice without being overbearing.
This time, I didn’t argue.
I turned and headed toward the back, very aware of him following close behind, a predator tracking prey. My heart hammered as I pushed through the curtain into my main workshop area, then moved quickly to the private storage room—the one with an actual locking door for supplies and inventory.
The door had barely closed before he had me pressed against it, the lock clicking into place with ominous finality. The small space suddenly felt even smaller.
“Finally,” he growled against my throat, his body caging mine.
“We can’t… a customer might—” But my protest died as his teeth scraped my mating gland, my body arching involuntarily against his.
“What were you thinking climbing a ladder the second I turned my back?” His palms were warm, possessive. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“That’s not—oh—” My head fell back against the door as his mouth found the sensitive spot below my ear.
“Tell me you want this,” Dominic demanded, his hands sliding higher.
“Yes.” The word came out desperate.
“Say it.” He hissed.
“God, yes, I want—”
His mouth crashed into mine, muffling my words. The kiss was consuming, claiming. His tongue swept into my mouth as his hands explored with single-minded focus, relearning every line of my body.
When we broke apart for air, his palm spread possessively over my stomach, over the barely-there swell that held our child.
“The apartment in Blake’s building,” he murmured against my lips. “We’re moving in this week.”
My brain struggled to shift gears. “What?”
“You need a safe space. Our space.” His thumb traced the small curve of my stomach. “We’ll go back and forth between there and the shop once I know it’s secure.” He kissed me again, slower this time, deliberate. “And once the investigation is over…”
“Once it’s over?” I prompted breathlessly. “We’ll stay here too?”
“And I’m going to take you to my place in the mountains.” His voice dropped, intimate and promising. “The one with the massive stone fireplace Blake mentioned. I’m going to lay you down in front of a fire and make love to you for days.”
The image he painted—Dominic and me wrapped in blankets, firelight painting his skin gold, nothing between us but heat and need and time—made my breath catch.
The shop bell chimed from the front room.
We froze, breathing hard, pressed together in the dim storage room. Dominic’s hands were still under my shirt, my fingers tangled in his hair.
“I thought you locked the door,” I managed.
“I did.” His expression shifted from frustrated desire to alert wariness. “I definitely locked it.”
The bell chimed again, more insistently.
“Stay here,” Dominic ordered, already pulling away, straightening his shirt.
“It might be a custom—”
My stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly.
Dominic’s mouth quirked. “We’ll deal with whoever that is, and then I’m feeding you.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re hungry.” His hands cupped my face. “And our baby needs food. So yes, we’re dealing with this, and then I’m getting you exactly whatever you’re craving.”
The craving hit me the moment he said it. Sudden and specific. “Monte cristo. From Fifth Street Deli. With raspberry jam on sourdough. And salt and vinegar chips.”
“Done.” He kissed me once more, quick and possessive. “Two orders?”
I blinked at him. “How did you—”
“Figured you’d want enough for later. For home.” His smile turned smug. “I’m learning, baby.”
The bell chimed a third time.
“Right,” Dominic muttered under his breath. “The intruder.”
He straightened his clothes one more time, ran his fingers through his hair, and opened the back room door. I followed after taking a moment to compose myself, tucking in my shirt and trying to control my breathing.
Adelaide stood in the front room, immaculate in her winter coat and mayoral composure, a bright smile on her face.
“There you are!” She looked between us with polite interest, then gestured toward the shop’s entrance. “I hope I’m not interrupting. Your front door was standing wide open. I assumed a customer left and forgotten to close it properly.”
I glanced at Dominic, who frowned slightly. “I could have sworn I locked it.”
“These old mechanisms,” Adelaide said sympathetically, moving to test the door herself.
“Look—” She demonstrated how the latch didn’t quite catch unless you pulled it firmly.
“It needs a good tug to engage properly. My brother’s always complaining about the doors at the estate.
The cold makes everything contract and expand unpredictably.
Can’t have your heat escaping with energy prices the way they are. ”
“You didn’t see anyone leave?” I asked.
Her expression turned apologetic. “No, can’t say that I did.”
I felt my tension ease slightly.
“Thank you for closing it,” I said, meaning it. “I appreciate that.”
“Of course.” Adelaide’s gaze swept the shop, warm and appreciative. “The decorations are coming along beautifully. Very festive.”
I felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment on my decorating. “Thank you.”
“Did you need something, Mayor Fairfax?” Dominic asked, his hand finding my lower back.
“Please, call me Adelaide. And yes, actually.” She settled into one of my customer chairs with easy grace.
“I know Judy is managing most of the centennial planning—and doing a wonderful job, I might add—but there’s one particular element I wanted to handle personally.
” She pulled a leather portfolio from her bag. “The memorial service for Thomas Wong.”
The words caught me off guard. “Memorial service?”
“Yes.” Adelaide’s expression shifted to something more solemn and respectful.
“Now that we know what happened to Thomas, now that his remains have been properly identified and can be laid to rest with dignity, I think the community needs closure. A formal remembrance ceremony as part of the centennial celebration.” She looked at me earnestly.
“I’d like you to speak at it, Leo. Your grandfathers knew Thomas personally.
Your family’s craftsmanship helped identify him.
It seems fitting that you should be the one to honor his memory publicly. ”
The weight of her request settled on my shoulders. “I… I’m not sure what I’d say.”
“Just speak from the heart,” Adelaide said warmly. “Share what you’ve learned about him. Honor his memory and his contributions to the district. Nothing elaborate—just genuine.” She made a note in her portfolio. “His relatives will be present. Your words would mean something.”
There was something touching about the idea. Thomas, forgotten for fifty years, finally being remembered publicly. Being honored.
“When were you thinking of holding the service?” Dominic asked.
“During the centennial weekend. Perhaps Saturday evening at the Historical Society building.” Adelaide smiled.
“It would be dignified, appropriate. Richard is quite insistent about paying respects properly. Thomas worked for the family firm, after all. Richard remembers him fondly—he was quite affected when the remains were identified.”
“I’d be honored to speak,” I found myself saying.
“Wonderful.” Adelaide closed her portfolio, clearly pleased.
“We’ll coordinate details next week. I’ll leave the specific content entirely up to you—just let me or Judy know if you need any historical materials from the Society archives to help with your preparation.
” She stood, smoothing her coat. “I should let you get back to your decorating.”
After she left—making sure to pull the door firmly closed behind her—I moved to test the lock myself. She was right. It didn’t catch properly unless you pulled hard.
“I should have noticed that,” Dominic said, coming to stand beside me. “I thought I’d locked it, but…”
“Old buildings,” I agreed. “I’ll have the locksmith check it.”
“The memorial service is a good idea,” Dominic said.
“Thomas deserves it.” I leaned against him, letting his warmth ground me. “It feels right.”
I leaned into his embrace, his solid frame supporting mine. The ticking of the antique clock on the wall marked each quiet moment between us until my stomach growled again—loudly.
Chuckling, Dominic pulled out his phone. “Still craving that monte cristo?”
“With salt and vinegar chips,” I confirmed. “Two orders, please.”
“Two orders it is.” He was already dialing as he headed for the door. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes. And Leo—” He paused, his dark eyes intense. “Don’t climb anything while I’m gone.”