Chapter 31
Dominic
It’s late afternoon by the time I pull into the driveway.
It’s been a long fucking day, and I’ve been itching to get back home to my girls.
My shoulders are tight, my head’s pounding, and all I want is five minutes of peace where no one needs anything from me—except them.
I’ll always make an exception for those two.
As I reach the door, music filters through the house. I step inside, ready to call out, but the words die in my throat the second I hit the main room.
Lil’ Peach stands in the middle of the floor dressed like a tiny ballerina. She’s wearing a pink tutu and a sparkly leotard, which must be new because I never purchased them for her, and tiny pink ballet slippers adorn her feet. Her dark hair is pulled up into the tiniest bun I’ve ever seen.
She’s raising her arms above her head, wobbling on tiptoes, as her face scrunches in concentration.
Emily stands in front of her, mirroring the pose. She’s wearing fitted black tights and a simple black sports bra, but fuck me, my eyes can’t look away.
The outfit leaves little to the imagination, revealing the lean, powerful lines of her body and accentuating all of her delicious curves. Every movement is fluid, controlled, confident, and executed with effortless grace, making it impossible not to stare.
For a moment, I just stand there, completely transfixed, watching the two of them twirl.
Peach’s giggles float through the room, Emily laughing with her, and steadying her when she wobbles.
She effortlessly brushes the loose curls off her face and cheers Peach on like it’s the most important performance in the world.
All I can think about in this moment is how fucking lucky we are that Emily walked into our lives.
How she fills every crack I didn’t even know existed.
How she loves Peach like she was born to.
And how she looks at me sometimes like she sees something worth staying for.
Gratitude hits me first, it’s sharp and overwhelming. Then the truth I’ve been choking on for months settles low in my gut.
I want her.
So fucking much I ache.
And not just in my bed.
Or for fleeting moments when I forget to guard myself.
I want to claim her as mine—as ours—in every way that matters.
I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb, watching them as all the tension of the day drains from my body. Every shitty moment, every demand, every headache, it all simply disappears.
A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it. I can stand here all damn night, soaking in the sight of the two people who make everything else worth it.
Many minutes pass before Emily finally notices me. She falters the moment she does, her arms lowering just a little, like she’s been caught doing something wrong instead of teaching a three-year-old how to point her toes.
Her cheeks flush pink, and this woman has no idea what she does to me. No fucking clue that she’s capable of knocking the air right out of my lungs with a single look.
“D-Dominic,” she breathes, tripping over my name slightly as she moves to silence the music spilling from the Bluetooth speaker.
“D!” Peach squeals, bouncing in place and clapping her little hands. “Look … I rina!”
“You’re the cutest little ballerina ever,” I agree, crossing the room to scoop her up.
She squirms in my arms when I bury my face in the crook of her neck and blow a raspberry against her skin. “No, D!” she shrieks, laughing.
“Again,” Lil’ Peach says through a yawn as I reach the end of her new book. Again. I release a small grunt. I’ve already read this fucking thing twice tonight, and my brain is starting to leak out my ears.
Emily bought it for her today, along with the ballet gear.
The book is called Tina the Ballerina. It’s about a little girl who loves to twirl everywhere, in the kitchen, at the grocery store, even while brushing her teeth. Then she gets her first pair of ballet slippers, and they turn out to be magical.
Whenever Tina gets nervous about a tough move or about people watching her, the slippers start to glow. But the day before her first recital, the glow disappears. Tina freaks out and decides she can’t dance without the magic.
With help from her teacher and her friends, she figures out the glow was never from the slippers. It was her all along; the light was coming from within. On recital day, she steps onto the stage and learns that courage is something you build from the inside.
I didn’t hate the story the first time around. I can appreciate the message behind it. But I already know this is about to become Peach’s new favourite, which means I’ll be reciting it word for word soon enough, like all the others. And that part pisses me off.
Thankfully, by page three, Peach tightens her grip on her teddy, sticks her thumb in her mouth, and snuggles into my chest. That’s my signal. In a few seconds, she’ll be out like a light.
A couple of minutes later, I close the book, get up, and cross the room.
I press a kiss to the top of Lil’ Peach’s head before setting her down in the cot.
She’s only going to be in this thing a few more days, until her pink, frilly bed arrives.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. She’s growing fast. Too fucking fast if you ask me.
Soon, she’ll be starting school, and that’s when the real fun begins. Intimidating every little prick who even thinks about looking at her sideways isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but I already know I’m going to do it.
I exit her room, softly closing the door behind me, and feeling all kinds of messed up.
As I’m walking past the bathroom, the door swings open and Emily comes barrelling out. Her head is down, so she doesn’t see me until she runs straight into my side.
My arms fly out on instinct, grabbing her small shoulders before she ends up flat on her arse.
I jerk her body towards mine until she’s pressed against my chest, but now she’s too damn close. Her hair is damp, so I know she just washed it, and instead of smelling like a cupcake, she smells like the whole damn patisserie. It makes my cock jump in my jeans.
“Easy there, mia tortina,” I say, taking a step back and putting some much needed distance between us, but when she lifts her head and looks at me, I jerk back. “What the fuck is that on your face?”
Her eyes widen, and all I can see are those big baby blues and her pink fucking lips. The rest of her face is buried under some white paper thing, but I know she’s blushing underneath it.
“It’s a face mask,” she squeaks.
“A face mask?”
“It’s for my skin.”
She looks ridiculous, like a marshmallow with eyes, or a plump-lipped ghost. “Is that why your skin is so soft and … dewy?”
A smile curves her lips. “You think my skin is dewy?”
I clear my throat and run my hand over my hair, briefly looking away. I can’t believe I even said that. When my eyes meet her again, I jut out my chin. “You do that often?”
“A couple of times a week.”
“Why haven’t I ever seen you with one of those on before?”
“Because I usually hide away in my room until it’s time to take it off.”
I grimace; I can’t help it. “I can see why.”
“Hey,” she says, poking my abs, and I bark out a laugh. “Is Peach asleep?”
“Yeah, she made me read her that book three fucking times.”
“Was it any good?”
I lift one shoulder. “I’ve read better.”
She lets out a small laugh. “I’m sure you have.”
“Thank you for all the ballet shit you got her, she loved it.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. That smile on her face is worth it. Did you use my card?”
“No, I left it here.”
A growl rumbles in the back of my throat. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Emily!”
“Dominic,” she counters.
“I’ll fix you up.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“I’ll add in some extra to pay for the lesson as well.”
“What lesson?”
“The ballet lesson. You said you used to teach in another life, so it’s only fair I pay you.”
She shakes her head as if my offer offends her.
We both stand here for a moment just staring at each other. We seem to do that a lot, but it’s hard to take her seriously with that thing on her face.
“I’ve planned our day out tomorrow.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You have?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises, Emily,” I growl.
Her smile widens as she rounds me and moves towards her bedroom. My eyes watch her go—or specifically her sweet arse—and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to follow her.
I yawn and scrub my hand down my face when Emily steps into the kitchen the next morning. She’s already dressed for the day in tight jeans, joggers, and a loose-fitting shirt that hangs off one shoulder.
Her golden locks are pulled back into a high ponytail, and despite her casual attire, she looks like a fucking wet dream.
“Morning,” she chirps, and I grunt in response as I slide my cup under the spout, waiting for the espresso to trickle out. I need coffee, lots and lots of coffee.
“Where are we going today?” I ask, still annoyed she hasn’t told me.
I feel like my entire childhood was one long guessing game, so the whole surprise thing isn’t something I get a kick out of. I’m not a fan of the unknown. I’d rather be aware of what the hell I’m walking into.
“I told you it’s a surprise,” she answers with a beautiful smile.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweats because, for some reason, I’m tempted to reach out, pull her into my arms, and kiss that sweet fucking mouth of hers. “And I told you I don’t like surprises,” I grumble.
“You’ll like this one.”
“Will I?” I lift a brow because it would have to be something pretty spectacular for me to actually enjoy myself.
She winces, and a low growl crawls up my throat. “Okay, maybe not,” she quickly adds, “but Peach will. That’s the most important thing, right?”
“We better not be going dancing or some shit.”
She laughs. “No dancing, I promise,” she says, crossing her fingertip over her heart and being all adorable and shit.
“Good,” I mutter. “Because if you drag me to some parent/child yoga thing, or one of those pottery places where they make you paint a plate with your feelings, I’m out.”
She snorts. “No yoga or pottery therapy.”
“Or one of those goddamn butterfly gardens. I’m not getting dive-bombed by bugs the size of my hand.”
She shakes her head, smiling again. “No butterflies either.”
I tilt my head back and groan. “I’m running out of options here, Em, so you may as well tell me.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
When I catch the smug little grin curving her lips as she turns and reaches up for a mug, something in me snaps. I move in without thinking, stalking towards her. I place my hands on the countertop, on either side of her, caging her in.
I lean in and graze my nose along the length of her neck, devouring her scent. “Where are we going, cupcake?” I ask, my patience wearing thin.
I barely slept last night, and it had nothing to do with Fat Cat and everything to do with her, which is precisely why I’m feeling pissy this morning. I’m frustrated, horny, and my balls are bluer than her damn eyes.
She intakes a sharp breath but still doesn’t give me the answer I’m seeking.
Instead, she stays perfectly still. “Talk to me, Em.” She moves her head just a fraction, and her long eyelashes flutter as she glances up at me.
The faint curve of a smile tugs at her lips without her even realising it, and I want to kiss her so badly I ache inside. “You can’t help it, can you?”
“Can’t help what?” she asks, confused.
“Being irresistible. It just comes naturally, doesn’t it?”
She scoffs. “I’m hardly irresistible.”
I lift one of my hands, running the tip of my finger across her soft and dewy cheek. “I beg to differ,” I admit.
Her breath hitches in her throat as she leans into my touch. “You really find me irresistible?”
I smirk, letting my knuckle linger a second longer. “Yeah. Even when you look like a bargain basement ghost.”
“A bargain basement ghost?”
“With that shit on your face.”
“My face mask?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, dewy doesn’t come naturally to some,” she counters.
I huff out a laugh. “You drive me fucking crazy, mia tortina. It’s getting harder and harder for me to keep my hands off you.”
“Then don’t,” she replies, and just like that, she floors me.