Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
DOMINIC
The Sterling Enterprises quarterly review demands my attention, but Holly demands it more.
I've been watching her through my office window for the past twenty minutes as she directs the installation of exterior light displays in the courtyard.
She's completely in her element—confident, authoritative, her hands gesturing precisely as she explains her vision to the crew.
Even bundled against the December cold in a practical coat and scarf, she's captivating.
My eyes track her movements as she consults her tablet, then points toward the stone archway where a massive wreath is being hoisted into position.
In just a week, she's transformed not just my home, but my entire routine.
I've rescheduled meetings, delegated decisions I would normally handle personally, all to create more time in her presence.
The exterior lighting specialist arrived an hour ago—some expert Holly insisted was necessary for the complex installation she's designed.
I dismissed him as another faceless contractor until I noticed how he looks at her.
How his eyes linger on her mouth when she speaks.
How he stands slightly too close when pointing out features on her design sketches.
How his hand touches her elbow unnecessarily when guiding her attention to something.
Each small liberty he takes with her sends a surge of something primal through me—a possessive rage I've never experienced before Holly entered my life.
I set aside the quarterly report with more force than necessary, causing Patricia to glance up from her position at the conference table where she's organizing files.
"Is there a problem, sir?" she asks, her tone neutral though her eyes are knowing. Patricia has been with me long enough to recognize the signs of my displeasure.
"No," I reply curtly, returning my attention to the window.
The lighting specialist—Mark or Mike, some generic name I couldn't be bothered to remember—is now standing directly behind Holly, ostensibly showing her something on his tablet.
His chest nearly touches her back as he reaches around to point at the screen.
I watch Holly's body language carefully, searching for signs of discomfort or, worse, interest. She remains professional, focused on the tablet rather than the man, but she doesn't step away from his proximity either.
My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. Holly has been in my bed every night for the past week, her body responding to my touch with an enthusiasm that leaves no doubt about her desire for me. Yet here she is, allowing this contractor liberties that should be mine alone.
"Cancel my call with Berlin," I instruct Patricia, already rising from my chair. "Reschedule for tomorrow morning."
"Sir, that's the third time we've rescheduled with Dr. Hoffman." Patricia's voice holds a rare note of concern. "The acquisition timeline—"
"Can wait twenty-four hours," I finish for her, buttoning my suit jacket with deliberate precision. "Some matters require my immediate attention."
Patricia follows my gaze to the courtyard below, understanding dawning in her expression. "Of course, sir. I'll handle it."
I exit my office, moving through the house with measured steps that belie the storm building inside me.
By the time I reach the courtyard doors, I've composed my features into a mask of casual interest rather than the territorial fury actually driving me.
The blast of cold air as I step outside is bracing, clearing my head slightly without cooling my purpose.
Holly notices me immediately—that awareness between us functioning as reliably as ever. She straightens, a brief smile crossing her face before she registers my expression and the smile falters.
"Dominic," she greets me, professional but with an undercurrent of warmth meant only for me. "We're just reviewing the lighting sequence for the courtyard display."
The contractor turns, his hand still hovering near the small of Holly's back in a gesture that makes me want to remove it permanently—along with the attached arm.
"Mr. Sterling," he acknowledges with a nod that's respectful but not subservient. "Holly's design is revolutionary for residential display. The programmable sequence she's created will make your home the talk of the city."
Holly. Not Ms. Parker. The familiarity in his tone confirms every suspicion.
"I have complete faith in Ms. Parker's vision," I reply, emphasizing her surname with subtle emphasis as I move to stand beside her. "She's been transforming my home quite…thoroughly."
I place my hand at the small of her back, the possessive gesture unmistakable to anyone watching. Holly tenses slightly beneath my touch, her eyes darting to my face with a question in them.
"Mark was just explaining the power requirements for the sequence," she says, her voice steady though I can feel the slight tremor in her body beneath my hand. "We may need to upgrade the exterior circuits."
Mark. Of course his name is Mark. Generic, forgettable, exactly like him except for his presumption with what's mine.
"Whatever Ms. Parker requires, she shall have," I state, my eyes fixed on Mark rather than Holly. "Cost is no object when it comes to satisfying her needs."
The double meaning isn't lost on either of them. Holly's cheeks flush despite the cold, while Mark's expression shifts as understanding dawns. His eyes move between Holly and me, reassessing the situation.
"The installation team can handle the rest today," he says, taking a small step back. "I'll send the final programming specifications by email, Ms. Parker."
Ms. Parker now. Good.
"Thank you, Mark," Holly replies, her tone strictly professional. "I appreciate your expertise."
He nods, gathering his tablet and technical equipment with efficiency that suggests he's eager to remove himself from my presence. Smart man.
Once he's moved to the other side of the courtyard to speak with the installation crew, Holly turns to face me, stepping out of my touch in the process. "Was that necessary?" she asks quietly, her breath visible in the cold air.
"Entirely," I confirm, resisting the urge to reclaim my physical hold on her in front of the workers. "He was taking liberties."
"He was doing his job," she counters, though there's no real heat in her objection. "The same job I'm paying him to do with the budget you approved."
"His job doesn't include standing close enough to count your eyelashes," I observe, my voice dropping lower despite our relative privacy. "Or finding excuses to touch you."
"You're being ridiculous," she says, though the flush deepening on her cheeks suggests she's not entirely oblivious to Mark's attention. "He's a respected lighting engineer. Our relationship is completely professional."
"As was ours, initially," I remind her, allowing a small smile that I know affects her. "Until it wasn't."
She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that unconscious gesture I find endlessly endearing. "Dominic, you can't be jealous of every man I work with."
"I'm not jealous," I correct her, though we both know it's a lie. "I'm protective of what's mine."
Instead of the indignation I half expect, something softens in her expression. "And am I yours? Just like that?"
"Just like that," I confirm, allowing some of my genuine possessiveness to show. "From the moment you stepped into my house, though neither of us recognized it immediately."
She shakes her head slightly, but I can see the pleased flush beneath her exasperation. "I have work to finish here," she says, gesturing to the partially completed installation. "Work that would progress more efficiently without my employer glaring at my lighting engineer."
"I don't glare," I protest mildly. "I observe with appropriate concern."
This draws a reluctant laugh from her. "Is that what you call it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks remarkably like a wolf marking its territory."
The analogy pleases me more than it should. "Perhaps I am," I acknowledge. "Does that bother you, Holly? Knowing how completely I consider you mine?"
Her laughter fades, replaced by something more serious, more thoughtful. "It should," she admits quietly. "But it doesn't. Not nearly as much as it probably should."
The honesty in her response sends a surge of satisfaction through me more potent than any business victory I've ever achieved. I step closer, not touching her but near enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
"Finish your work," I tell her, my voice for her ears alone. "Then come to my office when you're done. I want to show you exactly why you don't need to look twice at lighting engineers or anyone else."
The shiver that runs through her has nothing to do with the December cold.
She nods once, her eyes darkening with anticipation before she turns back to the installation.
I walk away, satisfied for the moment, though I make a mental note to have Patricia reassign Mark to one of our commercial properties, effective immediately.
No one touches what's mine. Not if they value their continued employment—or their continued access to my good graces, which in this city amounts to much the same thing.