Chapter 7 #2
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was teasing. But there was something else in his eyes, something darker, like he was enjoying the discomfort he was causing me.
"Buy me dinner first," he said, his voice low, amused, but with that dangerous edge I've come to recognize.
I shot him a glare over my shoulder. "Dominic."
Amusement flickered in his dark eyes, but he obeyed, peeling the shirt the rest of the way up and tossing it onto the counter. It landed in a crumpled heap, darkened with dried blood.
I roughly swallowed saliva that insisted on pooling in my mouth.
He had muscle and sharp lines, broad shoulders tapering down to a sculpted torso that looked like it belonged to someone who had been built for war.
I would never believe he was in his thirties.
I forced myself to focus on the gash on his side, not the way his abs flexed when he shifted slightly on the counter.
"You should've gone to a hospital," I muttered, grabbing antiseptic and gauze.
He chuckled again, the sound grating in a way I didn't expect.
"Right. Because showing up at an ER covered in blood wouldn't raise any red flags," he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.
I shot him another glare but didn't argue. I already knew how men like him operated. Patch yourself up, keep moving. No hospitals. No paper trails.
I grabbed a cotton pad and pressed it to the wound. It was too quiet now, too intimate. I could feel the heat of his skin under my fingers, the solid muscle beneath that I shouldn't even be noticing.
I tried to ignore the way my breath caught, the way my skin seemed to tingle where I touched him. I focused on the wound.
"This is going to hurt," I warned, though my voice faltered slightly.
"I can handle pain, sweetheart," he said, and I felt the quiet smirk in his words. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. His body remained still, but I felt the tension in him, the way his muscles tightened the second I pressed the antiseptic against his skin.
"I don't get you," I muttered, dabbing the blood away.
Dominic arched a brow. "What's there to get?"
I frowned. "You're bleeding, yet you act like you don't care."
His lips curled into something almost amused, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something guarded.
"Would it make you feel better if I started crying?"
I scowled. "No. But it'd be nice to know you're human."
His smirk didn't fade, but he didn't reply. Though I could feel his thick stare while I worked. The silence stretched between us.
I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus.
He was just a stupid old man, I muttered. I set the antiseptic aside, and grabbed a fresh piece of gauze, pressing it gently to his side.
His breathing hitched, not from pain, but from something else.
I felt it.
The shift.
The sudden, unspoken tension that coiled between us, thick and charged.
I refused to look at him, but I could feel his gaze burning into me—assessing, watching, waiting.
For what? I didn't know.
I swallowed hard and reached for the bandage wrap, forcing myself to keep moving. "Lift your arm."
He obeyed without trouble, and as I leaned in to wrap the gauze around his torso, my breath brushed against his skin.
His muscles tensed beneath my touch.
Shit.
My fingers slowed, just for a second.
Just enough to feel it.
The way the air shifted.
The way his body reacted to me, even when he was too damn good at hiding it.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my expression blank, wrapping the bandage tighter to steer him away. "You'll live," I muttered, securing the gauze in place.
Dominic's lips curved slightly. "What a relief."
I pulled back and started packing up the supplies, needing space. I had just zipped up the first aid kit when his voice cut through the silence.
"You're the first person to ever patch me up who isn't dead."
I froze. The fuck?
My fingers clenched around the kit. My eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "That’s supposed to be a compliment?"
He tilted his head, watching me, eyes unreadable. "It means you're different."
My pulse skidded.
I forced myself to meet his gaze, ignoring the way my stomach twisted. "Different how?"
A slow, calculated smirk curved his lips. "Haven't figured that out yet."
My breath caught in my throat.
I frowned.
I hated how he did this. How he said things like that—things that meant nothing but still made me think. Made me feel.
I rolled my eyes, turning away from him, but I felt a pull on my wrist.
My breath stalled.
I turned to him, staring, waiting for him to talk, but he didn't say anything.
He just held me there. Not tight. Not rough. Just enough to keep me still.
My pulse pounded in my ears.
"You should be careful, Ara." His voice was low, edged with something dangerous.
"Keep getting this close to me…" He tilted his head, his eyes dark, unreadable, his thumb brushing slightly against my tender skin. "...and I might start thinking you want to."
My heart slammed into my ribs.
I yanked my wrist free, my breath uneven. "Go to hell, Dominic."
His smirk deepened. "Only if you'll come with me."
What?
I wasn't going to listen to his crap any longer. I walked towards the door, but my eyes widened as my legs buckled. The pain in my side flared, blurring my vision as I stumbled, the world tilting around me.
I gasped, but before I could even catch my breath, Dominic was there. His arms were around me, pulling me close, his grip like iron, steadying me with ease.
For a minute, I almost forgot I was the real patient here.
"Easy, Ara," he murmured, voice low and composed as he lifted me effortlessly.
I swallowed hard.
My face flushed from the heat—both physical and emotional. "I can walk," I muttered, though my legs trembled beneath me, unwilling to cooperate.
This won't be a bad time for the ground to open and swallow me.
"Doesn't look like it," he replied, his tone laced with something close to amusement, though there was a softness in the way he held me that wasn't there before.
His baritone voice, deep yet calm, and his strong arms cradled me against his chest, lifting me with surprising gentleness.
"You're also bleeding, you shouldn't—"
"It's not that serious, you're exaggerating," he muttered.
His heartbeat was steady beneath me, and the faint scent of his cologne; dark and expensive, clung to the air.
He carried me back into the bedroom with ease, setting me down on the bed. I winced as I adjusted, the pain in my side becoming unbearable again.
Ugh.
I tried to lie still, but my mind was a whirlwind of confusion. I could feel his presence in the room, the space between us charged with a silent tension that made my heart race.
Dominic stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze flickering before he crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "Rest," he said, his voice firm, as if it were a command. "You need it."
But then I blurted out, without thinking, "I'm going home tomorrow."
Dominic's eyebrows raised slightly, but he said nothing, just watched me carefully. I could feel his gaze like a weight on me, his silence pressing in on me like a wall.
My eyes darted away from his, refusing to meet the intensity of his stare. My heart thudded heavily in my chest.
Dominic didn't push. Instead, his lips curved in a small, understanding smile. "Okay." His voice was calm, no judgment, no expectation.
I frowned. "Okay?"
"Yeah," he said, his gaze still unreadable. "Asvika will come pick you up tomorrow. Don't worry."
My stomach tightened at the mention of my friend, but I couldn't bring myself to feel relief.
"Why do you care?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. My words hung in the air between us, thick with something I couldn't name.
"You want to leave. I can't really hold you against your will." Dominic turned to leave but paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame. He didn't look back, but his voice lingered in the air. "You should rest. Let me know if you need anything."
Deja vu hit me like a train. The night of the pool game when he stayed true to his word and disappeared, the coldness in his tone.
A man who kept his promises
And with that, he was gone. The door clicked softly behind him, leaving me alone in the dim light of the room.
I hated this. Whether this included him, I had yet to decide.