“Crap. I didn’t want to spend the night here.”
As our plane sits so close to the building, but not there yet, I watch the minutes on my phone tick away. Unlike with Dom’s connection, there aren’t any more flights to Seattle today.
Having to wait until tomorrow normally wouldn’t be a problem, but there’s an in-person staff meeting first thing in the morning. Pamela will go into panic mode if I’m not there, and I hate screwing up at work.
“You won’t miss your flight.” Dom has his phone out, and I see a map of the airport on his screen.
“It’s on the other side of the airport. And boarding stops in”—I lean closer to see the time on his screen—“twenty minutes. They haven’t even opened the doors yet.”
Some people might be able to sprint the distance in time, but those people don’t have chronic asthma, a heavy carry-on full of ghost town souvenirs for their needy friends, and two gin and tonics sloshing around in their stomachs.
I should’ve stopped after the first one, but I kept wanting to reach over and touch Dom in some soothing way. I needed to fill my hands and numb this sudden onslaught of affection.
Remember that time when hooking up with you was so bad, Dom proposed to another woman the next day?
But then he offered me his tiny bag of pretzels and my heart insisted that the salty treat solved everything and I should unbuckle, sit in his lap, and wrap my arms around him instead.
So, I drank. And now I’m in no state to make a mad dash dragging a suitcase while trying not to asphyxiate.
“They’re about to.” Dom points out the window and I see the walkway extending toward our plane. “We don’t need to run. The distance is doable. I’ll carry your suitcase. We’ll walk at a quick pace, and you’ll make it. Use your inhaler now.”
Fuck. Why is Dom doling out instructions suddenly so fucking hot? Normally, I want to push back on everything he says to prove he has no control over me. But now I find myself pulling my backpack out from under the seat in front of me, shaking my inhaler, taking a puff, and getting ready to follow him even if he leads me straight off a cliff.
Shit. Reading that file was a mistake.
Now I can’t avoid the knowledge that no matter how domineering Dominic gets, the control is always coming from a place of love. That the compulsion likely started when he was saddled with two baby brothers and given the task of being one of their primary caregivers.
Dom had a lot asked of him too early in life. Now he shows love by taking care of people.
And he’s trying to take care of me.
The man in question stands in the aisle now that the seat belt light is off. He slings the straps of his two bags over his shoulders, then heaves my suitcase out of the overhead. Because we’re in first class, there’s only one row of passengers in front of us.
“We’re catching a connection,” Dom says, meeting the eyes of the four businessmen who by all rights should be allowed to get off before us. They stay seated, cowed by Dom’s unrelenting stare.
This is when those six foot, too many extra inches come in handy.
There’s a pop and slight change in the air pressure. A flight attendant waves us forward, and Dom steps back for me to scramble out in front of him.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say over my shoulder as we hurry off the plane and up the walkway. “I can get a hotel room and fly out tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not leaving you here. Come on.” Once in the airport, Dom maneuvers in front of me to take the lead, his imposing body parting the sea of travelers.
An unexpected comforting sensation radiates up my arm, and I realize that when switching positions, Dom grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together.
The man is carrying both his bags, one of mine, and guiding me forward with an easy yet unrelenting grip. Though his long legs eat up the ground, I can tell he’s keeping to a pace I can manage. Accelerated, but I don’t have to jog.
“The suitcase has wheels,” I call to him over the crowd’s chatter and blare of announcements.
He’s still gripping my bag by the handle instead of dragging it at his side like everyone else around us.
“Wheels slow me down.”
I scoff and try to ignore how that arrogant statement made my lower belly clench. “How do wheels slow you down? Are you a hover car from the future? Or a ghost?”
“Stop using your air for snark,” he commands. “Use it for breathing.”
Has a woman ever wanted to both strangle and fondle a man so much?
As I’m left no other option than to breathe and follow Dom, my eyes have plenty of time to latch on to his backside and stay there. Admiring the accountant’s bubble butt is a surprisingly pleasant way to race through a crowded airport.
And, of course, with exactly two minutes to spare, my gate comes into view.
“Last call for Madeline Sanderson.” The announcement rings out.
“She’s here,” Dom booms, louder than the overhead speaker.
“Stop shouting before you get me arrested.” I swat his back like the ungrateful troll person I am.
But he only tugs me toward the counter, holding up the hand clutching my bag so the attendant will spot us if his thunderous announcement didn’t do the trick. His biceps strain at the move and I drool a little. The airline employee’s eyes go wide at Dom’s approach, and I watch her swallow hard.
From fear? From horniness? Who knows. Probably both.
When we come to a stop at the counter, Dom sets my bag down and faces me.
“Guess I shouldn’t have doubted you,” I say, reaching for the handle of my roller bag, but his thick thigh is in the way.
“You’ve got everything?” Dom asks as his eyes scan my body.
Then, without warning, his hands take the same route.
“Phone,” he mutters, palming my right thigh pocket. “Plane ticket.” He pats my hoodie pouch. “Wallet.” Left thigh pocket. “Laptop is in your bag. Inhaler is in the side pocket. And you’re wearing your glasses.” He pushes the frames up the bridge of my nose as his brows dip in concentration. “Am I missing anything?”
That last question breaks something open inside me. I’m shattered by the desperate, concerned edge that reveals too much of this man who tries to maintain control of every element around him.
Am I missing anything?
I’ve heard that question from Dom before.
The same question he muttered to himself when the twins were leaving for camp.
The same question he whispered when sorting his mother’s pain medications.
The same question he murmured the few times we crossed paths in Josh’s hospital room.
Those words sound like a quick double check, but for Dom, they’re a warning.
Don’t miss anything, he’s telling himself. If you miss something, and this person gets hurt, it’s your fault. You could’ve stopped it.
I see it in his eyes. The fear.
How many hours did he spend poring over those medical articles and research studies with the same question berating him?
Am I missing anything?
Finally, Dom looks me in the eyes, his brusque check of my essentials complete.
Maybe I should be affronted that he’s sending me off the way a loving mother would drop her toddler off at preschool. Instead, my heart skips and trips over knowing that he took the time to notice where I store all my essentials when traveling.
He missed one thing, though. Something that, in this moment, I’ve never needed more.
Don’t do it! You’ve been burned too many times by this man! Stop sticking your hand in the fire!
But I can’t help myself around Dom. This is why I moved across the country after that first rejection. Because like an immortal moth, I keep reviving my scorched heart and flying straight into the beautiful, deadly lantern that is Dominic Perry, ignoring that I’ll probably get fried to a crisp.
“This is your fault,” I grit out. His eyes widen as I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around his neck.
I kiss him hard.
This is what he gets for letting me nap on his shoulder and cleaning my glasses. This is what he gets for hauling my suitcase through a crowded airport at a fast yet manageable speed. This is what he gets for learning every detail of Josh’s disease in hopes that he could save my brother’s life.
This is what he gets for always being steady and caring.
This kiss is his fault.
Dom grunts, but he doesn’t pull away. I don’t give him time to. Almost as quick as I started the lip lock, I break it. Without sparing him another glance, I grab my bag, scan my ticket, and disappear into the safety of the boarding bridge, pressing my fingers against my lips to cling to the traces of him.