Chapter 3

3

DOM

Isla’s in my bar. I always know instantly when she walks through the door. Don’t know how, but I don’t question it, it’s a useful tool. It means I know where she is in the bar at all times, and when to avert my eyes quickly so she doesn’t notice me looking at her.

We have a complicated relationship. Not that she knows that.

The relationship is complicated because we aren’t in a relationship and I wish we were. As far as I can tell, all she wants is to practice her nail art, talk about books, and see me monthly for one-on-one time.

I wish I could see her every day.

I brought the book to work with me today on the off chance she’ll come in. Occasionally Isla and Chloe come in on Fridays instead of the usual Saturday, and if Isla’s here, I want to be prepared.

I need something to offer her, need an excuse to approach her. Her dark hair is loose, and she’s in jeans with a tight green top which makes her skin glow and turns her hazel eyes green. It also cups her breasts enticingly, but I shake the thought away. Approaching the table, I hand her the book, and clench my hand into a fist when she grazes my fingers. I should be used to her touch by now, but it’s never enough.

I crave it. Keep coming back for more.

Do I enjoy having my nails done? Not necessarily, but I get to spend time with her because of it. Without it, I would never see her. Wouldn’t have an excuse to see her. We wouldn’t be exchanging books, and I wouldn’t have a guaranteed day every month of just her . Maybe I do enjoy it. Having my nails done brought her into my life and I wouldn’t change it.

You can pry her from my cold, dead hands.

I’m in the back, grabbing more stock when I hear it. Glass shattering and yelling. It happens more often than it should, tempers flaring and glass breaking, so I’m used to it. But something deep in my bones flares in panic and my heart beats faster, blood pounds in my ears drowning out the yells. I drop the box and slam the door open, rushing into the crowd, pushing people away from me, throat clenching uncomfortably when I realise the crowd’s around Isla’s table.

My eyes narrow on the man sitting too close to her, sending her backwards and trapping her. A glass has shattered on their table. Her eyes dart around, but no one helps. Chloe is yelling, but the asshole doesn’t move.

I lunge for him and drag him to the ground, away from Isla, who’s trembling in the booth.

Scared. In my bar.

That’s not happening.

I have him removed from the bar and turn to Isla. The breath is harsh in my chest. I brush hair out of her face and run my fingers over her cheeks, blocking out the sound and people behind us. I grasp her hand and guide her towards me, stilling when she winces. Turning her hand over slowly, my nostrils flare when I see blood seeping from a cut. Careful of the cut on her hand the bastard caused, I edge her out of the booth and keep a gentle hold on her hand instead of clenching like I want to. I sweep her into my arms and turn for the door. I’m taking her home.

The manager can sort everything out. Isla is more important.

Her body’s warm against mine and I hold her tighter, tucking her head under my chin and inhaling the smell of jasmine clinging to her hair. “How are you feeling, darling?” I bite back a curse at the endearment that slips out, but she doesn’t notice.

She sighs quietly and rubs her head on my chest. “I’m okay,” she mumbles.

“I’m taking you home. I’ll fix up your hand.” She doesn’t need to know I’m taking her to my home. For the first time. My brow creases even as my chest clenches in anticipation. The first time she’s going to be in my flat is hurt and bleeding, but I don’t want to leave her alone.

Also, I don’t know where she lives.

I don’t catch her murmured reply, but I take it as a yes. We reach my car and I fumble to open the door, but I refuse to put her down. I don’t know if she’s able to stand, and I don’t want her standing on the concrete behind the bar with the rubbish in the cold. Don’t want her shoes ruined. There are flowers on them.

I manage to open the door and duck down gently to set her on the seat. My hands linger on her waist, her warmth seeping into me as I trace small circles there. Her gorgeous hazel eyes gaze at me. I lean my head close to her to see if she’s dazed, but she parts her lips and I feel her breath on my skin. My tongue darts out, but I still when I glance down and see the blood staining her hands.

I draw back and avoid her eyes. After I pull the seatbelt across her and click it in, I close the door as quietly as I can so I don’t disturb her and round the car to the driver’s seat. Clenching the steering wheel, I blow out a breath and shift into drive.

It doesn’t take long to reach my flat. The roads are empty since everyone’s out or having a quiet night in. I rub a hand over my jaw. I’m about to have a quiet night in with Isla. Yes, it’s because she’s hurt and I would take that pain from her if I could, but she’s going to be in my home on a Friday night.

Just us. Together.

I’m not far from the bar, a few minutes down the beach on the cheaper side, but it’s worth it being close to the water. I park under the building and round the car to get Isla. She was quiet on the drive, staring out the window at the streetlights. She releases her seatbelt and I scoop her up, careful to avoid hitting her head on the door.

She leans against me, but moves her head around with a frown on her face. I resist the urge to smooth the lines. “This isn’t my flat.”

“It’s mine.” I jab a finger on the button to call the lift.

She tilts her head so it rests on my arm and I can see her face properly. “I thought you were dropping me off at home?”

“I don’t know where you live.” I step into the lift and hit the third floor. Normally I take the stairs, but I want to get her there quickly. Want her safe and comfortable on my couch where I can keep an eye on her.

She blinks at me. “I don’t want to take up your night. I’ll walk to my place.” She attempts to wriggle out of my hold, but I clutch her closer, tight enough she can’t get free but not enough to hurt her. No way is she walking to her flat in the dark.

“Let me clean your hand and if you still want to leave, I’ll drive you home.” There’s no way I’m letting her leave, but she doesn’t need to know that. She’s staying at mine so I can make sure she’s all right.

She stops wriggling and sucks on her lip. She does it when she concentrates; usually I only see her do it when she’s working on a difficult nail design. It takes everything in me not to groan at the sight. To suck it into my mouth.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Yes. Let’s get you fixed up.” The lift finally opens and I grab my keys while holding her, unlock the door, and flick on the lights to enter the lounge. I place her gingerly on the couch, the spot beside where I sit. “I’ll be back in a second.” I find my first-aid kit, fill a bowl with warm water, grab a cloth to wipe the blood, and return to her before she can move.

She’s staring at her hand, opening and closing it with a grimace on her face. She removed the napkins, and the cut has dried blood caked on it. I take the napkins from her and stick them in the first-aid kit to deal with later.

“If it hurts, don’t move it.” The couch dips as I sit beside her, my knee pressing against hers. I put the supplies on the side-table and brush her hand. “How does it feel?”

“Not amazing. Stings a little.”

Her hair’s in her face, and I tuck it behind her ear. It’s always in her way, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. I hate when it covers her eyes and hides them from me. I ignore the pulse of rage when I see a red mark near her temple. The skin isn’t broken and I don’t think she’s realised her head was knocked.

She watches me closely when I dab the blood with a damp cloth. Her nose scrunches when I have to rub a stubborn spot rougher than I want to. The water turns murky, but at least the blood’s off her. I analyse the cut. “It’s not deep. You shouldn’t need stitches.”

“I’d hope not since we’re here and not the hospital.” She grins, but it fades quickly.

I put antiseptic on the cut. “A plaster I can do. I don’t think I’m capable of stitches.”

“If you ever come near me with a needle, we’ll have problems.”

The gauze is arranged to cover the cut and I stick it down. I trail a finger along the perimeter of the gauze, hoping to soothe the stinging, reluctant to release her hand. Not yet.

“If you needed the hospital, we’d be there. I figured you’d be more comfortable here.”

Or I was hoping she would prefer to be here. It would be a nightmare in the emergency room on a Friday night waiting to be seen, watching her in pain with blood caked all over her. No, she doesn’t deserve that. It’s my fault for letting the bastard drink, so I’ll help her. Clean her up and make sure she’s safe. She glances around the room, taking in the plush rug and the bookshelves along the walls. Most of the walls have a shelf on them painted in a dark colour.

“I’m glad I’m here and not at the hospital. Thank you for helping me.” She smiles at me and takes her hand back.

My hand drops to my knee, cold without hers, and I fist it to replicate the feeling of holding hers. It doesn’t work.

“Whatever you need, I’ll be there.” My thigh presses closer to hers. All those monthly appointments and I’ve only ever sat across from her, never beside her, never had the pleasure of pressing against her and feeling her warmth. Smell the jasmine on her underneath the scent of nail polish. I hand her a glass with a couple of tablets for pain and wait for her to swallow them.

“So this is your place.” She shifts on the couch and I hold my breath. She doesn’t leave, but leans her shoulder on mine. I take the glass from her and place it on the side-table.

“Yep. Got it a few years ago. Close to the bar and the beach with room for my bookshelves. Not much more I could ask for.” I could ask for her to live here, but I don’t want to push my luck too soon.

“How close to the beach are you?” Isla looks out the dark window to the left.

“You can’t see it, unfortunately.” I name the street.

Isla whips her head to me, a surprised smile lighting up her face. “I’m down the road. Since opening my shop.”

“Really?” I tilt my head at her. We’ve lived on the same road for three years and never knew. Could have walked past her every day, or carpooled to work together. Walked on the beach, or done nails at night after dinner instead of early morning when my mind is still waking up.

On second thought, carpooling wouldn’t have worked, considering how late I finish at work. Although, I would have dragged myself out of bed to pick her up if she gave me the option.

“I can’t believe we’ve lived on the same street for so long without knowing.” She sounds disappointed. Or is that wishful thinking? “We could have done nails here instead of at the salon so early.”

I clear my throat. “We can from now on if you like.” I don’t want to sound too eager, but the idea of having her in my flat for the appointments does something to my chest.

“Okay,” she agrees softly. Her hazel eyes lock with mine.

“What’s your favourite design you’ve done on me?” I ask before I do something stupid like press her into the couch and kiss her.

She purses her lips, and her eyes dart around the room while she thinks. She laughs. “When I did the smiley-faces and put a frowny-face on your middle finger when you were having a bad month at the bar.”

I snort. “That’s your favourite design?”

“Yes, because it made you laugh when I did it.” She ducks her head to hide her smile and reaches for my hand with the flame design. She brushes her fingers along mine, her nails decorated with strawberries scratching softly. “That was the first time you had an opinion on the design. It was fun.”

Turning my hand, I tangle our fingers together, our different nail designs displayed against each other’s hand. Her nails are so much smaller than mine, the detail delicate next to my larger hand decorated with broader strokes. Impulsively, I pull her hand to my mouth and press a kiss on the back of it, and brush my mouth over her nails. Isla stills when my mouth touches her skin and regret seeps into me. Her wide eyes meet mine when my mouth is still touching her skin. She blinks at me and sighs, her hand going slack. I relax a little, but it’s premature.

She takes her hand from mine and stands. Swaying slightly, she asks, “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Through the door to the right. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she says too brightly and leaves the lounge.

My groan is loud in the quiet room, and I drop my head in my hands, tugging at my hair. Why did I do that? I couldn’t have waited and spoken to her, or asked if she would be interested in me? No, apparently when she’s in my flat all thought leaves my head and I jump ahead of myself. Probably scaring her, so she never wants to see me again.

I don’t know how long she takes in the bathroom. I stay where I am, straining to hear if she’s all right and needs anything.

When she returns, she has a small frown on her beautiful face and is avoiding my gaze. Isla stands by the couch but stops before sitting. Her eyes lock on one of the bookshelves. I turn my head to see what she’s looking at and feel my cheeks grow warm, my heart pounding in my chest as I catch sight of the shelf her eyes are focused on.

“What’s that?”