Chapter 4

4

ISLA

“What is it?” I repeat. My eyes stay on the bookshelf as I walk closer to see if I’m imaging it or if my eyesight’s finally going. I jerk back when Dom launches himself in front of the shelf, concealing the titles from me. “Let me see.”

“It’s just books,” he croaks out.

I tilt my head to the side, attempting to read the titles, but he follows me. My brows raise. “Are you going to move?” He drags a hand across his jaw and nods slightly. He steps aside and I move closer to the shelf. I inhale sharply and run a finger across the spines. “How do you have all these?”

He shrugs. “I bought them in case you ever needed them. If you were here and forgot a book and wanted something to read… I wanted you to have options.”

My eyes are wide and disbelieving as I stare at him numbly. I’ve never been to his flat before, but he’s taken the time and money to curate a bookshelf full of titles I recommended and told him I loved. Romances I know he didn’t enjoy, and fantasy books he said he hadn’t read.

They’re all here.

On the off chance I happened to be in his flat and wanted to read something. He’s nestled my books between his mysteries, as if he’s been waiting for me to arrive.

Why am I not panicking? Should I be panicking?

He remembered the titles and managed to find them, but all I can think about is how much time it took him. Can imagine him in a bookstore purchasing a romance novel he knows I love, taking it to the counter and finding space in his home for it. My throat closes and my vision blurs.

He’d done all this. For me.

“I’m sorry. You can take them home. Please don’t cry.” His hands cup my cheeks, hesitantly swiping away tears as they fall.

I brush his hands away, and he takes a step back. But I follow him and wrap my arms around his chest, holding him tight, crying into his T-shirt. His arms wrap around me, loosely at first, but the longer I hold him, the tighter he holds me. I sigh and rub my face on his chest, and he rests his head against my hair. I don’t even know why I’m crying. The adrenaline from the night finally leaving me, the possibility of him caring for me shocking my system, the books on the shelf, or a combination of it all bringing the emotion out. Either way, it means Dom’s holding me. Which is where I want to be.

My head lifts so I can see him. “You bought them all? For me?”

“I didn’t want you to be bored if you were ever here.”

“I’m never bored with you.”

His throat bobs. “It means you’ll have something to read tonight.”

“I can’t believe you. I’ve never been here before, but you have all this.” I gesture behind me. “Why?” I need him to say the words. Hoping for it, and friends telling me he cares for me, is entirely different from him admitting it.

“Books make you happy.” He rubs my cheek.

His greyish eyes are soft and cautious as he touches me, and I take a leap of faith. “You make me happy.”

“I do?” He shuffles closer to me, his thick chest pressing against me.

“Yes. I love books, but spending time with you is my favourite part of the month.” My heart beats loudly in my ears from my confession.

Dom lowers his head and I press up on my toes, clutching his shirt with my good hand to tug him closer. Our lips crash together and I gasp. I yank him close and wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him there. He hauls me flush against him, lifting me off my feet as he walks backwards. My tongue darts out to taste him, mapping out his lips, diving into him while I have the opportunity.

A giggle escapes me when he sits heavily on the couch, and I bounce on him. My hand stings a little, but I don’t care.

He apologises sheepishly and lies on his back, taking me with him. I stretch out on top of him and run a finger down his nose. His cheeks redden and I grin and kiss him. It isn’t the most elegant, but it quickly turns into wet heat when he groans and our tongues brush together. I pull away and kiss down his neck.

I straddle him, my legs spread wide and burning slightly from the stretch, but in the best way. The sting from my hand is in the back of my mind, and I tug his shirt up, baring his chest. He sits up slightly so I can pull it over his head. Biting my lip at what’s revealed, I trail my fingers across his chest to brush his nipples, causing him to inhale sharply. There’s coarse hair scattered across his chest that scrapes my hand deliciously. He rests his hands on my thighs, brushing circles over my jeans. His hair is mussed and dark against the couch, his chest rising and falling quickly.

I reach for my shirt. I want to feel his bare skin against mine, but he stiffens, his body turning to stone under me. My hands drop to his chest. “What is it?”

His eyes darken, jaw twitching. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” He sits up and deposits me beside him. He yanks his T-shirt on roughly.

“What? Why not?” I blink at him. The change is so immediate it gives me whiplash. My hands shake, and dread tightens my stomach.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” The cut aches a little, but not enough for me to worry about when he’s here with his shirt off. Finally touching me.

“You aren’t. If you were fine, you wouldn’t have done that.” He gestures to the couch.

I frown, thoughts race through my mind, attempting to follow his meaning. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“You’ve had a traumatic evening.”

“So?” It felt pretty great until a few seconds ago.

“So, I don’t want you hurt even more.”

Is Dom saying he’ll hurt me? None of this makes sense. One minute everything’s fine, I’m finally going for it, and then he shoves me off him. “I’m confused.”

He stands and paces to the shelves. “I don’t think you’re in your right mind.”

“I’m not?” I ask, dumbfounded. Where is his train of thought taking him? I can barely keep up with what he’s saying.

“You need sleep and we can talk in the morning.”

I cross my arms. “Okay?” I don’t understand what’s happening. So I have a cut on my hand. Big deal. Granted, it was scary when it happened, but now I’m with him. In his home, and he’d been caring for me until a switch flipped.

“I’ll get something for you to wear.” He slides out of the room, preventing me from replying. He returns before I can gather my thoughts. After placing a soft looking black shirt on the side of the couch, he lets the couch separate us and grumbles, “Here. You can sleep in this.”

Comprehension of what happened makes its way through my brain.

I’ve been rejected. By Dominic.

I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “I don’t need it. I can go home.”

“You’re not going home.”

“And why not?” I growl. I didn’t realise how bossy he was.

“You need someone to stay with you after tonight. Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. I’m not staying here, I’ll be fine at my flat. It’s only down the street.” I snatch my bag from the couch—he must have put it there. I don’t even remember taking it from the bar—and stride down the hall.

A hand grasps my arm firmly, but it doesn’t hurt. “I don’t want you alone tonight after what happened. Stay here so I can make sure you’re okay and in the morning you can leave. Please.”

I turn slowly to face him, my eyes suspiciously blurry. “I don’t want to take up your space.”

“You’re not. I just want to monitor your headache.”

He wants to monitor my headache. He doesn’t want me here. How does he even know I have a headache when I only noticed it a few minutes ago attempting to untangle everything? “Fine, but I’m leaving in the morning.”

He nods and leads me to the lounge, hands me the shirt—which is as soft as it looks—and takes me down a different hallway. He nudges a door open across from the bathroom and flicks the light on. I follow cautiously, clutching the shirt, head throbbing from the change of emotions.

The room is decorated in gentle greens with the duvet a dark forest colour. It’s similar to my room, but this feels cosier, which is all kinds of unfair. I don’t have it in me to truly enjoy the room.

“There’s a bathroom through there.” He points to the left. “You can use anything you find. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He ducks out of the room and leaves the door open behind him. To check on me maybe. Not that I need checking. I’m fine except for my bruised ego, a slight headache, and a throbbing hand. Okay, maybe I’m not fine, but at least the room’s soothing. It smells fresh, with a hint of cedar, and I breathe in deeply to take the comforting scent into my lungs. It doesn’t help my burning nose or blurry eyes, but it’s something.

The bathroom is a warm grey colour, but showering sounds exhausting after tonight. Instead, I splash my face with water while attempting to keep the gauze dry, which I fail at, and find a random moisturiser to put on my face and change out of my jeans into the soft shirt. When it hits my skin, I can’t contain my sigh. I may not understand Dom right now, but his scent soothes me and takes some of the emotional ache away. But not all of it.

I turn the lights off but leave the bedside one on and get under the covers.

I jump when Dom knocks on the door and pushes it open quietly. “I thought you’d want this.” He’s holding one of my favourite books and a knife stabs my heart. Why did he buy all of them when he doesn’t even want me?

“Thanks.”

Dom comes into the room and sets it on the bedside table. He hovers over me, but when I don’t say anything else, he turns for the door. “If you need anything, I’ll be on the couch.”

My smile is strained as I watch him leave. As I go over what he said in my head, I narrow my eyes. Why would he sleep on the couch? There’s another door across the hall, which I assumed was a guest bedroom. Is it a storage closet? Unless…

Am I in his room?

A glance around the room confirms all the details I missed earlier. The drawers to the right have the charcoal hoodie he wears on top of it and there’s a pair of socks beside the laundry hamper as if he threw it from the bathroom and missed, and the shower had an assortment of products. This is his room. I’m in his bed.

My legs swing out of the covers. I’ll sleep on the couch. He shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch because of me. My eyes catch on the book. But it’s hardly my fault he put me here, besides we could’ve shared the bed. Slowly, I get back under the covers and inhale deeply, taking his scent into my body. I don’t know what state I’ll find him in on the couch. Would he be in his boxers, already asleep, or would he be awake reading?

I grab the book. The cover is fresh, the spine unbroken. He bought this for me and has a collection of books I’ve spoken to him about, but he pulled away from me. Refused to kiss me. Said I wasn’t in my right mind. What does that even mean?

Was it because of everything that happened at the bar, or does he only see me as a friend? I’d taken the opportunity presented and ran with it.

Maybe the books on the shelves were favourites of his friends. Each shelf could be for a different friend. Although I know there won’t be a shelf for Lachlan, he prefers sitcoms.

Dom’s never acted like he has feelings for me—except for tonight. I put the book down without reading it and roll to my side. Maybe I read him wrong. He kissed me back, but what if he didn’t want to and was looking for the first moment to shove me off him? My eyes widen. Did I assault him?

No. No, he stopped it when he got uncomfortable and I left him alone as soon as he asked.

I chew on my cuticles, the bad habit I had as a child returning with a vengeance. I’ll apologise to him tomorrow and we can go back to being normal. Forget the kiss as long as we can still be friends and bury my feelings until they disappear, if that’s what he wants. My back turns on the book and I close my eyes.