Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2) - Tessa Bailey Page 0,100

in her eyes every time she said Buena Onda.

Rosie had attained something she’d wanted her whole life. He’d worried he would be resentful of the restaurant consuming her time, but he only found himself feeling . . . lucky. Lucky as hell. He’d won back the love of his life and handed her the keys to her dream. The trust was rebuilding between them—and she couldn’t keep her hands off him.

There honestly wasn’t a damn thing to be resentful about. Except maybe the length of time it took to get them both undressed. His wife was smiling at him again. Laughing. They’d started talking about their days at work, vacation plans, musing about mundane things and having deep conversations late into the night. Last night, Rosie had remained sprawled on his chest for hours while he trailed his fingertips up and down her spine, listening to her reminisce about the past, fill him in on the present, paint a picture of the future.

He’d never been more content in his life.

So why couldn’t he sleep?

The happier Rosie became, the more his nerves seemed to pop and race. Their growing bond was like concrete being poured onto a cracked foundation. No matter how many times Dominic told himself she would never find out about the house. No matter how many times he convinced himself he’d done the right thing, sleep never came. He woke up in the dead of night with sweat on his forehead, fresh from a nightmare of Rosie walking out the door again. Only in the nightmare, he couldn’t find her.

I should have told her about the house.

Now it was too late, though. What was the point when it had been sold?

He had no regrets over selling the house to give Rosie her restaurant, but he couldn’t help but wish she’d had a chance to see it.

Regret ate at Dominic’s gut as he let himself into the house. Rosie’s coconut scent lingered in the air and he sucked in a lungful, issuing a silent plea to his maker that he’d never have to walk into his home again without Rosie’s presence coasting over him and settling his blood. She equaled home for Dominic and that would never, ever change.

He walked straight past the blueprint where it sat open on the table and stopped, denial ripping through his veins. His surroundings fuzzed at the edges and pared down until he had tunnel vision, his quickening breaths scraping his eardrums. He didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to look. But based on the quick glance he’d thrown at the plan as he passed . . . it wasn’t for Buena Onda. No, that plan was rolled up and sitting on the dashboard of his truck. He’d looked at it less than half an hour ago, relaying the square footage of the bar area to Travis over the phone.

Ice encased Dominic’s spine as he turned and confirmed his worst fear.

Rosie had seen this. She’d been here, looking at this. One of the discarded blueprints for their house. Had she . . . gone there? This was bad. This was worse than bad. He’d bought and sold a house without his wife’s knowledge. That alone was unforgivable. But they’d gone to therapy to learn how to be honest with each other. It had worked. Except for this one thing. This secret he’d held on to instead of coming clean. And now it could screw him.

He could lose his wife again.

“No. No, Jesus,” Dominic breathed, snatching up his keys and sprinting out the door. His hands shook violently as he unlocked the driver’s-side door and lunged inside, turning over the engine and peeling out of the driveway. He knew the route by heart, but nothing seemed familiar when he was facing the loss of Rosie. “Why didn’t I tell her? Why didn’t I tell her?”

As soon as he pulled into the driveway, his heart dropped into his stomach and his fingers turned to ice on the steering wheel.

Rosie was sitting on the front step of the house. Wasn’t it the ultimate kicker that she looked perfect surrounded by the old ivy-covered brick and wraparound porch? He’d pictured her in front of the house so many times, but his imagination hadn’t done it justice.

They watched each other through the windshield.

Get out and apologize. That’s what he should do. It was the only option. But he was so righteously pissed at himself for fucking up the best part of his life—again—he could feel the anger