Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2) - Tessa Bailey Page 0,20
you give some thought to what we spoke about?” His jaw flexed. “A way for me to get you home.”
“Yes, I thought about it.”
His Adam’s apple slid up and down. “And?”
Now it was Rosie’s turn to cross her arms. “Answer the question first. Why would you sneak my coat into Bethany’s house?”
Dominic’s exasperation with the question was obvious. “Because I don’t need brownie points for taking care of my wife. It’s my job.”
Rosie raised an eyebrow. “No offense, dude, but you could use the brownie points.” She shifted. “Look, we don’t talk anymore and . . . it’s not okay. I need to know what you’re thinking. Unless you can give that to me, a second chance is pointless.”
For long moments, he scrutinized her, thoughts winging behind his green eyes. His head dropped forward and lifted to reveal her husband looking more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him. “I don’t want the credit. I don’t know . . . it never feels earned enough. If you said thank you to me for bringing your coat, I’d just be irritated. Because that coat is three fucking years old and why haven’t I given you nine to choose from?”
Getting a glimpse into Dominic’s mind was like having an oxygen mask slapped over her face. She sucked every insight down greedily, letting the cool, sweet rush of them fill her lungs. Expand them. Was it possible she’d been wrong about some things? This man in front of her didn’t seem indifferent at all. Not in the least.
She wanted to hear more. Was that enough to try again when she’d spent so long feeling useless and unhappy?
“Last-ditch therapy,” she murmured, before she could stop herself.
Dominic inclined his head. “Come again?”
Rosie cleared the cobwebs from her throat. “Last-ditch therapy. It’s for marriages that are in danger of being—”
“Don’t say ‘over,’” he gritted out.
She took a few seconds to breathe. “Well?”
“Therapy, Rosie? Christ.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I knew this club would put ideas in your head. First you leave me—”
Without letting a beat pass, she sidestepped him, scooped up her jacket, and sailed out of the cardio area. Dominic caught up with her in the hallway leading to the lobby.
His hand closed around her elbow and tugged her to a stop. “Wait.”
“I left you. That was all me.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Yeah. Fine.”
This was familiar territory. This stubborn, let’s-fight-until-we-fuck dynamic—and it made her angry to be back there after she’d gotten a glimpse of how his mind worked. After witnessing their potential to communicate. “You might as well say no to therapy, because I’m going to find the touchy-feely-est Zen master of them all. I’m talking incense in the waiting room and chakras and the whole nine.”
The corners of Dominic’s mouth turned down. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
“Crystal healing and—” She cut herself off. “What?”
“You heard me. Schedule the damn therapist.” He leaned down, bringing their faces an inch apart. Whatever he saw there caused him to rear back a little. “You really thought I wouldn’t take any chance—any chance—to get you back, didn’t you?” His voice roughened. “Fuck, Rosie. You can’t be serious.”
He ran his gaze over her face one final time before turning and leaving her standing in the empty hallway. But not before she saw his determination.
This was real. It was happening.
The Vega marriage, round two.
Chapter Seven
Dominic leaned up against the side of his truck, pulling from a Newport cigarette and scanning the parking lot for Rosie’s Honda. When he didn’t see the familiar vehicle, he reluctantly faced the building again, which happened to be painted a bright robin’s-egg blue, with a handcrafted sign atop the roof. It read ARMIE TAGART, RELATIONSHIP HEALING GURU.
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. “She followed through.”
Was he annoyed as hell about having to parade his shortcomings in front of some hippie asshole? Of course. Was he also pretty turned on by his wife putting her money where her mouth was? Yeah. Enough to seriously dampen his irritation.
Dominic drummed his fingers on the roof of his truck, Rosie’s show of defiance taking him back to their middle-school years. God, she’d been fierce. Brave. He could remember the first time he’d asked her out in seventh grade. It was lunchtime at school and boys were at one table, girls at the other. For a long time, Dominic had found that separation ridiculous, considering the guys wouldn’t shut up about the girls and vice versa. For most of that year, Dominic sat at the