Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2) - Tessa Bailey Page 0,76

was happening below her waist at a single glance. What would he do? She’d always done her best to keep her arousal hidden on days that weren’t Tuesday, but on that scheduled night, she would finally let the veil drop. He’d strip her naked and press her facedown on the couch, bring her to a blistering orgasm to take the edge off, then embark on a slower, more deliberate round two.

Rosie’s nipples beaded inside her dress, her shaky inhales loud in her ears.

God, she needed to be touched so badly. Kissed, stroked, embraced. All of it. She and Dominic might have been relying too much on sex to bolster their marriage, but it had been satisfying in the moment. A fleeting connection during which she could feel the pull of a deeper one. One they’d neglected for years. After what happened in therapy yesterday, she couldn’t sense his dependable presence at her back anymore. The rug had been pulled out from under her feet and she was in a continuous freefall. She might be mad as hell at Dominic for several things, but she would never stop wanting those arms to wrap around her. To catch her.

The bartender appeared in front of Rosie with a tight smile. “What can I get you?”

“A ginger ale, please. Thanks,” she managed over the music—and then realized she’d forgotten her purse outside. “Oh, shoot,” she muttered at the ceiling, torn between explaining the situation to the bartender or running back outside and attempting to retrieve her purse before he came back . . .

Dominic saw Rosie the second he stepped off the elevator.

He came to an abrupt halt, blocking everyone’s exit behind him.

Jesus. It wasn’t news to Dominic that his wife was fine as hell, but that fact wasn’t usually on display quite so fucking clearly. She could have walked out onstage at the Grammys to accept an award in all those sequins. And with those legs. And that ass.

Even in the dark club, her skin glowed. What little light there was flocked to her, highlighting the smooth curve of her calves, the plump side of her breast—which definitely should not be showing. Not here in this public place with hundreds of men. He could feel the primal tug of possessiveness in his gut, his throat, his clenching fists.

My wife. No one looks at my Rosie but me.

It was written in his DNA to charge over like a bull and demand to know what the hell she was thinking. He wanted to rip off his shirt and wrap it around her, hiding every delicious inch of skin from anyone who might want a taste. Taking her home was a given.

Christ, more than anything, though—more than anything—he wanted to throw himself down at her feet and worship her. Look at you, honey girl. The hottest thing in the fucking club.

As if he’d spoken to her out loud, Rosie’s head turned in his direction and the incessant motion around him slowed. So beautiful. She was so goddamn beautiful. Not just her face or her body or the clothes. Looking at her through a sea of strangers, the years of their lives were right there between them, rushing like a river. The excitement of falling in love, the hormonal lust of their teens, the trust they’d built while he was away, the millions of hours they’d logged talking on the phone or in her backyard, the silence that had fallen when they stopped trying.

Hearing their marriage was over.

Dominic made a sound halfway between clearing his throat and choking.

On the way into Manhattan, he’d been determined to come collect his wife, and the more miles they’d eaten up, the more his head of steam had built. I’m going to remind her where she belongs, he’d thought. With their eyes locked and the reality of their situation sitting on his shoulders like a ton of bricks, that shit seemed so juvenile. I’ve lost my wife. She’s going to move on without me unless I man the fuck up and work on myself. On us. Dragging her out of the bar like a caveman wouldn’t win her back. And he was fresh out of tries. Mistakes were no longer an option. There was only one direction left to go and that was forward.

Dominic was only vaguely aware of Travis asking the hostess where he might find a girl with “bangs, freckles, an adorable laugh, and a rock on her finger the size of a baseball” as he cut toward Rosie