“I have no intention of doing that,” I assure him.
Not anytime soon.
“Good,” he replies with a chin lift, which I take as a sign I now have his approval.
Have to say… it feels good, although I do think I’ll miss torturing him with my interest in his sister. Just a little bit.
We turn for the elevators again, but I’m stopped short by his hand landing on the center of my chest. He inclines his head, lowering his voice to a warning growl. “But just to reiterate… if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”
“Fair enough,” I reply.
CHAPTER 10
Willow
Dominik steps out of the limo, immediately turning to offer his hand to me. The driver stands to the side, holding an umbrella over his head to guard against the onslaught of Seattle rain that started while we were on the way from the arena to the hotel. As Dominik helps me from the vehicle, he moves out from under the protection of the umbrella so I can have it all to myself. The driver tries to adjust his stance to cover us both, but Dominik merely pulls it from his hand to cover just me.
It’s both alpha protective and sweet at the same time.
And yes, I like that.
We walk quickly to enter the Four Seasons, Dominik suavely handing the umbrella to the limo driver before we enter. He brushes droplets of water off his suit, then rakes his fingers through his wet hair with a laugh.
That suit probably costs thousands of dollars—yet he got wet so my Gap jeans and Monahan hockey jersey would stay dry.
I like that, too.
“I checked in before the game,” Dominik explains as he leads me directly to the elevators, his hand at my lower back. It’s the most he’s touched me since we first laid eyes on each other at the game earlier.
As planned, I flew in from Ottawa, straight to Seattle, then took an Uber right to the arena. Dominik insisted I sit in the visiting owner’s box and I didn’t fight him, just made sure Regan was invited as well. She was already there when I arrived and after I hugged it out with my sister-in-law, Dominik merely leaned in and gave me a soft but very quick peck on my cheek.
I think the message was clear.
Dominik wasn’t going to be overt about our relationship in front of other people, and the box was filled with plenty of them. He introduced me to everyone, some of whom I immediately forgot their names. It was a mixed bag of wealthy businesspeople from Los Angeles with a few celebrities thrown into the mix. While the game played out on the ice, Dominik spent much of his time rubbing elbows with his guests and making the rounds to talk. He did this, however, with an eye on the ice, often interrupting conversations to cheer or yell an obscenity at the ref, whichever was appropriate.
For the most part, he ignored me and frankly, it was a relief because I’m not quite sure how I would have reacted. Admitting this to only myself, I thought about him way too much over the last four days.
Dominik mainly left me alone while I was gone. He texted a few times to check in to see how things were going. Once, he told me he couldn’t wait to see me. And I’d texted him after the Vengeance whooped Seattle’s ass in game two—3-2—to congratulate him.
His response of, Can’t wait to celebrate with you, had made me feel all jittery and needy.
I didn’t like it, but it made it clear the man had an effect on me that I couldn’t quite control.
But now, with his hand on my lower back feeling heavy, possessive, and warm, I realize the obsessing I’ve done about him over the last few days was warranted. And I’ll admit to myself—but most certainly not to him—that he kind of has me hooked.
In a non-relationship way, of course. I just mean I’m fascinated by him and I enjoy spending time with him between the sheets, and thus I am still quite agreeable to this no-strings thing we’ve got going on.
That’s all it is.
I swear.
We take the elevator to the tenth floor, and Dominik steers me to a room on the end with a gold plaque to the side of the door proclaiming it to be the Presidential Suite.
“Wow,” I drawl as he opens the door. “Fancy schmancy.”
Dominik snorts, ushering me inside with his hand on my back. He strolls over to a wet bar flanking a large living area while peeling off his suit jacket, which he tosses over a chair. Rattling off the room’s stats, he uncorks a bottle of wine. “Almost twenty-five-hundred-square-feet, two bedrooms, two baths. You can’t see it now because it’s dark and rainy, but you and I will enjoy our breakfast in the morning with a sweeping view of Puget Sound, Elliot Bay, and the Olympic Mountains. You can’t beat the trifecta of scenery this one hotel room offers.”
“I’m almost afraid to know how much this set you back,” I say as he hands me a glass of wine.
“Only $6900 a night,” he replies with a wink. “But I can assure you, that amount does not set me back at all.”
Laughing, I meander through the living area, taking a quick peek at the luxurious master suite. My back is to him when I remark, “I can’t even comprehend the type of wealth you have.”
Suddenly, he’s right behind me, lips at my ear. “Why does my wealth bother you so much?”
I turn around to face him, noting he carries a glass of amber liquid. “It doesn’t bother me. Just boggles my mind.”
“Do you think this is frivolous?” he asks, sweeping his free hand out to indicate the luxurious accommodations.
“A little,” I admit before taking a sip of the wine.
“Then the next away game, we’ll stay in a motel,” he says magnanimously. “Promise.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Let’s not get carried away now.”
Dominik grins, takes my hand, and leads me into the bedroom. My pulse quickens, knowing what’s coming and wondering if he’ll always make me feel this way.
Wait.
Always?
There can’t be an always, Willow. You need to get rid of those thoughts.
He releases my hand, kicks off his shoes, and climbs onto the bed. Positioning himself against the headboard without spilling a drop of his drink, he grins and pats the mattress. “Come tell me all about your trip to Ottawa.”
For a moment, I feel the panic zing through me. As many dirty things as he’s done to my body, he’s done nothing as intimate as requesting I come lay in bed with him while we enjoy drinks and talk.
He sees it on my face, too. “Relax, Willow,” he drawls. “I just want to have a drink with you and we can either stare at each other in silence, or we can talk. Ottawa seems pretty easy stuff to discuss, right?”
I blow out a breath, a nervous laugh following. Climbing onto the bed, I balance my glass of red wine without bothering to kick off my shoes the way he had. He looks so perfectly yummy stretched out there in his fancy suit, wet hair, and tie hanging lopsided because of the angle he’s reclining. Contrasted to my oversized jersey, ripped jeans, and hair in a sloppy ponytail, I’m not quite sure what he sees in me, but I don’t ponder it much. I’ve never been one to obsess on whether my looks are good enough for anyone. A man either wants me or he doesn’t. If he doesn’t, it’s his loss, not mine.
At least, that’s my attitude these days.
“So… Ottawa,” Dominik prompts.