Her arm suddenly slipped around his ribs, holding him tightly, and he ran his fingers down her forearm, again that instinct to comfort overriding all else.
He thought of Johnny standing stammering in the Captain’s Suite at that first meeting, his obvious misery at dealing with his future mother-in-law, the bullying demeanor of Edward Lancier. In retrospect, he couldn’t even use the Father Christmas epithet; there was something so genuinely unpleasant about the man, it was totally inapt.
And he thought of the expression in Johnny’s eyes every time he looked at Rosie.
“He doesn’t want a life without her,” he said. “I don’t have a fucking clue why he looked so shifty yesterday, but he’s going into this with his eyes open. And beneath the bumbling puppy exterior, that man has a heart of gold and, I suspect, a core of iron. If Rosie won’t fight for their relationship, I’d lay a bet he will, like hell.”
Sylvie kept her head lowered for some time. And then she looked up at him, searching his eyes, and smiled faintly. “Four years ago, if someone had told me that one day I’d never find greater comfort than in the sound of your voice and the scratch of your stubble, I’d have questioned their sanity.”
So lightly, so easily, she could say things that he’d never forget.
She had finished plaiting an entire section of blanket. He flipped the end around so she had more to do.
“Ultimately, we can’t control what anyone does,” he said at last. “All we can do is keep working on the proposals. Keep looking for a key to unlock the Patrick design. One thing at a time. One day at a time.”
Her fingers had stilled when he moved the blanket for her. Usually, Sylvie’s expression was very open. She seemed to live life in its entirety that way, appreciating and inviting in experiences. But occasionally, that enigmatic shadow slipped into her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “One day at a time.”
With her hands wrapped in the blanket, she reached up and kissed him.
“As much as I love your lounge and was hoping you might play the piano,” she whispered when their lips parted, “I think I’m ready for bed.”
The shadows had slipped into pure desire.
And his body was at least ten years too old to react this swiftly.
Pushing off the couch, he swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the door. She was still clutching the blanket. “Over three decades and it’s finally happened,” she said, sounding totally thrilled. “I’m going to be carried upstairs and ravished.”
He walked past the spiral staircase.
“Why aren’t we going upstairs?”
“Because my bedroom is this way.” He nudged the door open and walked down the short hallway.
“Oh.” She kicked her feet, making it difficult to keep a firm grip on her. “What’s upstairs, then?”
“Humphrey’s room.” Balancing her weight, he managed to get his bedroom door open.
When he laid her on his bed and saw her face, her lips had tucked in between her teeth.
She cleared her throat. “The cat has a bedroom?” There was a quiver in her voice.
His brows drew together. “Yes.”
She levered off one of her boots and toed the other free. Her head was ducked low while she gave the task more attention than it needed. Dominic watched narrowly as her breath caught in a suspicious hitch.
He opened the drawer in his bedside table, found the box of condoms, and tossed it onto the bed. At her continued silence, he found himself saying in his own humiliatingly heated defense, “It’s a cramped, poky little box with a window better suited for a prison. It’s too small for an office.”
Sylvie had already stripped off to her underwear. She came up on her knees and started unbuttoning his shirt. “You gave your despised cat his own bedroom. Despite everything, this day is great.”
She shoved his shirt the rest of the way off, took his face between her hands, and pulled him down on top of her.
They landed and rolled, Sylvie straddling his hips. The laughter in her face softened as she stroked patterns over his stomach, making him go rigid in reaction.
Everywhere.
“Dominic.” She flattened her palms over his ribs, holding him. Bending, she touched her nose to his. “I’m starting to suspect you might be kind of okay.”
Their lips touched.
“Deep, deep down,” she murmured.
They were so mutually exhausted that he’d expected the sex to be a slow, lazy build of pleasure, but the moment he held himself still for her and she slid down on him, her internal muscles a wet, hot fist around his erection, the intensity spiked.
She leaned forward to grip the headboard as she rode him, her eyes closed. He held her hips, rubbing her against his pelvic bone with every thrust. Through the prickling ecstasy in every nerve ending, he watched her lashes flutter, her chest flushing red as her breaths quickened.
Slipping his thumb between their bodies, he touched her lightly, gradually increasing the rolling pressure to follow the cues of her body and the sounds she made.
“Dom.”
Sylvie orgasming was, without question, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She shuddered, her thighs spasming to clasp him tightly, her hands scrabbling for his.
He linked their fingers as she rocked back and forth, unable to stop pushing against him.
When she had her breath back, she finished him in her mouth, her fist tight around his length as her tongue lapped and tickled under the head, drew him in, sucked hard, and brought him to such an intense release that his knee jerked up and his vision whited out.
It was after three by the time they pulled the covers up and she cuddled close under the curve of his arm. She lay with her lips against his skin, her fingers idly playing about his nipple, tickling down to his navel. He had now officially pushed his body beyond the ability to rouse sexually, but her touch still provoked a tingling, drowsy pleasure. She fell asleep almost immediately, her weight against him lax and warm and trusting, and—no.
If he were in Jessica’s shoes, he would never have walked away.
An Unfortunately Short Time Later
Still in the flat of Humphrey the Cat.
More specifically, the en suite of Dominic the Human.
Who’s really kind of okay.
Deep, deep down.
Many regrets about vomiting in his loo, though.
On balance, it was still a great day. She’d worked herself into exhaustion and she was deeply worried about the royal couple. She would also be disappointed if the cake contract became redundant; she was only human. On the flip side, she’d collaborated with Dominic professionally, which had turned out to be almost as enjoyable as competing against him, and she’d shagged him into exhaustion. Definitely more ticks on the plus side.
However, the current situation was admittedly a low point.
Taking deep, gulping breaths, Sylvie turned to sit against the vanity, resting her sweaty forehead against her knees. Nausea was hot, roiling distress in her stomach, rising up her throat. She swallowed repeatedly.
She’d had about ninety blissful minutes sleeping in Dominic’s arms, clutching his pec like a teddy bear, before she’d become ill. From dreamless, comfy oblivion to throwing up in his en suite, all in the space of sixty horrifying seconds.
Her mortification was complete when a hand came to rest on her hair, stroking her gently, but even now, she was shocked by how much comfort his touch could give her.