Based on Dominic’s reaction, it might as well have been a gunshot. He was off the bench while the noise still hung in the air, closing the distance between them. Whatever thread of self-preservation was still alive in Rosie’s body woke up, but in her weak-kneed state, she could only manage to back up a pace. At her retreat, Dominic halted in his tracks, but the scent of his musk and shaving cream continued to travel forward, teasing her senses.
“See something you like, honey girl?” He touched his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “Tell me to fuck off and I’ll go. For now.” Green eyes raked her body. “I can see that I’m catching you in a weak moment.”
Rosie’s mouth went dry. Say something.
Seconds ticked by. She gave him a pleading look, no idea what she was pleading for. Him to leave her in peace or . . . something else entirely. Something she needed.
“Okay, then,” he breathed, reaching her in one step. His huge hands found her hips and squeezed hard before spinning Rosie toward the wall. Before she could guess her husband’s intention, he’d tucked his lap right up against her backside, letting her feel his erection through the thin material of their workout clothes. His mouth pressed to her ear, breathing, breathing—and when she couldn’t help but circle her butt on his hardness, he groaned, loud and long. “There’s no one in the bathroom, Rosie. Let me get you straightened out.”
“I don’t need straightening out,” she lied, trying not to be obvious about easing her thighs apart, giving him more room to mold their lower bodies together.
“Lies.” His mouth opened beneath her earlobe, his tongue snaking out to taste her skin. And, oh God yes, he took the space she offered, thrusting Rosie up onto her toes, working a desperate sound from her throat. They stayed that way for several seconds, Dominic grinding up into Rosie, Rosie pushing down with her hips, the friction electric, both of them laboring to breathe. Dominic’s hand slipped under the elastic of her sports bra and massaged her naked breast with a skilled hand. “Those nipples perked right up for your husband, didn’t they? Always begging to get sucked.”
A shudder passed through her. She struggled to find enough brainpower for a response, but the lust storm made it difficult to form words. “It’s . . . it’s, um, cold . . .” Until she opened her eyes, Rosie didn’t realize they were closed, but the first thing she spotted was her red coat, still folded in front of the treadmill. “Cold, but I—I had my coat . . .” Make sense, brain. “Did you bring my coat to Bethany’s?”
Dominic’s hand stilled on her breast, but his breath remained shallow in her ear. “What?”
That was all it took for Rosie to have her answer. She’d known this man seemingly since time began and he never lied. He only evaded. “You did bring the coat.”
She turned in his arms, sucking in a breath at the stark need on his face. His gaze was transfixed on her mouth for long seconds, before dropping to her right breast, which was still exposed thanks to his marauding hand and her lifted shirt. Dominic’s nostrils flared as he pulled her bra back into place, making no move to give her space. “So what?”
“So what?”
Dominic dragged his fingertips down Rosie’s sides and flexed his hips, catching her gasp with his mouth, but not kissing her. Never kissing her unless they were in that frenzied state. “I need to get inside you. I need to fuck my wife.”
Her neck almost lost power. “Stop changing the subject.”
“Your thighs are climbing my hips, honey girl.” He thrust into the notch of her legs, slapping a hand on the wall above her head. “This is the goddamn subject.”
Well, look at that. Her thighs were, indeed, treating his body like a gym-class rope. With an effort, Rosie forced her feet to flatten on the floor and braced her palms on Dominic’s bare chest. It took her another gathering of willpower to push him away, to lose that rigid ride of hard flesh that would guarantee an orgasm if she gave in. God, she wanted to give in. But she knew from experience she would feel empty afterward. Sad. Because while they were so in tune with each other during the act, they disconnected when it was over. Such a steep drop that it never failed to make her uncertain. About everything, especially herself. “Why wouldn’t you just say, ‘Hey, Rosie, I brought your coat’?”
Dominic sighed and stepped back, crossing his arms over his powerful chest, making the tattoos dance over his muscles. “Did 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.”