Her features softened as she regarded him. “Marriage isn’t a job, Dom.”
She hadn’t called him by that nickname in so long, his insides jolted upon hearing it. All day long, it was shouted over the sound of hammering on the construction site, but it sounded different coming from his wife. It came from the past. The future. It held weight.
“Duty is something I understand. It’s something I can’t fuck up.”
“I appreciate that. I appreciate what you do for us. For me.” The hand dropped from the center of her chest and she crossed to the counter, close enough to Dominic that he could count the goose bumps on her neck. “It makes me feel closer to you when you let down your guard. Makes me feel like I can do the same.”
Dominic was barely aware of moving closer. He found himself behind Rosie, zeroed in on the freckle behind her ear as she unloaded shopping bags. Fuck, she smelled good enough to take a bite out of. “You want me to put on your music?”
She shivered, fumbling a tub of sour cream and dropping it on the counter. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” Her pupils had bled completely into the brown of her eyes when she glanced back over her shoulder. “I’m making empanadas.”
“Does that mean you’re happy?”
“This time . . . it means I want you to be. Happy.”
When he normally would have pressed his lap to her ass, kissed her smooth neck, and slid his hands up under the front of her T-shirt, Dominic backed away instead. God, it was unnatural to move away from the force field that drew him in so intensely. Like separating stuck magnets. Since she’d left, the kitchen had seemed so huge and empty; now it might as well be the size of a stand-up shower stall. His hands tingled with the need to run over her skin, and his mouth had definite acts of service in mind. Getting inside her head, however, was fulfilling a different part of him. The simple statement that she wanted him happy made his chest expand to the size of a marching band bass drum. Watching her prove it? Even better. Rosie had come over, cleaned his truck, and now she was making him a meal.
It was heaven on earth and nothing could ruin it. Not even his thwarted sex drive.
Dominic turned the knob of the old radio that sat on a perch in the kitchen window, salsa music crackling over the speakers. The device had belonged to her mother, and even though he’d bought her a new one several Christmases ago, she continued to use this one, static and all. Tradition. His wife loved tradition, but those little displays of it had been few and far between over the past few years. Or maybe she was just keeping them to herself.
Remembering how she used to dance in the kitchen while cooking made Dominic swallow hard as he watched her from his lean against the opposite counter. He catalogued every movement of her hands mixing the vegetables and meat in a bowl. Listened as she hummed along to the music as she spooned the filling into dough and forked the empanadas closed. When she turned to put them in the oven, Dominic took note of her shallow breathing and knew she’d been aware of him watching her the whole time. Careful, man, you’re letting the lifelong obsession with her show.
“Those should be ready in thirty minutes,” she breathed, fidgeting as she faced him. “Do you want to watch TV or—”
“Nah.” Before he knew his own mind, Dominic stepped into the warmth of her space, capturing her left hand in his right. “Can we dance, Rosie?”
“Dance?”
Dominic came another inch closer, and Rosie’s head fell back like a string had been cut, giving him her upturned face.
“I don’t know i-if that’s a good idea.”
“You don’t?” Hunger bloomed in his middle, but he kept his features schooled. “The therapist said we’re allowed to kiss. Dancing must be on the hippie-approved list, right?”
“Whoa,” she said unsteadily, her gaze dropping to his mouth. “First you want to dance and now . . . kissing. You can’t just throw all of that out there.”
Dominic grinned and rubbed his right thumb in a circle around the palm of her hand. “Didn’t ask to kiss. I said I wanted to dance.” He slipped his left hand around the small of her back and eased their bodies together. “You made that leap, honey girl.”
Rosie sputtered for a moment, but if she noticed Dominic swaying her into the low, slow beat of the music, she didn’t show it. “So I did.”
“I forgive you for sexualizing me.”
“Shut up,” she said on a giggle, then cut herself off with a gasp when she realized they were dancing. “Oh, you think you’re slick?”
“Did you seriously forget how much game I have, Rosie?” He brought her tighter to his body, groaning inwardly over the tits that poked into his stomach, the press of their thighs. “Maybe you need a reminder.”
“Maybe I do,” she whispered, her breath fanning over his mouth. “Just remember the rules, okay?”
Dominic made a sound in his throat that somehow spoke of misery and contentment at the same time. It was amazing to simply hold his wife again. For the last five years, whenever they touched, he got impatient almost immediately to satisfy her. Please her. Now he wondered if he’d been trying to overcompensate for not giving her what she really needed. Words. Intimacy without sex. Dominic dragged his tongue across the seam of his lips, noticing the flutter of her eyelids. What was he supposed to be doing again? Oh, right. Reminding her he still had a modicum of game left. “Mmm, girl. Your hands really worked that empanada meat.”
She burst out laughing into his chest, her whole body shaking.
Dominic’s deep rumble joined hers and tension ebbed from his shoulders. Damn, he loved making her laugh, and those instances had been too few and far between. For way too long. “What?” He nudged her forehead with his chin. “You saying my game is rusty?”
“Those are your words, not mine.”
“All right. Take two.” They grinned at each other for a moment, but Dominic felt himself sober. “When you were standing at the counter, the sunset was coming in through the window. All around you, turning these little curls near your ears to gold. I was thinking, I wish I was a painter or a photographer because keeping something that beautiful to myself makes me a selfish bastard. Even though I want you that way. All for me.” He closed his eyes and breathed in roughly through his nose. “Every perfect fucking inch.”
As he spoke, her fingertips twisted in the neckline of his shirt, her body going pliant against his. Somehow they continued to turn in a slow circle in the center of the kitchen, but Dominic didn’t have a clue how, when his body felt stiff and aching all over.
“Just kidding,” she murmured, going up on her tiptoes, sucking in a breath when Dominic dragged her higher against his body. “Your game is still tight.”
The word “tight” on her lips almost broke him. Almost made Dominic rip the yoga pants right off her. Two steps and he could boost her onto the counter, lick that sweet pussy he’d been missing like hell. No. For the love of God, don’t fuck this up. If he pushed and she backed off and left, he would hate himself for ruining this moment.
“Talk to me about something, honey girl,” he rasped. “You made an appointment to see the old diner space. You haven’t gone yet, right?”