Page 82 of Filthy Dirty Dom

His expression softened slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, obviously referring to their post poker game activities.

He was back to being the protective, guarded Alex, the past put away, his attention solely on her. “I’m good, Alex,” she reassured him, her cheeks warming slightly as she remembered how desperate she’d been as he’d edged her exactly the way she’d asked him to. She spotted the package with the art supplies and suddenly small thoughts she’d been having here and there suddenly coalesced into a clearer picture. "In fact… our time here, our time together, our time back in New York at the club, it’s been inspiring me without me even realizing it until now."

Alex's eyebrow cocked upwards. "Oh? Are you about to reveal the secret of the universe, or did you find a new flavor of ice cream that you fancy?"

His teasing remark drew a small chuckle from her, lightening the mood. But she faltered, holding onto a fragile idea that was still crystallizing in her mind. It was a spark, needing kindling and patience before it could ignite into a full-fledged flame.

" I don't want to jump the gun," she confessed, casting him a side glance. "It actually has something to do with my designs. I want to start sketching first, let this brainchild of mine come to life on its own."

"So, I'm guessing no world-altering secrets or ice cream revelations then. Well, take your time, Maestro," he responded, his tone light yet laced with sincerity. "And remember, I call dibs on the first viewing."

His playful remark made her smile. It amazed her again, how he could shift from serious and dark to light and easy. She supposed it was a survival mechanism for him. He worked in the dark all the time, even back when he was in the military as a special ops soldier. If he stayed too long in it, it could overtake him, so he’d developed the skill to leave it behind at a moment’s notice.

The interesting this was that with all the time she was spending with Alex here, she was beginning to develop the same skill. If she didn’t watch out, soon she’d be just as much of an expert at closing off parts of herself as he was.

Still in the library, Alex watched as Leslie became engrossed in her sketches. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for keeping the full truth about Mia from her, but he never thought he’d reveal to her as much as he had. Plus, he’d already sprung the fact that the Russian mob had been responsible for the men who’d attacked her, as well as Alex’s intention to separate from her if it became necessary to do so.

Luca had told Alex the Russian’s were stonewalling his request to drop the contract that Pearson had negotiated with then. Apparently, having a federal judge in their pocket, so long as that judge escaped the charges against him, was worth a lot.

He’d known then that he couldn’t have the constant threat of the Russian mob hanging over him and still be around Leslie or the rest of her family. It had been bad enough that his history with the Italian mafia could pose a threat to them, but at least that threat had seemed distant enough given his agreement with Luca so many years ago, that he could justify it.

The threat by the Russian mob was quite different.

It was in the here and now. It was focused on Alex. And if it couldn’t be eliminated, Alex would have to eliminate it by disappearing.

Only he’d played his hand too soon, and now Leslie was fiercely forbidding him from doing that. He couldn’t help but soak in the fierceness of her care. Her determination to not let him go.

She’d managed to put the matter out of her head, however, at least for now, because she was focusing hard on her sketching. Her brows knit together in deep concentration and the tip of her tongue peeked out slightly, that’s how focused she was. In her hands, the pencil transformed into a maestro's baton, dancing gracefully across the blank canvas of the paper.

Alex snuck a look. She was sketching a gown, a fusion of intricate patterns and folds. It was as though she was plucking the elements from her mind and transferring them onto paper, a seamstress weaving threads of imagination. The longer she drew, the more intrigued he became because of the deliberate duality in the design.

The hem of the gown was a cascade of ruffles, caught in a perpetually frozen ripple. And yet the top… He knew exactly what she’d meant when she’d said what they’d done in New York and here had given her ideas. He’d seen many of Leslie’s designs, and the words he would use to describe them were whimsical and delicate, or sexy and streamlined. This, however, was a mix of both, with the sexy part amped up, the bodice fitted with black leather and studs. There were strategically placed metal chain accents, some cascading down the arms, reminding him of a cat o’nine tails, and the back was low with a single chain dangling gracefully at the dip of lower back.

She was incorporating some of her sexual journey into the design, and whether she did anything with the design or not, he felt like she was stitching him into the fabric, making something uniquely beautiful and unexpected from their time together.

"I want you to make it,” he said before he even knew what was coming out of his mouth. “Promise me, Leslie, that one day, you’ll make it and you’ll wear it. Because it’s you. Your femininity and your strength. Your innocence and your complexity. Your originality.”

Leslie’s pencil paused above the paper. “That’s…that’s quite a compliment, Alex.”

“I mean every word, Sunshine.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “I can design something for you, too. Nothing as showy, but something subtle. Would you wear it?”

“Proudly,” he immediately said. “Because subtle or not, I know it would be amazing, just like its creator.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re so good to me, Alex. You’ve always encouraged me. Thank you. Now, let me just add…”

Leslie’s pencil sketched out a few more details before she set it down with a sigh, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Who knows, maybe I’ll do an entire collection. I’ll call it Chains and Chiffon. What do you think?”

“I think you’re going to knock the fashion world on its ass, Leslie Duke.”

“Well, if C&C ever makes its debut at Fashion Week, I expect you to be right in the front row, Alex. That way you’ll get to see the dress on the runway.”

“You couldn’t keep me away.”

They smiled at one another and Alex thought, this is good. They were talking about the future. A future in which they’d be together, supporting each other, being friends, long after this was all over.

After they were over.

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