Page 73 of The Best Wrong Move

“Oh.” Bigger than that villa? I can’t even imagine it. “Where is it?”

“Here. On the island, but on the northwestern side. It’s less crowded over there. I helped design the place. I’ll show you sometime, when it’s less under construction.”

“Do you live there full-time, when it’s not being worked on?”

“Most of the year, yeah. I’ve been everywhere you can imagine, but nowhere feels as much like home as here.”

“What’s it like?” I plant a kiss on the back of his hand. I’d love to see something Dom designed.

“It’s on its own bay. No other houses around it. There’s a few groves of pineapple plants and mango trees. Pretty much every type of tropical fruit you can imagine. But the surf right outside the back door has the most incredible waves, hardly any rip. It’s this unbelievable slice of paradise all to myself. I want to take you there, but it’s completely ripped apart right now. My guys hope to have it finished by the fall.”

“I still want to see it.” I lean in for a kiss. “Even if it’s a heap of rubble right now.”

He reaches for his phone and pulls up a few photos of a sprawling estate, nestled into its own emerald bay. Green mountains tower up behind it, and it looks like the grassy grounds are full of tropical plants of every shape and size, similar to Quinton’s estate, but somehow wilder. More like Dom.

“You . . .livehere?” I can feel my face turning pink. It almost doesn’t seem real. I thought Quinton’s place was extravagant, but Dom’s estate looks enormous — streamlined and masculine — just like him. Everything Abby found must have been true.

“Most of the year, yes. I also have a few homes elsewhere, but this one is special. Every room is situated in a way to make the most of the view, whether it’s facing the surf in the front, or the mountains in the back. When you’re in the rooms at the top, it almost feels like a treehouse, or something you’d see out ofSwiss Family Robinson. Like some boyhood dream I had as a kid, except I made it real.”

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling fan. Dom is still Dom, but he’s somehow morphing before my very eyes.

How can someone this successful be so quiet about it?

“I was always planning to reimburse you for the reservation, no matter what happened with us or however long you stayed.”

I turn to him. “You really don’t have to do that. What if this thing between us doesn’t work out? Or you decide that you actually don’t like me as much as you do right this second? I made the reservation, and I can still pay for it.”

He watches me ramble on, suddenly quite serious, like he’s confused.

I stop rambling. “What? What’s that look for?”

“People have been trying to get favors out of me my entire life. Yet here you are trying to return a favor that’s virtually nothing to me, buteverythingto you.”

“It still feels wrong, even if it’s nothing to you.” I can’t imagine a world where thousands of dollars meansnothingto someone.

“Then think of it this way. I should have let you go back when you asked. I didn’t, for my own selfish reasons—”

“But I’m glad you didn’t. My soul needed this place, even more than my writing. If I’d gone home, I’d still be pining away over a guy I can’t even imagine being with anymore. Being here has put everything into perspective. You encouraging me to stay is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And not just because it led me to you.”

Dom’s laugh rings out in my bedroom, but I just grin slowly, absorbing the joy as it spreads across his face.

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Hillcrest.” He kisses me gently. “Keep your suitcase here or a drawer full of socks or whatever. If you’d like. If that makes you feel better. However, I fully expect you to spend any time you want at Quinton’s place with me, at least until my place is done. I don’t want us trying to keep quiet, just so you don’t hear from Rex out of the blue again.”

“You have a deal.” I push him gently onto his back. Then I climb on top of his hips, straddling his steadily growing erection. “Now, how about taking me for another ride before we break into those croissants?”

Chapter 48

Quinton’s garden has become my favorite place to write. I’m suddenly filled with inspiration, and spend the next few weeks writing feverishly from inside the lavish green oasis. Regardless of feeling silly for riding to someone else’s house to write, the view and ambiance are unbeatable. Plus, there’s something extra special about writing a story from Quinton Rockwell’s garden, which Quinton Rockwell himself will see in a few weeks.

Most days, Dom and I share dinner when he comes home. Although he could afford to hire anyone in the world as his private chef, he insists on cooking dinner for me if I’m there when he arrives. He says cooking relaxes him. As someone who does anythingbutrelax in the kitchen, I’m pretty impressed with the whole idea of cooking being calming.

So my new favorite hobby involves drinking wine at the enormous kitchen island while watching Dom making some mouthwatering concoction. Squeezing lemon slices over fresh mahimahi, dipping shrimp in his from-scratch cocktail sauce, taking a sip of my martini before he hands it over to me, making sure it’s just right. Whenever he looks stressed at the end of a long work day, he’s fairly chill by the time he’s put a full meal on the table.

It’s like I’ve found a unicorn of a man. One that only existed in my dreams, except the real-life version is better than anything I ever allowed myself to imagine.

Today, though, I’m back at the rental to give Pru some much-needed cuddles. I can’t abandon two cats in the same year.

She’s sprawled across my keyboard while I try to Google whether or not Oahu has a decent New York-style bagel shop to surprise Dom with my favorite breakfast.

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