Page 114 of Mourner for Hire
“Are we good now?”
I smile, my face toward the moon. “Yeah, we’re good.”
“So, then… how are things with Connor?” he ventures, his tone forcefully cavalier, and it makes me grin.
“Dominic, are you jealous of Connor?”
“No,” he answers quickly. Too quickly. It makes me laugh. “I just… You guys went out, and I saw you kiss, and I?—”
I sigh, easing out of my laughter. “It was just the one time. And it was weeks ago. Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
I make a face and tilt my head. “It sounds like you care alittlebit.”
He winces rather dramatically at my high pitch when I say little.
“I just think it’s funny you’re letting him trample over you.”
“Trample? Come on, it was one kiss. Plus, I eat boys like Connor for breakfast.” My defense is in overdrive.
His lips twitch, but he otherwise ignores me. “Yeah, well, I’ll tell you one thing. If you were mine, I’d let you have your own horse, not make you suffer on the back.”
My throat grows thick, and my cheeks flush. He saw. He knows. I think of how sore I was at the funeral. I think of the animosity he pinned on me and how Morgan witnessed it.
I wave an invisible white flag. “Connor has been nice to me, but I’m not interested. He’d be perfect for Morgan.”
“The mean chick at the funeral?”
I laugh. “She likes them soft.”
“I can see why…”
His voice drifts, and his expression is playful and full of life and, oh my God, he’s an imprint of who I thought he was. I watch him tilt his head back on the cedar and close his eyes while the steam from the hot tub billows over his face and the last rays of sunlight make his face glow.
Instead of imagining all the ways I want him to touch me, I do the same, closing my eyes and tilting back on the hot tub.
“How long can you hold your breath?”
I cock an eye open. “Are you going to drown me or ask for a favor?”
A deep rumble of a laugh bellows out of him, and I open my eyes to catch his smile. The dimple. The swell of his bottom lip. The light in his eyes. The way his entire tough exterior softens. It will be my entire undoing.
“I was just curious.” He stares up at the star-studded sky that is quickly growing to an ominous gray. “When I was little, I used to have contests with my friends to see who could hold their breath the longest.”
The comment is endearing. It sketches innocence across his hard edges, reminding me of the human behind the shield of animosity. The heart behind the armor.
“Does that mean we’re friends now?”
His dark eyes sweep over my face and return to their spellbinding hold on mine. “We could be.”
I swallow, my gaze drifting to where the water meets his skin. The wings of the butterfly tattooed on his chest, just barely visible. He also has a coiled snake on his shoulder, surrounded by intricate patterns and designs, blending with his forearm tattoos. Those are the ones I see all the time. The names. The Roman numeral dates. The ship cutting through stormy water. But my attention is drawn to the butterfly. Perhaps it’s because I have one on my ribcage.
“I like your tattoo,” I venture.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Which one?”
“All of them,” I admit. “But the butterfly one especially.”
