Page 28 of Down Knot Out
She shakes her head and hesitates, chewing her lip again. “Actually, my apartment isn’t far from here.”
My heart skips a beat, then races to catch up. “Your apartment?”
“I still have it through the end of the month.” She shifts in her seat, not quite looking at me. “We can order delivery and wait there.” A blush spreadsacross her cheeks, a delicate pink to match her hair. “If you want.”
If I want. As if there’s any question. As if I haven’t been aching for more time alone with her since the day she agreed to our courtship.
“I’d like that,” I say, careful to keep my tone neutral despite the way my pulse thunders in my veins. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Nine
Chloe
My fingers tremble on the doorknob as I twist it open, inviting Dominic into my apartment for the first time. The single-bedroom unit feels smaller as he steps over the threshold, his nostrils flaring to take in my pheromones, which saturate the space.
Only now that we’re here do I remember the way Blake had reacted to visiting my only home since graduating from university, and my face heats, feeling like I’ve left something embarrassing on display.
“It’s not much,” I mumble, closing the door behind him.
Dominic scans my living room, taking in the mismatched furniture from consignment shops, the throw pillows and blankets piled on the couch, andthe fairy lights casting a soft glow. The same lights that kept me company during late-night writing sessions when sleep wouldn’t come.
“Sorry about the, um—” I gesture at the air between us, knowing my Omega scent must be hitting him like a wave.
In such a confined space, there’s nowhere for it to dissipate. It clings to the curtains, the fabric of my furniture, and even the walls themselves.
He draws in another deep breath, deliberate this time, and his pupils dilate before he blinks it away. He can’t stop the husky purr in his voice, though, when he replies, “It’s okay.”
“I should have warned you.” I twist my fingers in front of me. “Should I open a window? I get a good breeze on the top floor.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” His tongue skims over his bottom lip as he looks around again. “So this is where the magic happens, huh? The birthplace of all those dragons and fairies Holden goes on about?”
The mention of my books sends a flush of pleasure through me. “Something like that.”
His eyes meet mine with banked heat. “Show me your writing space?”
“It’s only fair, since I’ve seen your creative space, right?” I point toward a small alcove tuckedinto the corner of my apartment, separated from the living room by a beaded curtain I found at a garage sale. “Office is a generous term for it.”
Dominic moves toward it, the beads clicking as he brushes them aside. My desk sits by the window, natural light spilling across the workspace. A notebook is open, pen dropped on the page where I left off mid-thought. Sticky notes cover the wall, each with a fragment of an idea, a line of dialog, or a question for my future self.
Dominic studies the small bookshelf wedged into the space, and his lips twitch. “Do you use all those journals now? Or are you still a hoarder of blank pages?”
“Hey, I use some of them!” I point to the desk. “See? Words are written right there.”
“Yeah, in a spiral notebook.” He leans over to pluck a midnight-blue hardcover journal from the shelf, the embossed sun on the spine flashing when he opens it to reveal blank pages. “But nothing here.”
“It’s too pretty.” I snatch it and put it back on the shelf. “I need to wait for something important to use it for.”
“Uh-huh.” He touches my chair, which is an oversized armchair with worn armrests and ablanket draped over the back. “This looks comfortable.”
My chin juts out. “I need to be comfy to work.”
“Some things never change.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ll order you a better chair for your room back home. Unless you’d like to pack this one up and have it brought to the island?”
“I already have a cozy chair in my bedroom,” I protest. “I move to the reading nook when I need a change of position.”
He hums noncommittally and turns away from my workspace, his attention drawn to the bookshelf in the living room. It’s one of the few pieces of furniture I splurged on, made with solid wood. The shelves hold my most precious possessions. My books, of course, both the ones I wrote and those by authors I love, along with little treasures I collected over the years.
Dominic’s fingers trail over the spines of my books before stopping at a small glass figurine of a dragon with ruby-red wings that’s no bigger than my thumb. With gentle fingers, he lifts it to examine it in the light.
