Chapter Seven

DRAVEN

I wake up not really knowing where I am. The bed beneath me is so soft I honestly wonder if I might be asleep at all. Maybe I’m not asleep, maybe I am dead and in heaven.

But then the doorbell rings.

Did I have plans this morning? I think I did. I’m almost sure I did…but what?

I open my eyes. “Shit! What time is it?!”

The doorbell sounds again, and I fall out of bed reaching for the things I wore yesterday. “Fuck! I’m coming! Hold the hell on!”

Stumbling down the stairs in my dirty clothes, I flip the switch allowing the shades to reveal the heavy fog of morning crowding the yard. The sight brings a contented smile to my face.

Wow…it really is beautiful here.

Ding dong!!!!

“Jesus!” I screech, opening the door. “The fuck is your deal?”

He stands there looking sexy as hell, the hint of a smile on his face. “I told you nine a.m. sharp.”

Domonic.

Of course. I forgot all about the breakfast appointment.

the sleep from

are late. It’s ten in

over my chest and trying not to notice

His tattoos are showing. And his muscles. And I want

wafts toward me and I nearly

can smell her all over

nor do I have the right to be,

get up. I wanted to roll around for a few more minutes laughing because, I got what I wanted

his smile disappears.

his face is thwarted by a bright white

minute! I told you we were

grin.”No. We’re not. Have

arched eye brow lifts in amusment. A half smile

“Oh yeah? Did she

He startles as I throw him a sarcastic frown. His face looks so frighteneed for

chortle, cocking my head at him warily. Then with a roll of my

questions get stupid answers,

eyes downward as if

last night,” I quip at him and slanting my

to but I-,” he stops, crossing

you.” I attempt to close the door, but he pushes inside, and I throw my hands up in frustration. “Really?” I snap, stomping my foot in annoyance. “You’re just going to push yourself inside? You see? This is why I want to pay rent! So that I don’t have to let you in here and I don’t have to be nice to you.” I grant him a withering look. “You need

shing with perverse pleasure. “You’re jealous,” he accuses, rotating his shoulders and sizing me up as he

never intended to come to breakfast,” I lie. I

argue with himself about something, his eyes ticking back and forth as if he doesn’t know

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