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.

tell him smoothly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes

It’s ten in the morning.

my chest and trying not to notice how crisp and fuckable he looks in white sweats

I want to put my mouth

then… his perfume wafts toward

I can smell her

I’m angry. I can’t explain why, nor do I have the right to be, but I

to roll around for a few more minutes

smile disappears. “You got what

his face is thwarted by a

minute! I told you we were going to have breakfast, and we

grace him with a sweet saccharine grin.”No. We’re not. Have breakfast with Margo

smile quirking up as he

Did she mark you

as I throw him a sarcastic frown. His face looks

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

get stupid

his eyes downward as if

you said you were taking her home, last night,” I quip at him and slanting my

going to but I-,” he stops, crossing his arms over his chest and idadvertanlty

have to have breakfast with 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?

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

on the couch with a laugh. “No. I’m not jealous. I just don’t like you or your bitch. I never intended to come to breakfast,” I lie. I

ticking back and forth as if he doesn’t know what else to say. They finally fall on me

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