Dom (Alliance, #3)

by S.J. Tilly

Last time, when Mom was still asleep, he made me a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. It was good. And he made one for himself and sat with me at the little table. And when we were halfway done, I asked Dad if I could live with him.

Except, when I asked him, the smile on his mouth slipped away. The look on his face made my heart hurt. So I scooted my chair closer to his, and even more quietly, I said, “Please.” A small whimper catches in my chest as I remember the way he shook his head. I wanted him to say yes so badly.

“He is survived by his wife, Barbara, and their two children, King and Aspen.” His voice fills the church as he gestures to a trio of people in the front row. That’s wrong. Dad didn’t… We’re his family. I’m his child.

But then I see it. The back of a man’s head who is sitting in the front row. He’s taller than those around him, and his hair is the exact same shade as mine. The exact same shade as my dad’s. How?

He lived here. My dad had to have lived here, in the cities. It only took us twenty minutes to drive here today. He was this close the whole time. He was this close and only visited every few months.

He would call me his little Valentine. His perfect girl. He would tell me he loved me. And I loved him so much. But he lied. He tricked me.

Mom lied to me, too. But that thought comes and goes, hardly leaving an impact. She’s always been a liar, always been mean. She was always nicest when Dad was around. But he won’t be around anymore. Not ever again.

She must be Dad’s wife. I think the words, and a second later, her eyes snap over to meet mine. I step back. I recognize the look on her face. It’s one I’ve seen at home. She hates me.

She doesn’t look at me. Maybe she doesn’t know I’m here. But I think… I think she’s my sister. I have a sister. Just as she’s about to pass, she flicks a glance at me. Or was that above me? At my mom? Whichever one of us she’s looking at, she has the same expression on her face that her mom did.

My dad is a liar. My mom is a liar. I think I have siblings. But I think they hate me. And I don’t want to be hated. I just want to be loved.

a firm body slams into my side. “Watch it!” a deep voice booms in my ear. My feet try to shuffle with the impact, but my balance tips just as I lose my grip on my cookie, dropping it to the ground. At the same time, the weight that was hanging off my left shoulder drops away, ending any hope I have of not falling.

Except I don’t fall. What has to be a freakishly strong arm encircles my waist and pulls me back against a hard body. “I got you.” The same masculine voice from before speaks into my ear, only this time it’s quiet. A whisper. A growl. A something.

“Thanks,” I breathe out before I notice that his big hand is splayed across my stomach. A stranger is touching my stomach. My soft, squishy stomach. I can only pray that he’s not as attractive as he sounds.

His hand slides across my tummy to my waist as he moves from behind me to next to me. “If that asshole hadn’t bumped into me, I wouldn’t have knocked into you.”

Holy fuck-me eyes. I blink. Scratch that. Holy fuck-me everything.

A man in a suit, with closely buzzed dark hair, a matching trimmed beard, and shoulders wide enough to sit on, is smiling down at me like he’s truly happy to be inconvenienced by crashing into me.

His smile widens. “Did I hurt you?” My brain is straight-up short-circuiting because my mind dives headfirst into the gutter, picturing him asking me that when we’re both sweaty and naked—in bed. “No,” I croak. Jesus, Val. Get it together. “Did I hurt you?” Did I hurt you?

The man’s mouth tips into a smirk. “Don’t think a little thing like you could, even if you tried.” Little? Is it hot in here? It’s really hot in here.

“I got it,” I say, but I don’t even reach for the bag. Because I’m too busy staring at his tattooed fingers. Tattooed. Fingers. I almost mewl. But thank god I don’t.

I love tattoos. There’s something about them that’s just so… hot. So brave. I’ve always wanted them, but I’ve been too chicken to get one.

And when he reaches for the napkin I also dropped, the bright white cuff of his sleeve pulls back, exposing an expensive watch and more tattoos. I sway. “Steady, Shorty.” The hand not holding the cookie grips my elbow.

I didn’t miss the way he called me Angel before. I just couldn’t process it. No one has ever called me anything other than Val. No one even uses my full name anymore.

But even like this, he’s taller than me. Wider than me. Bigger than me. And I need to flee. If I spend another moment in his presence, I’m going to melt into a goopy puddle of hormones on the floor. And nobody wants to witness that.

“How much time until your flight?” “Um, I think I have thirty minutes or so before boarding.” He dips his chin. “Perfect. Me, too.” “Perfect?” I ask, but he’s already moving me along with him, his hand on the small of my back again. “I owe you a cookie and a backpack. Thirty minutes should be just enough time.”

“I’ve had that bag forever. It was bound to fail me sooner or later.” “Hmm.” He nods, then steers me to turn to the right. “Well, as the party responsible for its demise, I insist on replacing it.”

“This place is too expensive,” I try to tell him, but his hand doesn’t let up, and he half pushes me ahead of him. I’ve never even looked at the prices inside this store, but I know a backpack from this place would be literally ten times more expensive than what I paid for my old bag.

“Afternoon.” The lady behind the counter greets us. “Can I help you find something?” “No,” I say, just as the man next to me holds up my grungy bag. “We need a new backpack. Preferably the same size. Maybe with reinforced straps.”

I bite down on a smile, secretly enjoying that he’s teasing me. “I can’t let you do this.” “You can and you will, Angel.”

“Gold or silver?” He’s asking about the metal accents, but I’m distracted, noticing that he’s no longer carrying my broken cookie. Did he throw it away? How did he do that without me noticing? “Gold.” He answers his own question as his hand slides up my back. He drags a finger across the thin gold chain clasped around my neck and the tiny heart charm dangling just below my throat.

If I can get my card out of my broken bag, maybe I can quickly swipe it through the reader and pay whatever ungodly amount myself before he can buy it. I really can’t let a stranger pay for this. He’s already at the counter when I catch up. And it’s like he knows what I’m planning, because when I reach for the front zipper pocket, where my wallet is stored, he lifts his arm and hugs the bag to his chest.

“Oh my god!” I classlessly exclaim before I start to tug on the man’s arm, making a point to ignore the silky-soft suit jacket under my fingers. “Please let me pay for that.” I swallow, thinking of the total. “Or, better yet, just let me keep the broken one. It’s fine.”

“You always this stubborn, Valentine?” Hearing him say my name, my full name, stuns me long enough for him to hand a card to the cashier. “How do you…?” Then I look at my backpack that’s hugged to his chest. Ah, yes. My bright yellow name tag, with Valentine Gandy written in careful letters,

Something about this man tells me he doesn’t write his name on his luggage. He probably just narrows his eyes at his suitcase, daring it to get lost.

How I feel so small next to him. But small in a feminine way, not an insignificant way.

“Thank you.” His deep voice says the words at the same time I do, causing him to smile.

I give my head a little shake. “Why are you thanking me?” “Because.” He nods his head toward the pair of backpacks. “My mother would kill me if she knew I broke some pretty lady’s bag in the airport and didn’t replace it.” I think my lips move as I silently repeat the words pretty lady, but he doesn’t pause. “She’d also kill me for going through your things, so I’ll let you do the honors.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to convince you to return that.” He shakes his head. “All purchases are final.” My eyes move to the salesperson, but she’s pretending not to listen. So I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or lying.

“You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?” The man laughs, loud and throaty, and I feel it in my bones. “I’m not sure anyone has ever called me bossy before, but I suppose you’re not incorrect.”

“Thank you again. It was completely unnecessary, but I still appreciate it.” “Anytime, Valentine.” I bite my bottom lip. “My friends call me Val.”

he reaches out and takes the backpack off my shoulder, swinging it up onto his. I’m so mentally off balance by this whole encounter that I don’t question him carrying my bag.

“Dominic Gonzalez.” He closes his fingers around mine. “But my friends call me Dom.”

“Dom,” I say quietly, like I’m testing the taste of it. He rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Val.”

“And where’s your gate?” “Um, twenty-four, I think. Just down the hall.” The tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips as he licks across his incisor. “Tell me you’re going to Minneapolis.” I swear my heart stutters in my chest. “I’m going to Minneapolis,” I practically whisper. “With luck like this, I’m tempted to switch our tickets and fly to Vegas. You can be my lucky charm. Win me a fortune.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent all your money buying me a new bag, you wouldn’t need to gamble for your retirement.” “You wound me.” He presses a big, tattooed hand to his chest. “I might be forty-one, but I’m not quite ready to retire.”

Forty-one to my twenty-five. A sixteen-year age gap isn’t too much, is it?

He lets go of my hand, and I vaguely realize that we never actually shook. We just stood here holding hands.

I feel a bit like a lost puppy as I let this stranger guide me back into the main hallway of the terminal. But as fleeting as his attention might be, I’m soaking it in. For better or worse, I’m going to absorb every moment of it.

“Nonsense.” Dom blows off my comment as we stop behind the one other person in line. “Every flight should start with a cookie.” I mean, I agree. Which is why I bought one for myself. But he doesn’t exactly look like the type of person who indulges in desserts.

I can feel his presence at my side before he holds out one of the cookies for me. When I hesitate, he lifts it an inch higher. “Indulge my bossiness this one last time.” “I was always warned about taking candy from strangers,” I murmur, even as I take it. “Good thing it’s not candy,” Dom replies.

I look at the backpack still slung over one of his shoulders. “Will you let me carry my bag?” “Nope.” Dom shakes his head once, then takes a giant bite of his double-decker cookie. “I feel like I should probably argue with you one of these times.” “Why?” Dom takes another bite. “Because.”