Dom (Alliance, #3)

by S.J. Tilly

he drapes a heavy arm over my shoulders and starts us down the hall. “Life is too short not to lean in, my Valentine.” My Valentine. Jesus.

He smells like sex appeal. Like someone took every secret desire I’ve ever had and bottled it up into an exclusive cologne that only my soulmate could wear and get away with.

we’re both getting something out of this,” he continues, and I force myself to focus. “Probably me more than you.”

“What do you get?” His arm is heavy around my shoulders as he speaks. “Something interesting to break up my day. The company of a beautiful woman.” He lifts his other hand. “Cookies.”

“Make me happy, Angel.” I glance back up, finding his blue eyes locked on mine. “Let me feed you. Eat your treat.”

Tentatively, I take a bite of my cookie. When I do, I can feel his hum of appreciation where my body is pressed against his. I think I hear him say something. Something like that’s my girl, but that can’t be right.

My eyes flutter closed for two steps as I let myself lean into him. Lean into the feeling. Lean into the make-believe world where this is my life. Where this man is really here with me. Where I’m happy. Loved. A tightness wraps around my throat, and I blink my eyes open, shoving another bite of cookie into my mouth. Make-believe, indeed.

Because this is the real world. And he’s just being nice. He’s probably someone who travels a lot. Probably a little bored. And sure, I’m cute enough. I’m chubby, but I think I carry it okay and my face is nice. But in my tennis shoes and bright yellow dress, I’m no match for him.

A pang hits deep in my chest. This is only a moment. I will be happy in another moment. I repeat the words my therapist has told me time and time again. Then I repeat the words Dom said only a few moments ago. Lean in.

“Do you live in Minnesota?” There’s a light pressure on my far shoulder as he tightens his grip on me, just the smallest bit. “No, just passing through on my way to Chicago.” His tone sounds almost apologetic, and I try not to feel disappointed.

“I’m surprised they didn’t have a direct flight,” I say to make conversation, thinking there has to be one from where we are in Denver. “Already trying to get rid of me?” Dom is clearly teasing me. So I try to tease back. “You are a little clingy.”

“Valentine, you are a fucking delight.”

Usually, I’m outgoing. I’ve been called bubbly by coworkers, and it’s fairly accurate. It often takes a lot of effort, but I try my hardest to be nice, kind, and accommodating. My therapist says it’s a defense mechanism. That I do it because I want people to like me and I’m overcompensating for my fear of rejection. My fear of not being liked. Not being wanted.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask what seat you’re in.” His comment reminds me that I need to go up to the desk. “I don’t actually know yet. My boarding pass says to get my seat assignment at the gate. Not sure why.”

“Thank you for the backpack and the cookie and being…” I lift a shoulder. I was going to say nice, but that sounds stupid. Even a little pathetic. Thanking someone just for being nice to me. “I always try to be.” Dom dips his chin, then steps away. And I wonder if he’s the most sincere person I’ll ever meet.

I think about Dominic’s Vegas idea. He might be onto something since my luck seems to be miraculously good today. First, crashing into a hot guy who is way too nice to me. Then, going up to the desk and being told they overbooked the flight and I’ve been bumped up to first class.

Dominic. Even his name is hot.

I try to make my glances look casual as I check the passengers, but none of them are him. None of them have those broad shoulders. None of them have that short dark hair I want to run my hands over so I can feel the ends tickle against my palms. None of them have those blue eyes that sparkle with secrets.

And damn, those tattoos. I resist fanning myself but just barely.

I look at row three. At my row. And at Dominic. The edge of his mouth lifts. “Tell me you’re sitting next to me.” I do my best to keep a neutral expression on my face. “I’m sitting next to you.”

We stay like that for a beat. Chest to chest. And I watch his nostrils flare, as if he’s holding something back and it’s costing him.

“Want that up here?” Dom asks. I look up and see he’s still standing in the aisle. But now his hands are up, resting on the overhead bin.

And sweet baby Jesus, those are definitely tattoos covering his body. Lord, help me. This is going to be the best and worst flight ever. It’ll be like sitting in front of a giant cheesecake but knowing you aren’t allowed to take a bite.

My eyes snap up to meet his, and the blush that had finally faded from my cheeks comes roaring back to life. Because he just caught me ogling him. I bite my lip, but it doesn’t stop the guilty look on my face. Dom lifts an eyebrow, and I lift a shoulder. It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s attractive.

When his eyes move back up to meet mine, it’s my turn to lift a brow. Copying me copying him, Dom lifts a shoulder before dropping his arms back to his sides.

But I’m not used to these spacious first-class seats. And my legs don’t reach far enough to push the bag all the way under the seat in front of me. Dom lowers himself into his seat with a chuckle, then leans into my space, reaching down between my still-extended feet and pushing my backpack the rest of the way forward. “Shorty,” he murmurs as he leans back.

It’s amazing how quickly shit you thought you dealt with can come flying back at you when you’re confronted with a new situation. Such as the attention of an overly attractive man who happens to be your type in every way possible.

Dom grips the little tab at the end of the seat belt and pulls it, tightening the belt until it’s secure across my lap. “Thank you, sir.” A female voice sounds from the aisle, and I see one of the attendants smiling down at us. “Gotta keep your wife safe.” My mouth pops open to correct her, but before I can think of the right thing to say, Dom sets his hand on my thigh. “Someone has to.”

“Would you like a headset?” the attendant keeps smiling as she asks us. “We’ll share one,” Dom answers.

“Is this you leaning in?” I whisper. He smirks. “You’re getting it now, Mama.” Mama. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

an inked hand settles over mine, and my fingers still. “Nervous?” Dom’s voice is low, making sure I’m the only one who hears him. “No,” I answer too quickly. Then I let out a breath and try to relax my shoulders. “A little.” “Why?” He doesn’t sound judgmental. He sounds like he really wants to know.

I think I can hear a smile in his voice, so I glance up at his face. But the smile isn’t on his mouth, it’s in his eyes.

For so long, it’s been just me looking out for me. Most days, it still feels like that. Sure, King has a security guy drive me around. But I think that’s just to make him feel better. So he can sleep next to Savannah at night and confidently tell her he’s keeping me safe.

Savannah, my half brother’s wife, is the only Vass I don’t share blood with, but I think she might be the only one who really loves me. The only family I have that feels true affection toward me, not just obligation. But her first loyalty will always be to King. And that’s why I still feel so alone.

I think he’s letting go when his palm leaves the back of my hand, but instead, Dom slides his hand und...

Savannah’s casual hugs are the only real human tou...

“Sorry,” I whisper, hoping like crazy he thinks I’m just upset over flying and not picking up on the fact that we went from harmless flirting to me flaying my insides open. “Never apologize.” His stern tone has me looking back up. I take in his face, take in his seriousness. “Never?” “Never,” he repeats. “You don’t ever apologize?” “Not ever.”

“Yeah, Valentine. And when you do things with purpose, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Then I’m not sorry.” I don’t even remember what I was apologizing for anymore, but I know it’s the right response when Dom nods his head once before mirroring my position. “Good.”

My fingers tighten around Dom’s. “Sor—” I start when I notice that I’m squeezing his hand, but I stop myself. And Dom’s expression is pure approval.

“I always fly alone. I’m not used to having someone to…”—comfort—“distract me.” “I’m happy to be your distraction.”

“Do you work for a company or yourself?” “A company. It’s actually based in Chicago.” Dom makes an interested hum at the mention of his city, and I don’t act weird over the fact that we’re still holding hands. Not at all.

“What is your passion?” I open my mouth, but the space inside me that should be filled with passion is just… empty. A blank space filled with dead childhood dreams that faded to dust long before I hit adulthood.

you have nothing in your life to be excited about. Nothing to hope for. “Family,” I kinda choke out. “I’m close with my family, too.” Dom takes my answer the wrong way, but I decide to run with it. I meant that I would love to have a family of my own, but this is a much better, much less depressing path.

“You haven’t met them,” he jokes. I tip my smile up toward him. “If they’re anything like you, I’m sure they’re lovely.” Dom’s face contorts into a look of disgust. “Lovely? Clearly I’m giving you the wrong impression if you think I’m lovely.”

“And what impression should I have?” He lowers his voice an octave. “That I’m manly.” The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Dom feigns a hurt expression, but I know he said it that way to be funny, so I stop myself from saying sorry.

He lifts his free hand, ticking off fingers. “Hilarious. Handsome. Great head of hair.” I make a show of looking up at his close-cropped hair. Dom taps his temple. “This is by choice, not necessity.”

I take the opportunity to slip free and slap my hands over my face. “Angel.” He’s still chuckling. I shake my head. “Nope. I’m not here anymore. Go talk to someone else.” He laughs some more, even as he gently grips my wrist.

Peeking between my fingers, I find him with his head dipped down, leaning into the space between us. “Give me a feel, Shorty.” “I’m not that short,” I grumble. “Sure you aren’t.”

I exhale and gently place my fingertips at the base of his skull, right where his hairline starts on the back of his neck. Dominic stills beneath my touch—turns to stone. But I don’t stop. I lean in. As I slide my fingers up, the short bristles tickle the sensitive underside of my fingers.