Page 340 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

She exhaled with exaggerated patience.

She cuffed her palm against his shoulder at his ridiculous additions.

Most importantly, she grinned. For twenty minutes straight. No matter what ended up in the cart, he’d accomplished his mission that had little to do with food purchases.

As he loaded their groceries into the trunk of his car, she set her hands on her hips. “Were you always this irritating?”

“Funny thing about memories. You tend to recall the best about someone, not the less appealing things.” He slammed the trunk. “But no, I’m not really like that. I just wanted to make you smile. You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”

The tips of her ears turned an endearing shade of pink beneath the parking lot lights.

Then her gaze took on a far-away look. “You’re right,” she said thoughtfully. “Even when I think about my dad—in some ways an Atlas through and through, in other ways an outlier—I remember the best traits about him, not the worst. During his three-year battle with cancer, when it became obvious I was losing him, I didn’t dwell on his shortcomings. I wanted to appreciate the short time we had left.”

Dominic felt compelled to say, “There’s quite a variety of personalities among the Atlases.”

Lowering her eyes, she nodded before he shut her passenger door and returned to the driver’s side. When he started the engine, she seemed to have something on her mind.

“But he was an outlier. Mom and I never expected anything from the Atlases after he died,” she said, following up on his observation about the family’s diversity. “We just wanted a fresh start.”

Her admission confirmed that, for whatever reason, her mother had declined any dispensations or claims to the Atlas family fortune. Maybe that was why Isaac felt the need to look out for her.

“Today was the first time I reached out to the family for help. I knew I couldn’t do this alone.”

“You made the right decision,” he assured.

If not for her family, who’d been there for her? Dominic wondered. Who’d held her through grief and carried her through hard times? It seemed she’d grown accustomed to going it alone.

He wanted to change all that. He would gladly be the man she turned to during times of distress.

If he had his way, she could count on him from now on.

Their unexpected reunion today had laid the groundwork for them. While he would’ve given anything to take away her fear and pain, he recognized, after years as an MP, that the best thing he could give her was humor despite tragedy—a soft yet secure place to land, and the chance to laugh about the ridiculous things in life instead of focusing on what she couldn’t control.

No matter what had happened to shake up her world, she’d proven herself to be capable and resilient.

He continued their casual, playful conversation on the drive home while keeping a watchful eye on his review mirror. He purposely took a long, backroads route home.

Convinced they hadn’t been followed, he pulled into his driveway.

Juggling bags of groceries, he managed to unlock the side door and ushered her inside.

After climbing the steps into his kitchen, she paused to take in his home. “Dominic, this is beautiful.”

Pride filled his chest. He liked that she appreciated the effort he’d poured into restoring this 1920s craftsman cottage. While he unloaded armfuls of groceries onto his butcherblock countertop, she wandered away from him to explore the space as though eager to discover more about him through his surroundings.

“Look at these transoms over the doors,” Lara exclaimed, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “They bring so much light into every room! The detail is extraordinary, with all the original stained glass. And that fireplace flanked by bookshelves? It’s a masterpiece. Oh, and the inset wood fixtures and intricately carved crown molding… Wow, check out the original plaster medallion above your dining room chandelier!”

Her enthusiasm proved an aphrodisiac. He loved that she adored his house. She’s always had a photographer’s eye and an artistic bent.

“There’s more,” he confessed, shedding his coat, loosening his tie, and draping his suit jacket over the back of a chair. “I’ve been working on restoring the gardens outside. And then there’s the barn out back.” She joined him as they put perishables into the refrigerator, leaving on the counter what she planned to cook tonight. “I’ve always been passionate about anything with horsepower. Since you knew me, I might’ve developed an obsession.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said dryly. “How many vehicles are you up to?”

“Five,” he admitted. “One’s a nineteen-sixty-nine Corvette collectible. It’s on an automatic lift above a Pontiac Trans Am from the eighties I’ve spent years tinkering with. Next to those is the last and latest model Dodge Charger they won’t manufacture anymore. And behind that is a second Harley-Davidson motorcycle I bought last year.”

“Naturally.” She grinned. “Why settle for one Harley when you can have two? And I suppose you can never have too many cars—especially if they’re your passion.”

“In the summer I take them to local car shows. It’s fun to hang out with other people who share your enthusiasm and nostalgia for a well-tuned machine.”

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