Page 43 of Raging Inferno

“Please.”

Presley sat on the couch and waited while he filled two goblets with the dark-red liquid. He carried them to the living room and handed one to her. She thanked him before taking a sip. It was delicious and full-bodied, with notes of cherries and raspberries bursting on her tongue.

Dominic dropped to the recliner. “I’ve been thinking about when we left Tamera Watts’s house and you saying something happened. What do you think it was? Did it have to do with Gwen’s death?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Presley admitted as she stared at her glass. “It is strange to me that the women were so close for years, and suddenly, they don’t even speak.” She glanced up at Dominic. “Why? They still live near each other. I could understand drifting apart, especially if they went away to college, but to break off contact completely? It makes me think someone said or did something to cause a rift.”

“Do you think one of the women will talk to you about it?”

She took another sip. “I don’t know. I was closest to Jessie because she was Gwen’s best friend. Maybe I can coax something from her.”

“It will be interesting to see if they show up at the funeral tomorrow.”

“Speaking of, I better get to bed. I got little sleep last night.”

Dominic stood and took her empty glass. “Me too.”

Presley had been shy when she was younger, mostly around boys, especially this one. She’d thought of kissing him all the time, but they had been the dreams of an inexperienced younggirl. As an adult, the urge was still there. She was no longer fearful. In fact, she’d been accused of being too direct. There was nothing wrong with going for what she wanted, and right now, it was this man.

“Goodnight, Dominic.”

Presley stood on her toes and kissed him on the lips. He tasted of wine and male, and she realized she might’ve miscalculated. She’d intended it to be a quick peck, but this chaste kiss was better than any she could remember. Before she did something monumentally stupid, like throwing him to the floor and ripping off his clothes, she ended the contact and headed to her room without looking back.

Somehow, she made it inside and closed the door. She collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan, rotating in a slow, lazy circle. If one quick kiss did this to her, what would it be like to make love with Dominic Bianchi?

#

Dominic’s feet rooted to the ground as he watched Presley leave the room. He’d been thinking of kissing her all evening, only she’d beaten him to the punch.

He’d been caught completely off guard when she’d initiated contact. Dominic had been about to chuck the wine glasses over his shoulder and yank her against him when she so casually walked away. Hadn’t the kiss rocked her world like it had his?

Go after her, the lust-filled part of his brain urged.Let her go, his heart responded. She wouldn’t be here long, and he didn’t need to get in deeper with her. He was already dangerously close to liking her more than was wise. She’d made his daughter giggle! The tinkling sound was music to his ears. They weren’t polite chuckles either. They had been the deep belly laughs that brought tears to the eyes and cramps to the stomach. It was one of his favorite sounds in the world.

Instead of going after Presley, he ensured the doors were locked and the alarm set. Then he headed to his room. Sleep didn’t come easily, and more than once, he tossed off the covers to go after her. Finally, he drifted off, dreaming of her in his arms.

Chapter Ten

After a fitful night of carnal dreams about Presley, Dominic climbed out of bed and stumbled to the en suite bathroom. A shower helped, and he lingered, letting the hot water massage his muscles. He finally turned off the tap and dried off before shaving. Then he headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. Amber would return soon to watch Gia while he and Presley attended Margy Binder’s funeral.

Dominic grabbed a cup of coffee and savored the burn. Since they’d scarfed down pizza last night, he decided on a healthy oatmeal breakfast with fresh fruit.

“Good morning.”

He turned to see Presley standing there, looking like she belonged in his kitchen. It was all he could do to refrain from going to her, pulling her into his arms, and finishing what she’d started last night.

“Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Like a rock.”

Lucky her. He’d tossed and turned like a lone sneaker locked in a tumbling clothes dryer. “Good. How does oatmeal sound?”

“Delicious. How can I help?”

“Do you mind chopping the strawberries? Gia loves them.”

“Not at all.”

They worked side by side, joking around while they prepared the food. He found several opportunities to brush against her. Her hair smelled like sunshine and happiness . . . or maybe that was how she made him feel.

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