Page 226 of By A Thread
He tugged on my hair, pulling my head back. A move so familiar and so missed, I teared up.
“I love you, Ally.”
“You guys got any Jorge’s garlic bread you wanna throw over here? I won’t complain.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “If you give me a minute here, I’ll buy you all everything on Jorge’s menu.”
“Deal!”
I laughed for the first time in what felt like forever.
“Say it again, Maleficent. Please?” Dom begged.
“I love you, Charming. I’m ready for our happily ever after.”
He picked me up right off the ground and twirled me around to the hoots and hollers of our little audience.
I wrapped my arms around him tight enough that he’d never escape. “You Russos keep changing my life at bus stops.”
Epilogue
Ally
“What are you doing?”
“Shh. Don’t distract me with your near nakedness. I’m trying to see if my straw is long enough to reach the bottom of the glass without sitting up,” I told him.
But it was too late, I was distracted. Because the breathtaking view of sugary white sand and turquoise waters was already eclipsed by Dominic Russo in package-showcasing swim trunks and dark sunglasses.
I loved the intense man in vests, but the relaxed, sunscreened, island tan version was possibly even more appealing.
“It’s your birthday, Ally. I’ll order you mango margaritas all day long if it means you never have to see the bottom of your glass.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Russo?” I peered over my sunglasses and batted my lashes at him.
He grinned wickedly.
“I think it’s time to reapply,” he said, holding up the bottle of sunscreen.
“Last ‘application,’ you spent ten minutes rubbing my breasts, and I got a sunburn everywhere else.”
“I promise to pay equal attention to every inch of your beautiful body,” he said lecherously.
I felt a quickening between my legs and took a second to pinch myself. Nope. Not dreaming. Not in a coma somewhere. Not hallucinating after an unfortunate bus accident. This. Was. My. Life.
“Are you ready for your birthday present?” he asked.
I laughed. “I thought this trip was my present. And the bikini wardrobe. And the candlelight dinner.” Not to mention last night’s hamstring-pulling sex for dessert. We were both still limping.
“Oh, baby, I’m just getting started,” he said devilishly.
My heart rate kicked up a few hundred notches. Because giving made him so happy. And I had no freaking clue how he was going to feel about what I had to give him.
“Vacation agrees with you, Mr. Managing Editor,” I teased.
He abandoned his chair and crowded onto mine. “No work talk,” he said sternly.
With Irvin Harvey’s unceremonious firing for being a prejudiced bastard, Dominic had stepped into the vacant position and promoted Shayla to creative director. Everyone was happy.
