Page 13 of High-Rise Heat

“I think he went to take a shower,” I say, nodding to the hallway, where Dom follows my gaze. The light whoosh of the shower can be heard behind the silence and I swallow hard, realizing that if Isaachadn’tquestioned what I wanted a few minutes ago, we would both be in this pool right now. And Dom would’ve walked out here to find me spread between his friend’s thrusting hips.

The pool feels like ice. I swim to the edge and get out quickly, only to look up and see Dom staring at me, stunned.

I look down. I’m still wearing my bikini. I check behind me, noticing the city lights glowing and it hits me that from his angle I’m a silhouette. From his angle I must look naked. Sure, the important bits are covered with small scraps of fabric, but that doesn’t change how indecent I feel under his gaze.

I stare back, unsure what to do. Part of me wants Dom to advance on me, assuredly and with the same determination that Isaac had. It wants Dom to tell me how many times he’s imagined me naked and that his imagination never did me any justice. But the other half, it loves the flush of color that lights Dom’s face as he takes me in. How he still takes the time to look at me completely before turning away, suddenly remembering to be polite. That’s Dom, always the gentlemen.

“Did you, uh …” He stares out at the city, rubbing his bottom lip like there’s something on it that he must attend to instead of looking at me. “Did you have a nice night?”

“Just went for a swim,” I say, picking up a towel and wrapping is around me, a gesture that allows Dom to look back in my direction.

“Did Isaac go for a swim too?” Again, his question isn’t confrontational, but something about it feels loaded. I shake my head and lie.

“We chatted for a bit, but …” I push my wet hair from my face. “Then he went inside, like you.”

A shadow hoods Dominick’s eyes and I can’t gauge his reaction. I suddenly feel exposed in my bikini, even with the towel over me. I’ve never lied so blatantly to Dom before. Sure, we have our silly “always tell the truth” pact. But it was about business, or stupid daily agitations. It was never about us. Andthatis a lie we’ve danced around for months, a thousand tiny omissions to keep our relationship clean and simple.

“Since when do you drink on these trips?” I ask, changing the subject. “I hope you didn’t send the board anything you’ll regret in the morning.”

He shakes his head. “When have you ever known me to do anything I regret?” He smiles smugly and I know that’s the whiskey talking. Of course, he’s talking about business, but that doesn’t make the undercurrent of what he’s said hurt any less.

“It’s good to regret nothing,” I say, nodding curtly and heading toward the suite. Only he reaches out as I pass and catches my leg.

Dom’s palm cups the front of my shin and his fingers slide around to tickle the sensitive skin behind my knee. A delicate pang of heat inches up the back of my thigh to tickle my core, and I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to the fact that my body is already awake and turned on, or if it’s because the one who’s touching me is Dom.

This is the most intimate way he’severtouched me, and it’s like the rest of him—gentle and elegant. I wait, looking down to where he sits on the lounge chair, his hair is tossed and his shirt un-tucked, the sleeves uncharacteristically disheveled. He looks like a mess for Dom. And he doesn’t move. He doesn’t look up. In fact, he stares out at the horizon at the dark glitter of purple and blue that barely lights his face.

I should say something. Tell him it’s inappropriate for his hand to be where it is. I bite my lip and let his thumb graze my knee cap instead. I don’t know if the stroke of his thumb is deliberate or unconscious, but I tilt my head up to look up to the sky bruised with clouds. There are a hundred things I could say right now—about what I want, and how I want him to touch me, how I’ve imagined the texture of his hair, and the smell of his skin.

I say nothing and close my eyes to savor the simple feeling of his hand on my leg. Dom’s hand. It’s almost innocent, except for the fact that he’s kept it there longer than he should, long enough for it to be inappropriate, long enough that one of us should’ve said something.

But this is how we exist, caught in the heat of silence with his hand on my leg and all that’s unspoken making my heart race.

“I’m sorry I drank,” Dom says finally, his fingers dropping with his words and leaving my leg naked and weightless without them. A lump lodges in my throat with the fear thatthiswill be the only time he will ever touch me and it’s already gone. “I know we made a deal,” he says. “And I broke it. I won’t do it again.”

He doesn’t look up at me. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that I too have been drinking. Instead, he stares out at that endless skyline with a disheveled sadness that makes me want to wrap him in my arms and squeeze that sadness away. I want to sit on his lap and thread my fingers through his hair and kiss him till the sun rises. Kiss him till he understands that I can’t live in this silence. Kiss each tremble of his mouth and exhale of his breath that is hot and soft and his.

Are you in love with my friend?Isaac’s words echo through my head, and in this moment I could almost convince myself I am. I care for Dom fiercely, and yet I can’t seem to reach forward and actually touch him … tangle my fingers in his hair … take this leap of—

Dom stands up abruptly and walks toward the suite. He does it so quickly its starling, and even worse he doesn’t even look at me as he goes.

“Goodnight, Ilsa,” he says sharply, and I don’t know what to make of the edge in his tone. Maybe he came out and saw me in the pool with Isaac and all of this is all already ruined. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He disappears down the hallway and all I can think about is how Dom regrets nothing

and I’m at the top of the world in the tallest high-rise in all of Hong Kong.

Completely alone.

6

Ilsa

My four-inch heels pinch the delicate skin below my ankle, rubbing the flesh and threatening to blister. My whole day has felt like that tender strip of skin, wedged into a space that’s too tight, and scraping with each painful step. The tension between Dom and me has felt like that exposed blister, raw and ready to erupt. From breakfast to the cab ride to our associate’s office, to sitting in the stuffy board room where Dom smoothed out his suit and started the negotiation. Every step, every breath, has felt rigid and stiff. That cushion of distance and professionalism that normally sits between us has had an uncanny sharpness all day; as if Dom saw me with my legs wrapped around his friend’s hips and now he wants me to pay for the fact that he can’t shake the image.

I turn down the convention center hallway that leads to the ballroom where our new associates are throwing a merger banquet to announce our deal to their employees. The celebration has already begun. And itisa day to celebrate, a day to fist-pump the air and get drunk in honor of all the hard work we’ve done. Months of work leading up to this point. This is a brilliant career triumph that will result in the promotion I’ve been salivating over for years, and yet that’s not what I’m thinking about. No, instead every muscle in my body is knotted with fear, because something between Dom and me isoff.And I can’t shake the dread that pools at the base of my heart.

I don’t know that Dom sawanythinglast night, but he’s spent the entire day eerily chipper and “on.” Over compensating and acting like the perfect lawyer with his smart suggestions that made it sound like he was giving our new associates everything they wanted while managing to stack the deck in his favor and getting everything he desired. Dom regrets nothing after all and he brilliantly stands his ground. And I was there by his side the whole time, and yet it was the first time I’ve ever felt invisible next to Dom, as if I was a complete afterthought. He hardly acknowledged me all day. He didn’t ask my opinion. He didn’t give me the space to wield part of the negotiation. He cut me off when I started to interject. And because he’s Dom, each shut down was executed like a magician’s sleight of hand, practically imperceptible to our new partners and seemingly unaggressive. Not overtly. Our new partners had no clue it was happening.

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