Written By Fate (6 page)

In the bathroom I stare at myself in the mirror and get the
urge to cut my hair. I want bangs. What the hell. I comb a section of hair
forward and bring the scissors up to mid-nose. One chop of the scissors and I
now have long, thick, straight brown bangs. I trim and clean them up a bit more
until they rest just the way I want them to along my eyebrow line. A knock at
the front door lets me know Dom’s back. I set the scissors down and hurry to
the door to let him in.

“Hey,” I greet, a little breathy. His gaze flits down my
body and I find myself feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“You cut your hair?” he states shortly.

“Yeah,” I shrug, blowing it off. I don't care if he likes it
or not.

“It suits you,” he says and nods.

“Gee, thanks,” I snicker. “What’s in the bags?”

Dom follows closely at my heels to the back room where I
plop down at the table as “Rack City” thumps through the speakers of the shop.
There is something about this song that makes me want to dance. It’s ridiculous,
really. I’m definitely a thirty-plus white girl who should not be “feelin’”
this song. Ha! I snort out loud at my train of thought. Dom’s eyes crinkle in
confusion but he says nothing. He lays out two sandwiches from the store up the
street as I bob my head to the music. He places a carton of fries in between us
as he takes his seat.

“Turkey club or tuna salad?” he asks. Without answering I
snag the tuna salad. Micky’s has the best tuna salad in town and I never pass
it up. I unwrap the wax paper and grab some fries from the carton. Yum.

“Interesting choice of music,” he says blandly as I bob
unconsciously along to the music.

“I didn’t know you liked Jay-Z,” I say, referring to “No
Church in the Wild” which is now playing.

“He frequents some of my clubs. Nice guy.”

My tuna sandwich stops halfway to my mouth as I glance up at
him in shock. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, you really are grossly rich,” I say, shoving a large
bite into my mouth. I push out of my chair. “Soda?” I mumble around my food.

“Pepsi?” he asks.

“Sure,” I answer and walk to the vending machine. I pull
open the face of it and twist the key we leave in it. Pulling out two sodas, I
kick the face shut again. Dom’s face is priceless, a mix of shock and awe, like
I just robbed the place. “Perks of being the owner,” I laugh, handing him a
can.

“You own this?” he asks, carefully wiping the mouth of the
can with his napkin. Anal, I sing to myself silently.

“Sawyer and I co-own,” I fill him in.

“Wow. I didn't realize.” His lips twitch before placing the
can to his lips and taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and it
makes me want to do strange things to him.

“Why are you surprised? I’m no slouch. I had dreams just
like everyone else,” I blurt, irritated. This guy can make my mood swing so
fast it makes my head spin.

“Is there anything else you do I should know about?” he asks
and grins mischievously.

“I teach chorus at the elementary school,” I shrug. God, I
need to stop shrugging. It’s so unladylike. Not that I care. I’m no lady.

“Ahh, that's where the rock star vibe comes from. Is it
charity?”

I choke on my sandwich at his reference to The Harp night.
His laugh bellows out of him. It’s deep and hearty and musical. I love it. Uh-oh,
not good.

“Oh, I do charity work, I volunteer my opinion almost every
day!” I snigger. “But no, they pay me to teach the children to sing.”

“Where’s the little girl who was here yesterday?” he asks
and my skin prickles a little.

“Allie’s at camp for a week,” I reply, trying to smooth my
hackles back in place.

“Allie is the spitting image of you,” he smiles. He noticed.
Damn. She is, though. Her olive skin, chocolaty brown hair, and striking blue
eyes mirror my own. It’s hard to find her father in her at all. Thank God for
the little things in life.

“In more ways than one, not all of them good,” I laugh.

“I’m sure she’s a delightful little girl.”

“Sure, if you like gunpowder and lead,” I quip and lead our
conversation away from Allie because I don’t want him to be a part of her life
and he doesn't need to know any more than he does about her.

We chitchat through our sandwiches and I find myself liking
him. He’s funny. He explains that although he grew up wealthy, he didn’t take
any of his family's money; rather, he chose to strike out on his own and amass
his own fortune. He sees his parents once a year at Christmas and is an only
child. He does own a Harley, but the article was wrong, he only owns one and
it’s a Fatboy. Mmmm, hot. Still can’t picture him on it though. He spends most
of his time in Boston, not California or Miami, but does travel there
frequently each month to check on his investments. His tattoo is a reminder to
be a ruthless businessman even if it means striking people less fortunate than
him, but the roses are meant to represent that even cobras can be gentle and beautiful.
I get it and tell him as much. Our banter is easy and he really is pretty witty
and laidback. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought.

At four-thirty he strips for me again and I’m left just as
breathless as the first time. Handing me a wad of cash, he adjusts himself on
the table and settles in. I completely zone out in my work, opting for
headphones so he can listen to the radio station of his choice. A bit later
there's a tap at my leg. I yank out an earbud. “Yeah?”

“It’s a little chilly in here,” he says hesitantly.

“Oh shit. I forgot the AC. It’s on a timer. Hold on.” I leap
off my stool and jog to the thermostat, cranking it up to eighty to try and
offset the blast of the AC. When I’m back at the stool he thanks me and asks
what I’m listening to.

“Lights,” I tell him, pushing an earbud back in. Surprising
me, he reaches up and snags the other earbud and puts it in his ear. I grin at
him and push play as he winks back at me. My playlist comes to a close around
six, leaving just the dull buzz of the needle and the faint sound of the
alternative station filtering through the shop. I’ve always found the noise of
the gun to be soothing.

“Need a break?” I ask, sitting up and stretching a bit.

“Sure,” he responds, sounding sleepy. I wonder what he looks
like sleeping. He’s strong, powerful, and reeks of male testosterone, but I bet
when he sleeps he looks innocent and gentle. I wipe him clean and let him sit
up to stretch. I should have remembered to turn the heat down because I’m
starting to sweat. I whip my shirt off and toss it on the table beside me. Spinning
back around I catch Dom’s heated gaze over my shoulder. He reaches out and
fingers one of the butterflies that trail up my shoulder blade. “That's
stunning,” he murmurs.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, trying not to break the moment. His
touch feels incredible. His finger dips lower to the next butterfly that sits
just below my camisole. He pulls the material down slightly and sucks in a
breath.

“What?” I ask defensively.

“I want to see it.” His voice is low and rough and it does
funny things to my belly. Funny things I like.

“What?” I’m confused now.

“Your tattoo, it’s much more than just this, isn't it?” he asks,
trailing his hand over the visible parts.

“It is. But it’s not something I can show you without
stripping,” I smile coyly, knowing I’m teasing him. “I’m not sure how you
missed it when you stripped me.”

“It was dark. I didn't see your back, only the front,” he admits
smugly. I’m sure my face just turned five different shades of red. My
irritation at him flares at his admission.

“So you weren’t a perfect gentleman. Is there anything else
I should know about that night? Because frankly I don't recall any of it,” I
spit out. His breathing comes in short puffs that make his naked torso move in
the most alluring ways. Snap out of it, Clara. He’s a total jerk!

“We didn’t have sex if that's what you mean. I didn’t do
anything but admire your body as I changed you into something
more...comfortable.”

My brain is screaming at me to bitch slap him, storm out, and
never look back, but my gut is clenched with anticipation and there's a fire
growing deep in my belly. “What would you have done if I were awake?” I find
myself asking rather breathlessly as I squeeze my thighs together discreetly.
His face darkens as he speaks. Part of me likes a man with a firm hand--just not
a heavy hand. There’s something hot about being commanded and forced to submit
to desire, as long as they are good at what they do. I suck at relationships.
Most men are intimidated by my bluntness and straight talk or just turned off
by it altogether, but Dominic Napoli seems to crave my sailor speak and rotten
attitude.

“Clara, what wouldn't I have done?” he all but growls. I
raise an eyebrow at him. “I’d like to feel that silky skin under my hands. I’d
like to taste you,” he rumbles and I gasp at his forwardness. “I’d explore
every inch of your body until you beg me to stop.” My breathing is more of a
pant now as his words sink in. His pants are undone and I witnessed the twitch
of his dick as he speaks about me. I’m flushed and feel reckless at his speech
as he continues. “I’d like to bring you to the edge with my fingers.” His hand
darts out, capturing mine, tugs me between his legs, and I struggle to keep
breathing. “Then with my tongue and....” His hands languidly move up my spine
to the nape of my neck and curl around it possessively. We’re face to face with
him sitting on the table and me standing at his center. “Then...with my cock,”
he breathes into my ear and I think my entire body just caught fire. “I want to
feel your nails when they dig into my back. I want to hear you scream my name.
I want to make you come, Clara.” His lips brush against my neck and a moan
slips from my throat.

His tongue slides to my shoulder then follows the ridge of
my collarbone to the other side, teasing me, and slides up behind my ear. He
sucks and nibbles on my earlobe and I can feel myself losing all self-control.
His hands splay my waist, gripping me firmly and keeping me in place. My hands
betray me and tangle into his glossy thick black hair forcing his mouth lower
on my skin. I cock my head to the side giving him better access to my neck as
he lavishes the sensitive skin with affection. My breath comes in ragged gasps
as I let him work over my neck, throat, and décolletage. As strangely and
quickly as it started, it stops. I tug his head back to me, ready to kiss him,
but he’s strong and stops inches from my mouth. “Don’t stop,” I hiss.

“I want you, Clara.” Well, no shit. Now I’m confused.

“And I’m giving myself to you,” I answer, stumped.

“I want more than just your body and I’m willing to wait
until you’ll give it,” he says slowly and deliberately.

“What?” I step back, shocked by what I think he’s saying.

“I’m not a cheap lay, Clara. I don't want one night, I want
all of them.” He reaches for me but I evade his hands.

“Sorry, I’m only up for a one night kinda deal,” I say,
hands up defensively and retreating further away. “We’re done here.” I can’t
believe I was just rejected. I’m completely shocked and if I’m honest, my ego
is bruised. “Call next week to make your next appointment,” I say harshly.

“Why won't you date me?” he inquires curiously. My eyes dart
to the ground as I silently form my response.

“It doesn't really matter...I just won't, and you need to
accept that before I get really skeeved out and scream bloody murder,” I state
firmly. He stands and dresses slowly, never taking his eyes off me. I walk to
the front of the shop, unlock the door, and hold it open for him. “See ya,” I
clip.

“I’m not known for giving up...”

“And I’m not known for backing down, now get out,” I
interrupt.

“Just to be clear, you were willing to fuck me without
hesitation but you’re not willing to go on a date with me?” He asks, his tone
dangerously close to judgmental. One statement and he’s reduced me to some
cheap whore and I hate him for it. I’m a little wild but not like that. Not
usually. He makes me want to surrender my body to him. We’ve never even kissed.
I don't know him.

“What can I say, I’m attracted to you. I was willing to go
with the attraction and ignore your personality for the night,” I drop
sarcastically, then shove him out the door and make a show of locking it behind
him. As soon as he disappears out of sight I collapse on the floor as a few
tears leak from my eyes. How dare he make me feel like a slut. I’ve been with
five people and I’m thirty-two for Christ's sake, that’s hardly skank
territory. In fact, I’m sure it’s safe to assume that Mr. Pompous Ass has been
with at least double that. Sniffling, I wipe my cheeks clean of the tears that
have spilled down them, reset the thermostat, kill the lights, and head out.
This day has been nothing but crap and I’m done.

She-Bitch

The house is annoyingly quiet. Sawyer left a note saying he
was staying at Kylie's tonight and with Allie gone that leaves just me to hold
down the fort. I grab a beer from the fridge and plop down on the beanbag chair
usually reserved for Allie. It smells like her and my heart aches a little
knowing I won't see her for six more days. I take a sip of my beer and start
thinking about my pathetic love life. I’d shied away from men mostly because my
mom was an absentee mom growing up, always doting on a new boyfriend after my
dad was found guilty of embezzling and sent off to prison. I didn’t trust men
and I didn’t want to be like my mother. I’d given my V-card to some douche in
high school who didn’t even know my last name. It was quick, relatively
painless, and completely uneventful. After that I’d waited until college before
trying again. Tucker and I had dated for a year and although the sex was fairly
vanilla, it was satisfying because we cared deeply for each other. I’d left
Tucker, like a jerk, for Daniel. He’d come into the coffee shop where I worked
and swept me off my feet. Hook, line, and sinker, I was a goner from the first
moment he spoke. He was a Harvard Law student and came with an impressive trust
fund. Never had I been so pampered and spoiled, so taken care of. It was like a
fairy tale. Between the sheets he subjected me to a whole new world of
possibilities and I loved every second of it. Although he was overbearing,
controlling, and possessive, I continued deeper into our relationship. Amanda
and Marg hated him. I can understand why now, but I was too blind to get it
then. The day I graduated college he proposed. His grandmother’s engagement
ring was a stunning family heirloom and valued at well over twenty thousand
dollars. We moved in together shortly after that to his townhouse while he
finished law school. From there we would move back to his California home where
he would be groomed to follow his father’s footsteps in politics.

Appearances were everything. I needed to look and act the
part any time we were outside our home. There were no days off in Daniel’s
world. I’d always wanted to be a tattoo artist. My degree in graphic design was
just that: a degree, a fall-back, but Daniel would have no part of my dream. I
was to fall in line and be a kept woman. I was not to complain that he was out
with other women doing what he wanted. I would always smile and appear picture
perfect. I grew to resent and later hate him until one day I disappeared into
the wind and never looked back. I abandoned him, my mother, and everyone else
in my life. I moved constantly and never really let anyone in. After delivering
Allie I became even more vigilant about our safety, knowing that if Daniel ever
found out he had an illegitimate child with a poor tattoo artist it would be
detrimental to his appearance and his family’s social standing. I couldn't
imagine how he’d react or what he might do so I never gave him the chance. No
one entered my little bubble until Sawyer.

I don't know why but when he blew into my and Allie’s lives
it felt right and safe and meant to be. The feeling seemed to be mutual but
like always I grew restless and pushed him away. Well, emotionally at least. He
gets it though, and stays anyways. Connor was a month-long, intense fling that
fizzled out almost as intensely as it started. Sawyer hated Connor. Lastly,
there was Brian, a really nice guy. I guess that was the problem. We dated for
a few months and he was just too nice. There was no edge to him. We never
progressed past first base. I’m not exactly warm and fuzzy, but he was and it
just didn't make sense. We still wave and chitchat if we run into each other
but he’s happily dating one of the kindergarten teachers now, which totally
makes sense. And there you have it, my sordid past and depressing sex life laid
out in a neat lame package.

Outside of Sawyer and Daniel, no man has ever claimed me,
consumed me, or had the balls to make me submit. I can't explain it but when a
man takes control and just...well...takes you, it’s a complete turn-on. When
they know what they’re doing of course. I don't mean they just take you without
giving back, I mean a man who claims you with the intent of pleasing you and
then taking from you what he needs. It’s hard to find a guy that confident in
life. I think I see that in Dom, which is probably why I let all my defenses crumble
and threw myself at him. For crap’s sake, our lips have never touched. He’s
never kissed me. Strange now that I think about it...I mean, he kissed other
places, but why hadn’t he kissed my mouth? Not that it matters. Dominic Napoli
can kiss my ass now. I am not some cheap tattoo tramp. It disgusts me that I
feel a pull to him, that I want him. I finish my beer and curl up on the couch,
flipping aimlessly through the channels trying to find something to entertain
me.

Make me laugh-quick

Amanda: Ahhh....spite baby, roast beef, clam strips

Hahhaa.... spite baby.... yes. mission accomplished.

Amanda: You’re welcome, everything ok?

No.

Amanda: What's up

I want Dom but I hate him. WTF is wrong with me?

Amanda: Nothing.

Liar

Amanda: Ok lots...but wanting him isn't one of them. Love ya
babe.

Yeah, ditto.

He bellows at me and I cower. “I hocked it, Daniel. IT’S
GONE,” I shout back. His fingers dig into my shoulders, no doubt leaving
bruises, before he starts violently shaking me. “You HOCKED IT? YOU HOCKED THE
FAMILY RING?” he screams, shaking me more. I snap my eyes closed and pretend
I’m anywhere else. His hands release my shoulders abruptly and as my eyes snap
open I feel myself lose my balance. Stumbling to find my footing, I miss the
next step and tumble. His hate-filled eyes watch every hit that my body takes
to the cold hard stairs before I crumple at the bottom in a pile of skin and
bones.

I fall off the couch as I wake up trembling. Tears stream
down my face and I can't catch my breath. I force myself to take deep breaths
and calm down. It was only a dream. I grab the remote and click the TV off. The
blue notification light blinks on my phone; swiping the screen, a new text
message appears:

I’d like to apologize. -Dominic

How’d you get this number?

I hit Send and sluggishly walk upstairs to my room. I plug
the phone in, set it on my nightstand, and snuggle into my bed. Closing my eyes,
I’m surprised when my phone vibrates next to me. It’s two in the morning.

Dom: I’m a man of many resources.

Apparently.

Dom: Tonight didn’t go as I’d planned. (Huh. Interesting.)

Whoa that was close

Dom: What.

I almost gave a fuck.

Dom: Tell me you accept

Accept what?

Dom: One date.

No.

Dom: One date to prove I'm not the monster you think I am.

Why me?

Dom: It’s late. Sleep on it.

I am definitely too tired to keep arguing with him, the man
never gives up. I set my phone to silent, put it back on my nightstand, and
roll over. The rest of my night is spent tossing and turning restlessly. Around
five I give up and relocate to the couch with a cup of coffee. I nap on and off
until almost ten before calling Sawyer and letting him know that I won't be in.
He sounds worried and asks if everything's okay. I lie and tell him I just
don't feel well and if Dom calls to book him sometime later this month. He
grumbles about it but agrees. He asks again if he’s needed at home and I assure
him that everything is fine and to keep all his appointments for the day before
hanging up and drifting back to sleep.

I feel weightless, like I’m floating. Strange. I’m warm and
something smells so good. I sigh. “I knocked first,” a voice says.

“Okay,” I mumble and nuzzle deeper into the delicious smell.
“Smells good,” I yawn and hear a deep chuckle. I feel the bed under me and
blankets come up around me. My bangs are pushed back and lips hit my forehead.
“Love you, muffin,” I murmur and curl into myself. I swear there’s an irritated
grunt before silence envelopes me.

The sound of shattering glass violently rips me from my nap
and I sit up immediately.

“YOU’RE A SICK FUCK. GET OUT,” Sawyer bellows. I hop out of
bed and run down the stairs calling for Sawyer. I skid to a halt in the
kitchen. Dominic is standing toe to toe with Sawyer. His bottom lip is bleeding
and fat. What is he doing here? I push between the two men and drive them apart
by their chests with my palms.

“What the hell is going on?” I snap as they continue their
macho stare-off.

“You tell me,” Sawyer hisses. “I just walked into our home
to find him here.”

“What?” I say stunned. I blink twice slowly. It doesn't help
clear anything up.

“I stopped by to make sure you were all right after calling
the shop to make my next appointment,” Dom explains.

“How do you know where I live?” I ask in horror. “Never
mind,” I bite out as he starts to answer, “I don't want to know.”

“How did you get in?” Sawyer growls.

“The door was unlocked. I knocked first.” He looks tired yet
determined. I gasp as things fall into place.
“I knocked first.” “Okay,” I
mumble and nuzzle deeper into the delicious smell. “Smells good,” I yawn and
hear a chuckle. I feel the bed under me and blankets come up around me. My bangs
are pushed back and lips hit my forehead.

“You carried me to bed?” I ask, shocked. He nods
unapologetically.

“Why? Why the hell would you come in if I didn't answer? Why
would you carry me to bed...what the hell is wrong with you?” I breathe,
feeling really freaked out. “This is my home. You have no right.” Grasping the
entirety of what he’s done, my body starts shaking forcefully. Sawyer’s arms
wrap around me protectively and I melt into his embrace. Dom’s eyes cloud and
get dark as he watches us. Who is this guy? Sawyer kisses the top of my head
but it doesn't do much to calm me. Creepy McCreeperton is standing in front of
me and strangely I still want to hear him out.

“Clara, would you walk me out?” Dom bites out. Sawyer’s arms
squeeze tighter. I feel torn. This guy is quite possibly insane but the
attraction I feel is overwhelming. It consumes me, makes me feel irrational
things. I inhale deeply trying to make sense of it.

“I guess,” I reply, and pry Sawyer’s arms off me to follow
Dom outside. Stopping at his car, he turns to face me, his expression pleading.

“I didn't mean to scare you.” He reaches for my hand but I
step back.

“I don't know why you think you can just bully your way into
my life but it has to stop. I’ll call Miller, he can finish the color for you.
I can’t do this, do you understand, Dom? I want you to leave me alone,” I say
firmly. Well, as firmly as I can muster at the moment--which truthfully doesn’t
sound very firm even to my own ears. His face is so gentle and soft and sweet-looking
right now.

“Clara, I’m not usually like this. You make me cross
lines...boundaries cease to exist around you.”

“You don't know me, Dom. This is insane! You can't just look
at someone, get turned down, then take that as an invitation to invade their
life,” I cry out. He hangs his head. It’s as if he’s warring with himself. I
know Sawyer’s just a scream away and it helps keep my fear neatly packaged for
the moment.

“I haven't been turned down before,” he mumbles. “I thought
playing hard to get was part of your game.” Dominic baffles me. Sawyer adores
me. Amanda and Marg try to keep me in line and I live for Allie. My whole
life’s a clusterfuck.

“My game? Playing games isn’t my style,” I bark.

“I can see that and I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped any lines,”
he huffs.

“Any lines?!” I laugh “You’ve overstepped so many lines
there aren't any left,” I say with snark and step back another step. This dude
is way past crazy.

“Clara, you’ve moved in and made my thinking crowded. I
can’t get you out of my head. Please,” he asks dejectedly and taps a finger
against his head.

“Please what?” I snap, gaping at him.

“Just give me one evening. A chance to have a proper date.
If you hate me after that I’ll bow out,” he pleads. I can’t help but laugh
maniacally as my eyes pop out of my head. This guy really is nuts.

“One date and you’re gone?” I ask unbelievingly. I must have
misheard him.

“Yes. I’ll even put it in writing if you’d like,” he offers,
adding to the ludicrousness of the moment.

“I would like it in writing and signed,” I find myself
agreeing. “One date, asshole, then you’re gone--forever. Are we clear?” Right,
now I’m the insane one.

“Crystal.” He grins. What have I just agreed to? I am one
seriously messed up individual.

“Friday night, pick me up at six, we stay in Virginia,” I
clip. He starts to protest but quickly shuts up when I glare at him.

“I’ll clear my schedule,” he submits as I storm back into
the house without a backwards glance. Sawyer yanks me roughly into his arms as
I cross the threshold. “Are you all right?” he asks, concerned.

“I’m fine. I agreed to one date.” My voice is wobbly as I
tell Sawyer, all the adrenaline suddenly rushing out of me.

“YOU WHAT?” he booms, throwing me back to look at me.

“He said one date then he’d disappear. He said he’d put it
in writing and I have a feeling with him I might need a contract to hold him to
his word,” I explain.

“Jesus, Clara. I can't believe you right now,” he spits.

“I saw an out and I’m taking it, what's so wrong with that?”

He shakes his head at me in disgust.

“I won't protect you from him. You’ve made your bed,” he
says. The hurt in his eyes is unbearable as he stalks upstairs and slams his
bedroom door shut. Why is this happening to me? I dig my sports bra from the
hamper and toss on my running gear. Maybe a long run will clear my head. I
really need something to clear my head. Obviously it’s not functioning
correctly today.