Dominic

My room or yours?

Dominic captured my mouth with his, muffling my mews of pleasure.

"Looks like it's food poisoning from Rosita's the night before the flight," said Filipe. "Seems everyone who had bovine plates got sick. Guess having the fish plate like you was a good call. Anyway, I'm down the hall, the second room on the left—the same side if you want to join us. Ciao."

Head spinning from an all-consuming orgasm, I didn't trust my voice to respond.

Hell, I wasn't even sure if Filipe was still in my room or not—damn lock picker.

I was lucky he didn't pick the bathroom lock. He'd done it before, twice when I'd fallen asleep in the tub: once in New York City when I first started flying, and then again in Madrid when I had extreme jet lag. He was like the younger sister I never had.

An image of my father's face flashed in the back of my eyes—a ghost from my past—and along with it, a shiver shook my body.

The coppery smell of blood infiltrated my nose, and blood splatter patterns whirled through my mind.

A voice from my past, Enrique Vaca's, invaded my thoughts, unearthing one memory in particular—one I had sent to its grave.

Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye to you, my love, I'd never lie—oh, wait a moment, I just spoke a lie because I never really intended to die.

"Hey, you're bleeding." Dominic brushed a thumb over my lower lip. "You okay?"

"Yeah." The motion of his touch pulled me partially back to reality. "I must've bitten it when I . . ."

"Let me." He grinned, then grabbed a washcloth. "I gotcha covered."

Dominic pressed the cloth to my lip for what felt like an eternity. His eyes held mine, and for the first time in a long while, I felt bare—emotionally vulnerable, which was something I had work hard to avoid.

After a bit of time, he gently removed the cloth. "I think you're good."

He offered a hand, and the moment I slipped mine on top of his, he drew me to my feet.

Words from my past lurked in the shadows of my mind, waiting for a breath to breathe life into them: a secret's a secret, and once spoken, you're trapped by its words forever. Never able to tell another about its cruel endeavor.

For the second time, an exposed sensation washed over me—one that had nothing to do with my mode of dress or lack thereof.

He grabbed a towel and handed it to me, and in the process, his gaze racked over my five-one, dripping wet frame. Desire flickered in his eyes, and the mere thought that I evoked those emotions in this Asgardian god made a small smile tug at the corners of my lips.

Holding the towel over my breasts with one arm, concealing the front of my body, I dried off the other arm. When I glanced up, his eyes seemed to look through me, or slightly off to the side.

Now, it was my turn to ask the question he had posed prior.

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" That panty-dropping smile spread his lips. "Oh, yeah. I'm good. Just enjoying the view."

"The view?" I glanced in the direction of his gaze and took in the reflection of my body from the back of my head to the heels of my feet.

My eyes widened, and I turned to face him.

"And it's a glorious sight." Dominic side-stepped for a closer look at my back. "What's with the tattoos? Wait, are these numbers?" He skimmed his fingers below my left shoulder blade, tracing the interlocking butterflies outlined in numbers.

"No. That'd be strange." A giggle slipped past my lips, and I wrapped the towel around my body to cover them. I looked from my clothing to the robe hanging next to his shirt.

"You want the robe?" he asked.

A simple nod of my head sent him retrieving the plush, white fabric. Within seconds, he was back in front of me, draping the garment over my shoulders.

I snaked my arms through the holes. The soft, plush robe felt as light as air.

His arm slid up the outside of my thigh, and he grabbed the flap of the towel. With one fluid tug, he pulled it free of my body while drawing me into his arms at the same time.

"Shall we continue this in my room, your room, or . . ."

He raised a brow.

"Your room." Standing on the tips of my toes, I softly brushed my lips against his. "Because I have a feeling Filipe will return. And next time, he might have company."

"Good to know. My room it is." He claimed my mouth with his but showed restraint and care as not to hurt my lower lip, but there was no mistaking the message behind the simplistic act: the man displayed exceptional self-control.