Dominic

Room Service

Mina

"Dom—Dominic." I swallowed hard, forcing the bile rising in the back of my throat down where it had crept up from. "Thank you. I . . ."

Bowing my head, I blinked back tears, struggling to stay in control of the raw emotions fighting for release.

"You don't have to thank me." He brushed a lock of hair out of my face, then cupped my chin. "I feel I owe you an apology."

His eyes held me in a tight vise.

"What for?" Confusion knitted the pathways of my brain together, making it harder to untangle the tangled web of my past that had just slammed into my present day.

How did Enrique and the others find me? The thought made my stomach sour once again. If they know where I am, so does my Uncle Joaquin, the Mad Dog of the South.

"For not stopping what happened to you." He brushed the fluffy collar of the robe away from my collarbone and neck.

A heavy sigh left his lips, and he shook his head.

"It's not your fault." My hand shot up to the fabric, covering the tender flesh of my neck.

"It is. I shouldn't have left you alone." He drew me to his chest and held me. "At the very least, I should've checked on you long before now."

At that moment, I gave in to the weakness—to the loneliness the plight of my life had caused. I'd kept myself secluded and locked away from others, and now, I clung to him as if he was the only life-preserver in a vast ocean.

It had been a long time since I had interacted with another person on a physical level, much less an emotional one. But I felt a connection to this man. Perhaps it was the near-death experience of being on a plane with an incapacitated flight crew. Either way, right now, he provided a teether, keeping me from spiraling out of control.

"I'm just glad you're here now," the words left my lips in a whisper, and I wasn't sure he heard me.

"Me too." He kissed the top of my head.

A boom made me jump, and I shuddered in his arms.

"Shh." He pressed two fingers to my lips, then focused his attention on the open bathroom door.

"Hello," a woman with a mousey voice called out. "Room service? Hello? Anyone here?"

A brunette in a hotel uniform with straight hair pulled into a tight ponytail stood inside Dominic's room and knocked on the doorframe of the bathroom.

"Yeah, we're coming." Dominic released his hold on my body but laced his fingers with mine. "Just leave the food, and you can put it on T. Cross' tab or Dr. Quinn's."

"Oh, it's covered, Sir, by the CDC." She backed out of the doorframe and into Dominic's room, then headed for the door. "The champagne's in the bucket, chilling, Sir. If you, either of you, require anything else, please feel free to call or order online. The kitchen's open 24/7."

"Will do." Dominic shut the door, locked the slide at the top, and then made his way to the bathroom door—closing it.

He checked to make sure the lock engaged, slid a narrow, decorative table in front of it, then set a clay pot with a fluted top on the middle of the slick surface.

"If you need the facilities, let me know, and I'll move it," he said. "I'd just like to have a bit of a warning if the door's opened."

His words made my muscles tense because I knew Joaquin would have his men out before morning.