Billionaires' Secrets: Volatile Chemistry

Volatile Chemistry Part 8

Bella's pulse picked up. Would he force her? Hold their "deal" over her head?

His expression serious, Dominic raised his thumb and brushed it gently over her lips. "Shame."

How dare he? Her mouth quivered under his insolent touch.

How would he feel if she reached out and—say—ran her fingers through his hair? His thick black hair was combed back, but a natural wave pulled it into disorder that begged to be "fixed". Her palms tingled.

Bella jerked her focus off him and stared out the window. The cab was taking them into the gridless labyrinth of the West Village. "You still haven't told me where we're going. Wouldn't that be polite?"

"You know by now that I can be quite rude when the occasion calls for it." Humor thickened his voice.

"Why do I feel like I should be calling a cop?"

"Maybe you should be." He leaned forward and muttered something to the driver, who pulled over outside a small brownstone storefront.

She climbed out onto the sidewalk, self-conscious in her smart dress among the jean-clad people perched on the edges of sidewalk planters.

He held out his arm, gallant. Aware of all the eyes on her, she took it. He led her up some concrete stairs. Inside, people packed in front of a narrow counter. A chalkboard menu covered the far wall. Delicious aromas wafted in the air and she could hear the clatter of pans.

"Best food in the city." Dominic squeezed her arm in his.

"What kind?"

"Italian, of course."

Of course. And to compound his crimes of arrogance, he ordered for both of them without even asking her what she wanted. Or liked.

Or even if she was hungry. Which unfortunately, she was.

He chatted with the guy behind the counter as if they were friends, but didn't introduce her. "Let's sit outside."

Of course, Your Lordship.

"You know, you are a lot like Tarrant." She arranged her skirt on the hard bench that ran under the storefront window. "You do everything you damn well please and don't care what anyone else wants."

"There's a lot to be said for being decisive."

"In business, yes, but it can be hard to take in personal relationships. Look how many times your dad has been married."

That got his attention. Dominic's lips pursed like he was about to say something. Then he looked thoughtful. "How many times has he been married?"

Regret rippled through her. She'd forgotten that Tarrant was

a virtual stranger to him. She probably knew his father better than he did. "Samantha is number three. Have you met her?"

"Yes. Seems nice." He uncapped a bottle of San Pellegrino and poured her a glass. "Young."

"I think she's my age."

Dominic blew out a short breath. Shook his head. "Why (would any man want to marry a woman less than half his age?"

"Are you kidding? I thought all men wanted that. Besides, maybe I'm actually fifty, with really great skin."

He chuckled. "Nah. If you were fifty you'd be tougher."

"I am tough!"

He swallowed a draught of the sparkling water. "Yes. You kind of are. I like that."