Chapter 99

Dominic

“I hope you forgive me. I did what I thought was best.”

————

The words spun around in my head for hours, taking away any hope I had of focused productivity. Even reading them on the page, years later, I could hear each word in my mother’s voice. A haunted echo of her in my mind.

There was trepidation in my fingers when I slid them along the lip of the envelope to unseal it. The paper crackled with the effort of unsticking, and I held the papers in my hands like fossils as I read what she had written to me.

A tear had dropped and blurred ink before I realized I was crying soundlessly. When I finished, I folded it nearly and tucked it back into the envelope. So many things came together at once, and yet a mystery still lay ahead.

I left mother’s room exactly as I found it, except I took her journal with me. No one else knew it was there, probably not even my father, and I figured no one would miss it.

My heartbeat was irregular and fast. I was both weighed down with the lack of her and closer to her than I’d been since she died.

“I’m off the clock for the day,” I told Lucas over the phone. “Spending the rest of it with my wife, if anyone asks. That should satisfy them.”

I didn’t even return to my office, just went back to my rooms and paced about until my frenetic energy left my body. A few dozen pushups also helped to put me into my body and out of my head.

And then I focused on food.

The one thing that could make any turmoil seem trite was a good meal, and I threw all my passion into preparing something for Mira. It was my turn to provide for my Mate, and I still owed her for my past crashing into our present.

The thought of Celeste interrupted my good intentions, and I knocked over a bottle of olive oil. I cursed myself, grabbing a hand towel to sop up the slippery mess.

“It meant nothing, she was panicking,” I said to myself, almost practicing the explanation I would give to Mira.

An alarm going off on my phone caught my attention, and I instinctively turned it off. I went back to my imaginary conversation.

“It was over before it began, and only solidified that I don’t have feelings for her. I love you, I love you…”

I felt foolish, not the proud Alpha who takes on any challenge. I was just a man who would do anything possible to hold onto the love of his life. I rubbed my eyes and brushed my hand through my hair.

I smelled smoke, and my brain reconnected to the alarm that had gone off. Turning around and opening the oven, a small cloud of smoke fumed out at it like a small sad dragon. I pulled out a slightly charred loaf of bread quickly, the top of my arm brushing a hot coil on the roof to the oven.

“Damnit!” I shouted, among other violent oaths against the cooking apparatus. I turn the sink faucet on high with ice cold water, running my wrist underneath it.

I was so wrapped up in the karmic retribution of my caress mistake, that I didn’t hear the door unlock and open.

“What happened here?”

Mira was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking amused and slightly concerned. It was only then that I realized I had more or less trashed the kitchen as I poked around absent-mindedly.

“I may have…made a mess of things,” I said, my face feeling hotter than the burn on my arm. “And my arm.”

I gestured to the small red burn mark that was glossy in the lamplight. She tilted her head and pouted, an expression of sympathy and pity. Calmly, she went to the freezer and pulled out a large ice cube.

“Ice first, to stop the burning,” she said, lifting my arm and placing it gently over the injury.

Her touch was so caring that I didn’t even wince from the cold contact. She put my hand on top to hold it in place. Leaning over the sink to the window just above it, she broke off a spiky stem from a plant on the sill.

“And then this, for the aftereffects,” she added, “and to prevent scarring. They say it was Cleopatra’s beauty secret.”

“What is it?”

“Aloe vera,” she said without condescension.

“Oh, I think I knew that.”

She smiled at me, and the worry around her eyes faded away. I only noticed she had been on edge when she came in because I could now see her relaxing a bit. Her hand reached up to my forehead, gently swiping a finger across it.

There was tomato sauce on the tip of her thumb, and she laughed as she put it into her mouth to clean it. The gesture spread heat throughout my whole body.

“I burned the bread,” I said, my eyes focused on her mouth. “I’m sorry, I was hoping to have dinner ready for you. Instead you’re just taking care of me, again.”

She shrugged, a hand stroking up my arm to my shoulder. We still stood in front of the sink, our bodies pressing ever closer. She made small circles on the back of my neck, and I felt the hairs raise up to her touch.

“I’m not very hungry, anyway,” she said, a luscious fire in her eyes.

I leaned down to kiss her, and we both melted into one another. Our lips did not move, but softened around the others. It was both chaste and the most erotic act. We broke apart after nearly a minute of tender contact, our faces remaining inches apart.

“You’re hot,” she said.

I smirked and snorted, which made her laugh too. “I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen, of course.”

“Is that the only reason?”

She took the ice cube from my hand, and traced a line from my wrist up my arm, then down on the other. I shivered from the cold and the sensation of her teasing me. She placed the cube in my hand inviting me to use it on her.

I watched it melt as it slid up her own arm. I brought it to her chest, in the open v-shaped space created by her blouse. She gasped as the water dripped down between her breasts, and I devoured the sight of her.

With my other hand I slowly undid the rest of the buttons, opening her shirt to reveal her simple lace bra and the softly toned belly underneath. She was slim from years of regular running, but soft and malleable to my touch.

The ice cube was almost completely melted when I slipped it inside one cup of her bra. An indescribable noise escaped her mouth, and I covered it with mine to cut off the sound. We explored each other with hands and mouths, until her hands on my shoulders signaled me to move to the floor.

I sat with my back against the cabinets as she undressed in front of me. She slapped my hand away when I tried to touch her during her performance, shaking a finger in admonishment.

“Not yet,” she said, a knowing look on her face.

She knelt in front of me, placing her hands on my thighs. Her eyes fell to the growing bulge in my lap, and she bit her lip as she started to undo the button and zipper. I had an idea of what she had in mind, but had never seen her so uninhibited.

When she took me in her mouth, I saw stars. My hand was in her hair, not pressuring her but encouraging her.

“Mira…” my voice sounded far away.

She pulled away and I heard myself whimper. Then she crawled into my lap, straddling me, and lowered herself onto me. Our bodies more in synchronized movement until we both cried out in united pleasure.

We stayed on the cold linoleum floor, dinner forgotten, for a long time.

“I went to my mother’s room today,” I said out of nowhere.

Mira perked up, leaning on an elbow to see me better. “How was that? Are you okay?” The sudden concern for me made my heart jolt from its slumber. She read my expression. “Did you find something?”

“I found her journal,” I said, wanting to spill it all out to her. “And a note, to me.”

“Oh, Dominic,” she said, her hand touching the side of my face. “That must’ve been hard to read, no matter what it says.”

“It was,” I said honestly, “I almost ruined it with tears I had been holding in for a decade.”

She looked like she would cry at the thought of my sorrow.

“But, Mira,” I told her, more urgently, “it was written right before she died.”

Her face became serious.

“I think I know who was responsible.”