The Dom With the Perfect Brats (8 page)

She bit the tip of her nail, a habit when she was nervous. “I’m supposed to tell you our decision.”

“Decision about what?”

“About what you said.” She bit another fingernail, harder. “Last night.”

He shifted and his thigh touched hers. Should she pull away? Part of her wanted to scoot closer.

“And what did I say?”

He wanted her to repeat it? Ugh. Why did she have to be the messenger again? He had to know what she was talking about. This was a tease. A small fire lit up in her chest. Again, she had to prove she wasn’t one to be messed with.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she snapped.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” He was completely unapologetic.

She growled.
“You just like seeing me squirm.”

“That was cute. Do it again.”

“Do what again?”

“You growled. It was adorable.”

How could he make her so frustrated in only a few minutes? She rolled her eyes. “Oh shut up.”

He placed his heavy hand on her thigh. “Careful, girl.” It was a warning. One that would’ve made a weaker girl quake and take heed.

But she was in fight mode now. She almost didn’t react to his hand resting in such an intimate spot. Almost. She stifled a shudder. Damn her for wearing her shortest shorts today. Skin on skin. She felt like melting into the bench. She stopped herself from letting out a throaty moan.
Control yourself
.

“I came here to tell you Izzy and I agreed to share you but now I’m reconsidering my involvement,” she told him grumpily. “Maybe I’ll just toss you to Izzy to deal with.”

“Smart girl. Run now while you’re not tied up.”

She gulped. Tied up? Like she did to
Sean? No, thank you. Instinctively, she looked for an escape.

He narrowed his eyes at her. The hand on her thigh tightened, like a reminder he was in control. “You’ve been tied up before.” It sounded like an accusation.

She shook her head.

“Don’t lie to me.”

How could he flip from casual amusement to such dominance so quickly? Dominant! Yes, that was the word she’d been looking for earlier. Men in charge were called Doms.

“Are you a Dom?” she blurted then immediately kicked herself.

His knowing smile grated on her. “Ah. I knew you knew something.”

“Fuck.” She sighed and sat back. Now she’d have to go through the whole embarrassing story again. “I don’t know a lot. The only experience I have is my ex-fian
cé
trying to...” The words got stuck again. Her face heated. It was hard enough to say it out loud to Izzy. For some reason, Cross was even worse.

“Your fiancé wanted to get kinky in the bedroom?”

She nodded, staring at the ground. Maybe they could do this as a guessing game.

“Did he try to tie you up?” he asked.

A picture formed in her head. Her, tied spread-eagle on her bed, Sean standing over her with an evil smirk. She almost laughed. She traded the picture of Sean for Cross. Yeah. That fit better.

Cross removed his hand from her thigh, the cold spot snapping her back to attention. She found him studying her, his expression pensive. “He wanted you to tie
him
up,” he stated, as if he knew it for a fact. She didn’t bother to confirm. “I see. It didn’t go well, did it?”

“No,” she managed to mumble through her embarrassment.

“That’s because you’re not a Top.”

“Top?”

“To answer your question, yes, I am a Dominant. It means I like to be in charge. It’s part of my personality. It’s who I am inside the bedroom and out. But I understand your hesitation. That experience had to be confusing for you.”

She shrugged. “A little.”

“I want you to know, Gemma, I would never push you or Izzy past what you can handle.”

“I don’t
...I don’t want...” What didn’t she want? She wasn’t sure anymore. “I don’t want to do that stuff. Handcuffs and whips and whatever.”

“That’s the kind of stuff I do, sweetheart. Sort of. But I think you’re wrong. I think you do want to do it and your bad experience is holding you back.”

That hit a nerve. “So what if it is? It’s not the only way to have sex.”

“Of course not.” He leaned toward her. “But you don’t strike me as the type to run away from a challenge. You’re not the type to keep yourself from trying something new just because it scares you.”

He was right, but damned if she’d admit it. Though she didn’t know exactly how it worked, rough sex had always intrigued her. Being pinned to a wall, little bites on her neck and ears, a hand in her hair... She gave her head a shake. That path would lead straight to sopping wet underwear. Or maybe she’d jump Cross in an alley. She stifled a nervous laugh.

“I know you liked it when I tied you to Izzy the other night. I saw it in your eyes. And you flushed when I mentioned training bratty girls.”

She gazed at him in shock. She could feel the heat rise to the surface of her skin.

“Like you are right now.” He chuckled.

Anger speared her again. Who did this guy think he was? She felt unbalanced near him – a little fuzzy, a little like she wanted to rub up against him. Ugh! Focus!

“Anyway,” she said, wiping her sweaty hands on her shorts again, “there’s the message. Izzy said if you wanted to take her out on a date, she’s free Saturday.”

It was already Thursday. She wasn’t generally the jealous type but a little twinge of hurt settled in her belly. How would sharing him work exactly? Would they rotate spending time with him?

“I don’t want to take her on a date,” he said evenly.

“You don’t?”

He shook his head. “I want
both
of you to meet me at my apartment this Saturday night at seven.”

She leaned back and gave him an appraising eye. “What for?”

“I’m going to cook you dinner.”

Dinner? Cross the Dom was going to cook them dinner? For some reason she pictured giant steaks and buckets of ale. She giggled. He wasn’t a Viking
, but she couldn’t see him wearing an apron and oven mitts either. But a man who could cook? Who in their right mind would turn that down?

She smiled. “Okay. I’ll tell Izzy.”

“Good.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

It took a moment, and a smirk from Cross, for her to realize she was grinning at him like an idiot.

“Uhh,” she stammered. “I should get back to work.”

“Me too.” He stood then plucked the
iPod off his shirt and stuffed it in his jeans pocket.

“What were you listening to anyway?” In her head, he liked heavy metal. Or maybe classic rock.

He hesitated, assessing her as if he were deciding whether he could trust her. “Choral music.”

Well, that wasn’t what she expected. She shrugged. To each his own. No one would know by looking at her, but she had a thing for
bluegrass. “Cool.”

His forehead crinkled the tiniest bit as he stared down at her. Then the corner of his mouth twisted up. “See you Saturday.”

“Yeah,” she said hazily. “Saturday.”

He stalked off toward his shop and her gaze immediately went to his toned ass, framed perfectly by the
dark-wash jeans.

Oh she had it bad. Despite her reservations about the Dom stuff and basically going on a double date without the second partner, she still really liked the guy. Enough to explore things beyond her comfort zone. Though
, admittedly, her comfort zone had grown wider since she’d left Sean and Chicago behind. Dating Cross wasn’t a bad way to start her new life as a New Jersey girl. Not a bad way at all.

Izzy

She stared up at the steps leading to Cross’s loft apartment. The light from the top of the drive leading in shone brighter than last time. Had Cross doubled the wattage for them so they could see walking in? If he had, that was adorable in a way. Though living above the shop could have drawbacks, being across the road from the sea was a big plus in her mind. The smell of the ocean meant Australia to her, more than almost anything. For a second her chest ached.

Izzy
sucked in a breath, straightened her thigh-length shirt over her black skinny jeans then trotted up the steps to the green door. She’d ransacked her bedroom only fifteen minutes ago, looking for something somewhat acceptable for a date. Clothing wasn’t usually high on her priority list but when trying to woo at least one, maybe two partners, she had to step up her game. A shopping trip was in order and soon.

The brass skull door knocker made her think of the Addams Family. To her relief, it was Gemma who opened the door. Cross stood a few feet behind. The black
t-shirt stretched across his chest hinted at muscles. The phrase
kill it
under a tattooed chick with two raised six-guns screamed goth. She could handle the edgy goth ambience
–
it was the way he stared that made her knees wobble.

“
Should we let her in?” Gemma grinned. She had the side of her face leaned against the door and her hands wrapped over the timber as if she were hugging it. “She didn’t even bring any beer.”

“I ha
ve beer and she looks delicious,” Cross said with a slow perusal that made her tug at her shirt self-consciously.

“Good point.” She opened the door fully. “
Glad you’re here. Turns out the Neanderthal doesn’t know how to cook.”

Izzy
followed her inside.

“Gemma has decided she’s the expert.” That gnarly voice of Cross’s
...damn she almost shuddered hearing it. He stepped up, bent, and pecked a kiss on her cheek as if it were routine. “She thinks I bought the wrong ingredients.”

“He did,” Gemma whispered in her ear as she grabbed Izzy’s hand. “Come see.”

Being slowly towed down the hallway of a strange yet awesome man’s house by a girl she admired, made Izzy feel like giggling. The euphoria was not from the prospect of cooking lasagna. Though it might have been from the way the green dress rode up the back of Gemma’s leg. The woman wore a lot of green. For a girl who claimed not to be into fashion, she sure knew how to work those emerald eyes of hers.

Before she could stop her traitorous mouth, the compliment slipped out. “Nice dress.”

“Huh?” Gemma stopped, saw where Izzy had glanced and shrugged. “Thanks. I don’t wear them much. I hate dresses. I just...” She shrugged again and seemed lost for a second, looking everywhere except at her or Cross.

Hope fluttered for a moment. Was she dressing up for her?
Now that would be awesome. Logic nudged her. It was probably just Cross she’d aimed for.

“I’ll be tossing this in the back of the
closet again after tonight.”

“Why?” Cross nodded at her le
gs. “I saw some interesting tattoos on your thighs the other day. Gorgeous to see those on a woman when they walk with a dress on.”

Lips
twisted, Gemma inched up the side of the dress, peeked at the sliver of tattoo that showed – letters, Izzy figured – then let the cloth slide down again. “You don’t want to see my fucked-up legs. They’re scarred with my novice efforts. Come on. I’m hungry.”

The glimpse of toned and tattooed thigh
had been so tantalizing that Izzy had to fold her hand into a fist. They’d touched before, but dragging Gemma’s dress back up so she could ogle her some more would be construed the wrong way. And boy, they’d be right too.

Cross put a hand on Gemma’s shoulder. “Fucked up? No. It’s a part of you. Your life in ink.”

The way he’d touched her, the look of proprietary concern and the warmth on Godfrey’s face – that instant imbedded itself in Izzy’s mind. The man truly had a good side to him. He cared for Gemma. And that was both endearing and tragic. For a nerve-clenching second, she couldn’t see herself in their circle.

Izzy frowned, dismissing her crazy thoughts. “Come on. You were showing me to the kitchen and whatever
Cross bought that’s destined to become lasagna?” The kitchen door beckoned to the left and she stepped up to peek. “Wow. It’s so tidy!”

“I know!” Gemma hurried into the white and stainless steel kitchen. “I have never seen a man
this neat!”

“Comes with the territory,” Cross said, propping his shoulder on the door jamb and looking them both over.

The arrangement of the kitchen was friendly – across the right-angle counter top, it was open to the dining and living room areas. It was like living in a dancehall, especially with the spartan furniture. The space had an austere, almost churchy feel. Whoever was cooking could either chat or pass dishes across.

“What territory?” Izzy raised her eyebrows. “This could pass as either a hospital kitchen or upmarket minimalist décor one for someone who is very anal.”

“I prefer the latter. The territory? Being a Dom. It makes some people become ultra-organized.”

It did?
Heart in her throat, Izzy decided to ignore the challenge implied there – to find out more about this Domming he spoke of. Though she and Gemma knew, didn’t they? After what had happened at the shop, they both knew the man was kinky. And they were both here...so whatever had drawn her, maybe it was attracting Gemma as well?

Strange how enticing the possibilities were. Being bi meant she liked both sexes but she’d never thought past one on one. The idea of a man being in charge and making her do things to him or Gemma
...or him doing things to her, to them...uh, all of them together, in bed... Arousal flashed through her.

Focus.
Cooking.

“I gather you don’t want
Cross cooking?”

Gemma swallowed.
“Hell no. Have you looked?”

“At?” She looked about, bewildered.

“She’s got a thing about ketchup in lasagna.” Cross hauled a stool into the counter and sat with his heels propped on the floor, attentive as a man about to watch a catastrophe unfold before his eyes.

“Ketchup? Yeah that word is awful. No lasagna deserves ketchup.” The bottle of red stuff stuck up from the middle of a pile of ingredients. “We call it tomato sauce in Australia. Ketchup
...” She shook her head. “Such a weird word.”

“This coming from a country that puts thongs on their feet.” The spatula in Gemma’s hand quivered indignantly as she gestured at Izzy. “Did you know that
, Cross?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, so you’ve heard about our thongs? But flip flops is like a word a baby would make up.” She stuck her tongue tip on her upper lip and waited for Gemma’s next move.

“Better than wearing my underwear on my feet.
Thongs are underwear not shoes!”

“Are you two going to keep playing
word-wrestling games, or are you making food? Though if you want to combine the two, you can Jello wrestle out the back. Either of you want a glass of red? There’s beer too.” He slid off the stool and went to the fridge. From the door, he pulled a wine bottle by its neck. “Merlot. You can put some in the lasagna if you want.”

Both of them nodded and he poured out three
glasses. “Before you came, Izzy, Gemma was insulting my lasagna recipe.” He pointed with one finger of the hand carrying his glass. “Cream, onions, garlic, ground beef, cheese, ketchup, those sheets of flat lasagna stuff...what did I miss?”

“
Marinara sauce!” Gemma said, nearly growling. “It’s essential. And you have cheap dried garlic in a container, not fresh.”

After rubbing his chin, Cross sighed. “Women. Throw it all in.”

“Throw? What say we toss you in for flavor?” Gemma glared in an exaggerated way.

So cute, watching her glare. Izzy grinned and waited to see what would happen next.

“Want to try?” Slowly, he placed his goblet on the counter with the tiny chime of glass on granite. His chuckle sounded both amused and menacing enough to make the hairs stand up on her neck. How the hell he managed that, Izzy wasn’t sure, but she rushed in to defuse whatever it was Gemma had provoked.

“
Want me to run to the supermarket?”

“No, no.” She waved a hand negligently. “I can whip something up
with this. My grandfather owned a Greek restaurant.”

“Really?
” Izzy said. “I’d have pegged you for Irish with the light skin and red hair.”

She rolled her eyes. “Everybody sees red and freckles and thinks Irish.” She reached for the bottle of Merlot. “I’ll need this. Cross is right.
Wine is good for flavor.”

“So
...” Izzy put her hands together as if praying then tapped her fingers. “We’re cooking and he’s watching? Isn’t that backward? I thought you invited us so you could cook?”

Cross shrugged and took another swallow. “I’m happy to watch you two make a mess in my kitchen.” He examined them both, smiling. “I figure you can cook better than
I can, and I’m certain the lasagna will be as tasty as you two are to watch.”

She snorted. “
I can see through your flattery.”

“
Yeah,” Gemma chimed in. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

He cocked his head. The man wasn’t the prettiest to start with but his little smile made a glow kindle in her chest.

“You think I’m the sort of man that confesses...”

Under torture
– the rest of that phrase sprang into Izzy’s thoughts. And boy, she wouldn’t mind him torturing her.

Get a grip
. He’s got more eyes for Gemma.
It was true. He and Gemma had hit it off with all their threatening and friendly banter and tattoos.

“Come on,” she said softly, nudging Gemma back. “Let’s get started.

Chopping, frying, ladling out the meat sauce, and all the other cooking things took up time but the three of them somehow managed to chat about anything and everything, as well as the odd insult and physical threat. It was fun and somehow always slightly dangerous exchanging words with Cross. Like if she set her foot just a little too far into his territory he might drag her into his cave and...
swallow hard past the pounding in her ears
...have her.

Eating the lasagna at the dining table was just as co
zy and friendly with that tinge of dark excitement now and then. She could get used to being around both of them.

Sometime between
lasagna and dessert, they made her go take off her jeans so she could show her new tattoo, and they hadn’t let her put them back on. Who was it that designed jeans so tight you couldn’t get them above your ankle unless you were frickin Superwoman – or a supermodel? The shirt was long enough to be a short dress but she felt so exposed.

Mistake maybe?
But Gemma had traced the lines of the phoenix with her finger. That had been so worth it, even if her heart had nearly burst.

The woman gave her so many mixed signals
...or maybe she was receiving them wrong? Cross making them kiss hadn’t really settled much except to prove that
she
still desired women. What was going on in Gemma’s head was harder to figure out. Bold and crazy and passionate pretty much summed her up, so kissing a woman might just be something she wanted to try.

And it wasn’t as if Izzy’s last
girl-on-girl encounter had been a success. Even thinking around the edges of that memory made her queasy. Images intruded anyway – being caught by Anna’s parents, naked in Anna’s bed while kissing her, the arguments with her own parents and between her parents, the divorce; the ugliness at school when Anna shunned her along with all her friends. Disaster was the right word to describe her last year at high school.

She had no idea if Gemma truly liked girls.
When Gemma had touched her ankle before, she’d yearned to be able to reach over and push up the hem of Gemma’s dress so she could see and touch her too. She wanted to be able to press her lips to those luscious ones and know the woman would kiss her back.

Was it so much to wish for?
Would the world turn to stone if she found a woman to love? Was there a chance Gemma or Cross would love her back?

Still a little lost in her reverie,
Izzy wiped her mouth with the white napkin and stared at her plate.

Cross pushed back his chair with a squeal of timber. “
Told you it would taste as good as you two look.”

The burst of laughter from Gemma
made her smile.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.
” Gemma leaned in, making cleavage swell from the scooped neck of her dress. “Though that sounded dirty too.”

“It did?” His brow wrinkled. “Your mind beat mine to the
gutter then.”

“Sure it did.”