The Dom Next Door (3 page)

“Wow, I can’t imagine writing an entire book. I think I could write a couple of sentences then I’d be hitting a wall, literally. Like banging my head against one. English was always my least favorite subject in school. Too many rules to follow.”

“Oh? So, you don’t like following rules? You’re a bad boy are you?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I prefer making the rules to following them.”

Beneath my cotton t-shirt my nipples hardened. I could follow any rule he dished out. With pleasure.

“Well, don’t you have to follow rules at work? What do you do for a living?”

“I’m in IT. I mainly work as a consultant for a few small companies. The upsides are that I’m my own boss and I get to choose which companies I work with. The downside is that when something critical happens, like if the servers crash at two in the morning, my phone rings. In the long run, it’s a fair trade off. At least I think it is.”

“That explains the computer monitors.” I pointed to the three spread across his desk. “If I’ve impressed you by saying I’m a writer, you’ve just impressed me with your profession. All I know about computers is where the button is to turn it on and how to access my word processing software. That’s pretty much it.”

He laughed at my lame attempt at humor and I thought that was a great sign that he at least liked me. I decided to try and take the conversation in a more personal direction.

“So, do you have any other hobbies, besides computers?”

Without even trying to, my voice had grown husky. My mind was filled with dark, sensual images. I’d been spying on the man for long enough to know what his hobbies and interests were and they turned me on. It was arousing to secretly know so much about a person, but to pretend otherwise. Although I seriously doubted that Jack was going to tell me that he was a Dom, but maybe there were some other things about him that I didn’t know.

“I used to like surfing, but not so much anymore.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“For one thing, I wasn’t very good at it to start with. I just liked being out there. It’s an amazing feeling to become one with the ocean and the waves. What about you? What do you when you’re not writing?”

“These days, the majority of my time is being spent
not writing
, but I really hope to change that soon. What I like to do for fun is ice skating. Obviously, that’s not something I get a chance to do a lot of here in California. I grew up in Minnesota and I could ice skate there on the lake every winter. I guess the closest thing I have to ice skating here is rollerblading and I’ve done that a few times. It’s just not the same as being out on the ice, the cold air stinging my cheeks.”

Jack opened his mouth as if to say something but the shrill ringing of his cell phone interrupted. He checked the screen and I knew it had to be a work related call that he couldn’t ignore. His mouth changed from a smile to a tight, thin line and his posture went from relaxed and open to much more rigid. Evidentially he didn’t like whoever was calling. Or maybe he just resented the interruption.

“I’m sorry. I have to take this call.” He put the phone to his ear. Not only had his facial expressions and posture gotten different, even his tone of voice changed. “This is Jack.”

He sprung up from the couch and went to his fancy computer equipment. The three screens changed from a black screensaver mode to in color when he moved the mouse.

“Okay, let me log in and check some things and then I’ll call you back. I think it’s a fairly simple issue to resolve, but I won’t know for sure until I access it remotely. It shouldn’t take longer than ten minutes to get back in touch with you.”

He disengaged the call and turned to me.

“I’m sorry to cut our conversation short. I have to dig in and do some work here. Can I confess something?”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to get to know you further. I’ve enjoyed our conversation and I don’t want you to feel neglected while I fiddle about with lines of code on my computers. Would you like to come back, maybe tomorrow evening? I’ll even make dinner.”

“Dinner and a scintillating conversation? How can I turn that down? I’ll see you then. Should we say around six?”

“That sounds perfect. I’m looking forward to it,” he promised.

I hoped my facial expression didn’t register the thrill I got when he put his hand on my lower back as he escorted me out his front door. Grateful that our apartment complex didn’t have security cameras in the building’s breezeways, once I was out in the hall and absolutely certain he’d closed his door, I did a little jig. Could this be real? Did I really have a date with the deliciously controlled Dom of my sexual fantasies?

Chapter Three

Even though it was a casual date at the Dom’s place, I took my time getting ready. I’d spent the entire afternoon plucking, waxing, polishing and primping every inch of my body in anticipation of what I hoped would happen later. Just as much time and thought had gone into my wardrobe selection. I wanted an outfit that looked sexy, yet casual. My goal was to display this sort of effortless beauty, as if I simply possessed the fashion savvy and impeccable genes that allowed me to look stunning and desirable naturally.

In the end the outfit that had conveyed my hoped for appearance was a pair of dark wash skinny jeans that showcased what I knew was my best feature, my ass. One of my ex-lovers had compared the shape of my rear end to that of a ripe peach. Since my posterior was the main attraction, I paired the jeans with a plum-colored silk blouse. The top had a conservative neckline, which was fine really, since I didn’t have a whole lot going on in the cleavage department anyway.

I did my makeup in soft, complimentary hues. My eyes were outlined with a charcoal pencil and I accentuated my hazel irises with shadow in a deep eggplant tone. Mascara and a nude-colored lip gloss completed my cosmetics. Thanks to the curling iron, my naturally stick straight brown hair was arranged in sexy, tousled waves.

I gave myself one final glance in the full-length mirror in my bedroom before slipping on my black flats. I grabbed my keys and the bottle of wine I’d set out to take with me. Maybe it was presumptuous of me to show up on Jack’s doorstep with chardonnay, but I hoped it—coupled with my sexy, but casual appearance—wordlessly conveyed I was interested in him beyond a neighbor. I was almost one hundred percent certain that Jack wanted the same thing, but better to dispel any doubts he might have.

“Good call on the wine.”

He let me in and I didn’t know what made my mouth water more, the smell coming from the stove or the way he looked. Gone were the business casual clothes I’d seen him in on our previous encounter. For our dinner he’d dressed casually, but to me he’d never looked sexier.

The top three buttons on the Henley shirt he wore exposed the tan skin of his upper chest. His light brown eyes and olive skin tone looked complementary in the Army green hue. I also appreciated that the cotton fabric hugged his biceps. He turned and walked toward the kitchen and I noticed the way his pair of well-worn jeans accentuated his ass.

“It smells fantastic in here.”

“Thank you. I’ll go ahead and put the tilapia in the oven and open the chardonnay.”

I took the glass offered to me and sipped one of my favorite wines.

“These pictures of the desert are stunning. Do you know where were they taken?”

“New Mexico. I’m from Albuquerque originally. I took all of them years ago, when I still lived there.”

“Wow, you took these? They look professionally done, so I just figured you’d picked them up at an art fair or something. Is there no end to your talents?” I put my wine glass down so I could count off all the things I knew he was good at on my fingers. “Computers, surfing, photography and by the smell of things, you’re a pretty decent cook, too.” I silently added the one talent I was most interested in seeing in action: his sexy dominant side. “Oh, and you can fold a fitted sheet into a perfect square like Martha freaking Stewart.”

I picked up my chardonnay from the kitchen counter and lifted the glass toward him in a toast.

“What can I say, my mother trained me well. I guess you could call her a real Suzy Homemaker type. She loved being domestic and entertaining guests. We were close, so I guess a bit of that rubbed off on me.”

“Were close? I’m so sorry. She sounds like a great woman.”

“Thank you, she was. However, she wasn’t great at taking care of herself. She was the type of person who always put everyone else’s needs before her own. By the time she said something about not feeling well, it was too late for the doctors to do anything about the tumors, all they could do was make her comfortable during the short time she’d had left.”

Emboldened by his vulnerability, I seized the opportunity to comfort him, even if it was only a small gesture. He tossed steamed vegetables into wild rice. I put my hand on his shoulder as he worked on our meal. A network of muscles bunched beneath my hand as he moved and mixed the dish together.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

And I truly was. I didn’t have a relationship with my mother. She’d disappeared from my life when I was still in grade school. I’d always envied people like Jack, who’d had the June Cleaver type of mom.

“Well, I’m sorry that I’ve turned this into a pity party. What do you say we eat and talk about something much lighter?”

“That sounds nice. Do you need me to set the table?” I glanced at the small modern-style dinette. “Just let me know where the plates and silverware are.”

Jack pointed to the cabinet and drawers. I got to work while he pulled the fish from the oven and finished up the rice and vegetables. We sat down across from one another at the rectangular table and he topped off our glasses.

“I’m in heaven. The tilapia is amazing. Well, actually, everything is delicious. So, tell me, what brought you to California?” I paused to sip my chardonnay and pointed to the pictures of the desert. “From the looks of the photos, it seems like you really loved that place. I mean, I could be totally off base, but people don’t generally hang pictures of places they hate in their houses.”

“You aren’t wrong. I loved it there. It still feels like home to me, but I just needed a fresh start. I came here a while after my mom passed away. I guess I’ve been living in Los Angles for about five years now.”

We ate in silence a few moments before Jack spoke again.

“I can see why you’re a writer now. You seem to take a lot of things in, notice a lot of details that other people might overlook or brush aside. Yesterday you mentioned that you write mysteries. I think you said something about a series? Tell me about that, it sounds interesting.”

I smiled and my perfectly made up cheeks heated.

“It’s a recurring cast of characters. The story takes place in L.A. The lead character is a female and she’s a crime beat reporter for a small newspaper. The crimes that take place aren’t gory. This is what you’d call a light-hearted series. You know, kind of funny.”

I swirled the last drop of wine in my glass before taking a sip. “In fact, my heroine, Jane, is a bit like Lucille Ball’s character in
I Love Lucy
. She means well, but somehow trouble—along with clues to help solve the crimes—seem to follow her everywhere. Jane’s smart, but at the same time, she’s the perfectly lovable goofball.”

“That sounds like fictional escapism at its finest.”

“Thanks. Or at least, it will be if I can get back in the zone and start writing again. There’s still quite a few secondary characters that need to be developed, you know, when I finally shake this writer’s block.”

“Well, you sound like you’re committed to making this series happen, so I’m sure the words will start flowing again when you least expect them to.”

Jack stood and cleared the table. I watched the muscles in his back contract beneath the fabric of his shirt as he rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.

“Feel free to have a seat on the couch. I’ll be over in a moment, I’m just cleaning up.”

“You’re certainly a great host.”

Once again, I nearly sighed at the comfort of his couch. I’d never sat on a piece of furniture that felt like what I imagined a cloud would be made of. My fingers brushed the material covering the armrest. Judging by the softness of the leather I knew it had to be expensive.

“Comfy isn’t it?”

Jack had stopped loading the dishwasher to watch me stroke his couch like it was a beloved pet.

“It’s pretty heavenly.”

“That’s the only thing I brought with me from New Mexico. It was a real bitch to get in the back of my SUV, but it was the first nice thing I ever bought for my house. I guess I brought it with me for sentimental reasons.”

“So, I take it all your family is back in Albuquerque?”

“Yes, what’s left of my family still live in the southwest. I have one brother who lives in Phoenix. My father’s in Albuquerque. He remarried a few years ago, but my stepmother doesn’t have any children of her own.”

“Do you get back to visit very often?”

“I try to go back every Christmas. How about you? Do you visit…Minnesota, wasn’t it?”

“You have an excellent memory. I like my southern California winters, so I usually only visit St. Paul in the summer.”