Page 71 of Full Throttle

“The way you taste…” His voice was ragged. “It’s exactly like I remember.”

Her voice was embarrassingly breathless. “It’s—”

“Strawberry.” Dominic nipped at her lip. “I remember. It drives me insane.”

Droplets clung to his dark lashes. She ran a hand over his chest, mapping his body over his wet T-shirt: the scar where he’d fallen from a dirt bike, the birthmark just above his navel…She paused at the tattoo on his forearm, lingering over the fresh ink, but then Dominic was kissing her again, and she abruptly forgot what she’d been thinking.

His mouth was hungry and unrelenting. Thunder rumbled, and the vibrations sang through her veins. Juliette closed her eyes. She’d tried so hard to make herself forget what kissing Dominic was like, but her body remembered; she knew the exact curve of his mouth, the feel of him under her hands. Every piece of him was imprinted on her bones. I never forgot you, she thought, and the realization stung.

Dominic’s hot mouth dropped to her neck, and desire swept through her, burning away any common sense.

“Watching you with Sinclair…” His voice was raw. “I couldn’t stand it.”

Juliette closed her eyes. “There’s nothing going on there.”

“I know.” Dominic’s mouth found the sensitive skin just above her collarbone. “But the thought of anyone else touching you…” His eyes were so dark that they looked like ink, bleeding past the edges of his pupil. “It fucking kills me.”

Juliette’s throat tightened. “I didn’t realize you cared.”

“Care,” Dominic repeated, his lip curling. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

Her heart hammered. “And what’s the other?”

Dominic closed his eyes. She felt that they were standing on the edge of something. Every muscle was braced to jump. “This feeling I get…” His mouth tightened. “I’ve never been a jealous person. I used to laugh at men who worried when their girlfriends went out in tiny skirts. So weak, I thought. So foolish.” His lips curved like a blade. “But now I’m just like them. I’m unbelievably jealous when it comes to you.”

Juliette stared. She wasn’t sure that she was breathing. “You don’t even like me. We don’t like each other.”

She clung to that certainty, like a drowning swimmer gripping a buoy. She couldn’t forget the insulting things that Dominic had hurled at her when she’d last allowed herself to get close to him, the things she’d said back. If she forgot that, she was done for.

Dominic’s smile was mirthless. “If you knew half the things I’ve thought about you…all the filthy things I’ve imagined saying to you, or doing to you…” His mouth brushed the corner of her lips. “I like you too much, Marchmont. That’s always been the problem.”

She shivered. “But I—”

Someone cleared their throat.

Juliette whirled.

Ranya stood in the entrance to the garage. She was leaning on her cane, her eyes swiveling from their soaked T-shirts to their swollen mouths and flushed cheeks. Juliette stiffened. Dominic’s breathing was ragged, but he made no move to release her. For a terrible moment, nobody spoke.

“My office,” Ranya said. “Now.”

Chapter 23

Self-destruction

Sitting in Ranya’s office, Juliette thought, was about as comfortable as it had been the first time. Which was to say, not comfortable at all.

She shifted in the chair. An oily lamp sat atop the desk, illuminating a jumble of crime novels and meal replacement bars, knee sleeves and heat packs. They must have caught Ranya in the midst of packing. Dominic eyed a nearby stack of colored pens as if he was itching to organize them.

Ranya laced her fingers. She’d said nothing in the last five minutes, which wasn’t a good sign. Juliette’s mouth felt dry. Right. Guess she was going first then.

“It wasn’t what it—”

Ranya held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

She paused. “You don’t?”

“No.” Ranya’s mouth flattened. “Believe it or not, I didn’t call you into my office to discuss your messy sexual entanglements atop our team cars.”