Chapter Seven: What I Can’t Have

Dominic

I should’ve made her take a cab.

Should’ve let her walk out of that restaurant in that fucking dress, get into a cab, and disappear for the night. Away from me. Away from this… pull.

But I didn’t.

Because I’m weak.

And I’ve been lying to myself about it for a long time.

I opened the car door and let her slide in first, catching a flash of thigh that sent a bolt of heat straight through me. A better man would’ve looked away. A smarter one.

I followed her inside anyway.

The scent of her hit me like a punch — sweet, warm, a little floral, and completely uninvited. She took up the whole space without even trying. And for all the distance the backseat of my car offered, it might as well have been a goddamn cage.

She sat too close. Or maybe I did.

Didn’t matter.

I could feel her.

The bare skin of her shoulder brushed my sleeve and every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire. The urge to touch her, to grip her chin and tilt her face toward mine, just to see how far I could push before she broke — it was so sharp it hurt.

And she had no idea.

She thought she was safe with me.

She didn’t know the kind of things I thought about late at night.

The things I dreamed of doing to her.

How many times I’d woken up with her name in my throat, her face in my head, my hands on my own skin because touching her was the one line I couldn’t cross.

Because she’s Carter’s little sister.

Because she’s too good for me.

Because if I take her, I won’t give her back.

I kept my gaze straight ahead, watching the city blur past the window, pretending like I didn’t notice the way her chest rose and fell a little too quickly. Like I didn’t hear the tiny catch in her breath when my fingers brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder.

Stupid fucking move.

I felt her shiver.

I spoke before I could stop myself. “You shouldn’t have worn that.”

It sounded like an accusation because it was.

I wanted her to be angry. Wanted her to snap back and remind me why I shouldn’t want her.

But she turned to me with those wide, defiant eyes — blue, fierce, so goddamn beautiful it made my chest ache.

“Excuse me?”

Fuck.

I clenched my jaw, dragging my gaze over her. The curve of her neck. The dip of her collarbone. The swell of her breasts against that silk fabric. She was temptation wrapped in innocence, and I was losing every ounce of control I had left.

“That dress,” I muttered. “You knew what you were doing.”

She scoffed, tossing that golden hair over her shoulder, and it hit me in the face like a taunt. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Testing me,” I said before I could stop it.

And it was the truth.

Whether she knew it or not, she’d been testing me for years. Every sharp comment. Every heated glare. Every time she walked into a room like she didn’t own it — like she didn’t already own me.

“I’m not a good man, Carter.”

My voice sounded rough. Wrong.

And the look in her eyes when she heard it — like she wasn’t scared, like she wanted to see what was underneath — was the most dangerous thing of all.

I flexed my hand on my thigh, resisting the urge to reach for her.

Because if I did…

I wouldn’t stop.

The car slowed in front of her hotel and I told myself this was it. I’d done enough damage for one night.

“I’ll see you at eight,” I said, voice low.

And then I was gone.

I didn’t wait for her to reply.

Didn’t trust myself to.

Because if I stayed one second longer, I would’ve dragged her against me and kissed her like a man with nothing to lose.

And the problem was — when it came to Amelia Carter…

I didn’t.