Love Her or Lose Her: A Novel (Hot and Hammered, 2)

Rosie was nervous. For a date with her own husband.

There wasn’t a woman alive who could blame her, right? She’d known for a while that her husband was majorly hot. Some time and distance had really brought that fact home to roost, though. When she’d taken off his shirt in their kitchen, that feast of muscles and tattoos had almost made her cry happy tears.

I’ve got a motherfucking ten at home. You think I’m stupid enough to let myself go soft?

Standing in front of the guest bathroom mirror, Rosie fanned her flaming cheeks. She’d never seen Dominic as desperate as that moment he threw her on the floor. He was always rough, but he’d been an animal. One who’d managed to restrain himself for the good of their marriage . . . and that might have been the sexiest part of all.

Rosie picked up the new bottle of curl treatment she’d bought during the week, spritzing it on her tresses to keep them tamed before squeezing the strands in her palms, the practiced action making her feel sensual. Tight in some places, loose in others. God, it had taken all her willpower to leave Dominic last night. Not because of his touch, although that alone was a powerful enough aphrodisiac. No, it was the effort. He was trying.

She closed her eyes and swayed, a smile curling her lips as she replayed their dance in the kitchen. That was the man she’d fallen in love with. It would have been so easy to stay the night. Move back in. Trust that everything would get better.

Rosie opened her eyes and watched her smile vanish.

But she knew. She’d been down a winding road with Dominic and she knew there was so much more to work through. The man still had secrets behind his every glance, every word. As much as his walls came down when they were kissing and giving each other pleasure, she could almost sense that dam inside him, holding back a whole host of important things. Lord, he was getting so much better at saying what was on his mind, but she was fighting for the future they’d envisioned. She would stay true, she would wage a war for their survival, but she owed it to them—and the young people they’d once been—to see this through.

After one final glance in the mirror, Rosie padded into the bedroom and regarded the deep magenta dress. She’d bought it that afternoon at the store before clocking in, and the tags were still on, dangling from the armpit. With a low neckline and satin material, it wasn’t practical at all. When was the last time she’d purchased something frivolous like this?

The day Dominic had come home from overseas. Her mother was still alive then and they’d gone outlet shopping and she’d found a summer dress covered in little stars that cupped her breasts just right, but allowed her to maintain enough modesty for the airport in the middle of the day. She’d smoothed lotion on every inch of her skin and sat at the kitchen table while her mother fashioned two braids and piled them on top of her head. Anticipation had been running laps around her stomach for weeks, waiting for Dominic to come home to stay. He’d grown increasingly quiet every time he was on leave, but she’d chalked it up to the knowledge that being home was temporary. Things would be different now.

She’d never felt more beautiful than she had when Dominic spotted her from the top of the airport escalator. His eyes widened and he seemed almost winded. But the optimism she’d plied herself with had faded the closer he got to the bottom. She couldn’t hold on to it. Not when he’d visibly steeled himself against her happiness to see him. And that stoic countenance—that mask—had never completely gone away.

Rosie slipped the dress over her head and reached back to tug the zipper into place. Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened during Dominic’s stints overseas. Sure, she’d asked him. Trying to pry information out of her husband had been a lot easier in those early days. She’d even tried to tickle it out of him. The more he’d resisted, the more Rosie had realized he would carry the burden of those years alone. Now, though . . . she wondered if she should try again. It wouldn’t be fair to use their separation as a means to coerce information out of him, especially if he didn’t want to share, but she couldn’t help wondering if convincing Dominic to open up about that time would be the key to bringing them close again.

The front door of the house closed downstairs and Rosie took a deep breath, enjoying the butterflies in her stomach. That would be Bethany coming home from work. Wouldn’t it be fun to show off her new dress to a girlfriend? She hadn’t done that in so long.

Minutes later, a knock on the guest room door had Rosie turning around, fingers fluttering at the hem of her dress. “Oh God. Okay. Come in.”

Bethany was frowning when she opened the door, but then a smile cleared her face. “What?” She stomped her foot. “You are so hot in that dress. I am attracted to you right now. No joke. Go through with the divorce so we can get married.” She squealed and clapped her hands. “Sorry, I took that too far, but you look insane.”

“I feel insane.” Rosie twisted her hips side to side. “It wasn’t on sale, either. I splurged. I’m not even sorry!”

“You shouldn’t be! Sorry is for suckers!” Bethany took Rosie’s wrists and held them out to her sides. “Do you have shoes?”

“I was just going to wear my work heels—”

“Nope.” Bethany made a ninety-degree turn and marched out the door. “Follow me.”

They were sitting on the luxurious white carpeting in Bethany’s walk-in closet when Georgie appeared in the doorframe. Dressed in a clown suit. “Hey. I wasn’t invited to the shoe party?”

“It was an impromptu affair. Rosie is going on a date with her husband.”

Georgie dropped into a cross-legged position. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” Nerves flickered in her fingertips. “He just said he’d pick me up at six.”

“Ooh. Mysterious.”

Rosie hummed and slipped on a pair of matte gold stilettos. “These?”

“God, yes, that gold complements the color of the dress beautifully,” Bethany breathed, waving a hand at Rosie’s feet. “Make sure you bring along some flats in your purse, though. I once ditched a date in Manhattan and opened nine blisters on my feet trying to catch a cab in those things. They’re not made for walking.”

“Ah yes,” Georgie said. “The classic sitting-only shoe. Extremely practical.”

Rosie chuckled and stood up, taking a runway strut out of the closet and back. “Practical or not, they’re designed to put impure thoughts in a man’s head.”

“Any inanimate object puts impure thoughts in a man’s head.” Bethany made a disgusted sound. “Box of cereal. Boner. Ice-cube tray. Boner.”

Georgie pursed her lips. “Still haven’t ended your man sabbatical, Bethany?”

“Nope. Worked out my urges with some quality internet time and I’m back on track.” The blonde tipped her chin in Rosie’s direction. “So . . . are we interested in putting impure thoughts in Dominic’s head? I thought that was a no-no.”

Rosie squared her shoulders. “It’s inevitable. We’re just . . .”

Georgie made an explosion sound, accompanied by hand gestures.

“Yes. That.” Rosie smoothed some imaginary wrinkles out of her dress. “We’re still following the rules, but there might have been some . . . toeing of the line.”

Bethany wiggled her eyebrows. “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

“Travis calls it adult naptime.” Georgie slapped both hands over her face. “Oh my God, he’s so cute. I can’t even deal with it.”

Rosie smiled. “Sounds like you resolved the wedding-venue issue?”

“Totally resolved. We’re really getting married in my mom and dad’s backyard.” She dropped her hands from her face to reveal a bright pink blush. “I’m going to have his babies all over the place. I can’t believe this is life.”

I used to feel that way. Rosie could remember it clear as day, that floating, rapturous sensation where the future stretched out in front of her like a red carpet. Thing was, last night dancing in the kitchen with Dominic, she’d been back in that place. Right up until she’d walked out the door, actually, the years of silence and uncertainty had been stripped away—and there’d just been floating. God, she wanted to be back there so bad. Back there to stay.

“You’re quiet, Rosie.” Bethany nudged her with a wedge heel. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” She pressed a hand to her belly. “I’m excited, that’s all. It feels like a first date and I haven’t had one of those since middle school. And I’m pretty sure I wore cropped cargo pants and a fashion scarf then, so hello, improvement.”

“Hell yeah,” Georgie said, reaching up to give her a high five. “How often did you and Dominic go out before you vamoosed?”

Rosie let out a breath. “Hmm, let’s see. Never? We started off our marriage staying home alone, and we never broke the habit.”

“Why do you think that is?”

She didn’t need a moment to consider the question, since Dominic’s possessive nature had been on her mind for a while. “Dominic liked having me to himself. And I loved being with him, so we kind of fell into a pattern of avoiding social situations, except for the odd visit to his family in the Bronx. By the time my mother passed and I needed a friend, I guess it kind of felt too late to try. Dominic’s mother is so sweet to me when we go to visit. She tries to fix me up on friend dates with her nieces, but they’ve already got their inside jokes and . . . I kind of feel like an intruder.” She split a look between the sisters. “For the last couple years, every time I spoke to you two at the Brick and Morty company picnic, I hoped we’d get to spend more time together, but . . .”

“I’m really glad we finally are,” Bethany murmured.

“Me too.” Brows pulling together, Rosie smoothed the material of her dress. “If Dominic and I can make this work, he’ll have to get used to sharing me. I wonder if he realizes that.” They sat in silence for a moment until Rosie started to fidget, needing a distraction from her first-date nerves. “Sidetrack me. How was everyone else’s day?”

Georgie made a sound. “I hate to bring this super-fun, girly mood down, but . . . I worked a birthday party this afternoon—I don’t know if you can tell from my elaborate face paint. Anyway, there was a discussion at the adult table. You know that woman Becky, who worked in the supermarket?”

Bethany hummed. “I get my groceries delivered.”

“I know her.” Rosie frowned. “Haven’t seen her in a while, come to think of it.”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s swallow was audible. “Her marriage was rocky, from what people can tell. And one morning, she just . . . took off. Left her kid with the husband. But . . . he wasn’t really interested in being a single father. So Supermarket Becky’s brother is in town now. He’s taken over raising the little girl, but he’s not having the easiest time. She’s seven.”

A shoe dangled, seemingly forgotten, from Bethany’s index finger. “Oh my God.”

“I know.”

Remembering how close she’d been to her mother at that age—at every age—Rosie felt her stomach twist. But an idea occurred to her. “We should help. The Just Us League.” Rosie wet her lips. “We could start a schedule. Meals and babysitting? I can’t imagine everyone wouldn’t want to help.”

Bethany was slowly nodding. “Great idea. We’ve got, like, nine empty nesters in the league who would kill to have a little one running around once in a while. Not to mention Georgie, who is like foaming at the fucking mouth to put her ovaries to use—”

“True dat,” Georgie said, raising the roof.

“And, Rosie, you could create a meal schedule . . . that’s your department.” Bethany sniffed. “Of course, I’ll bully everyone into staying on track. Because obviously.”

“This feels like an emergency, right? Should we get started now?” Georgie jumped to her feet and whipped out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. “I’ve alerted the league phone tree. If this brother is anything like Dad, he’s probably in the fetal position by now. We could head over, drop off some dinner, give him a breather . . .”

Bethany chewed her bottom lip. “Rosie has her date.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang downstairs.

A few beats of silence passed.

“Sorry, Rosie.” Georgie dropped her hand holding the phone down by her side. “I didn’t mean to put a damper on things.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll just go let him in,” Rosie said, leaving the closet. Bird wings flapped in her throat with every step as she descended toward the front door. Amazing that she could get this nervous and excited about seeing her husband of almost a decade, but there it was. Her mind was definitely preoccupied with the little girl and overwhelmed man across town, but nothing could stop the hot, delicious, butter-like melt that slid between her thighs when she answered the door and Dominic—dressed like he was playing to win—stared back.

The rich scent of his aftershave reached her first and plucked her senses like fingers on a harp. He wore a black sweater and dark gray chinos that molded to him almost indecently, drawing her eye to every ripple of muscle on the man. His knuckle tattoos were the only ones visible, reminding her that the sharp-dressed man was also a badass marine to the core.

When she finally managed to drag her attention to his face, the breath caught in her throat at the way he looked at her, like he was savoring every inch his eyes climbed, starting at the tip of her shoes and steadily ascending, definitely not in a rush.

“Goddamn.”

“You look great, too.” Based on his lack of reaction, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her compliment.

“I haven’t seen you in that dress before. It’s new.”

Rosie tried to pull sufficient oxygen into her lungs, but it was almost impossible when his voice was nothing more than a rough scrape. “Um . . .” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Do you want to come in?”

Finally, he met her eyes, and the heat there backed Rosie up a pace. “Sure.” He stepped over the threshold and kept coming, reminding her of a panther stalking its prey—and she liked it way too much. “Back in the day when you invited me in, your mom would put out a plate of alfajores. She’d make me eat at least nine before she was satisfied.”

“I remember,” Rosie managed, emotion clinging to the sides of her throat. “She loved you.”

“Maybe.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Or she was trying to clog my arteries and kill me so I wouldn’t take her baby girl away.”

Rosie huffed a laugh. “She did have an evil streak.”

“Is that where you got it from?” He licked his bottom lip and perused her neckline. “Because that dress is damn sure trying to kill me.”

“Don’t look now, but your game is improving,” Rosie whispered.

When had they reached the kitchen? She wasn’t even aware they’d moved until her back met the kitchen counter, and Dominic planted his hands on the edges, leaning in to take a deep inhale of the air near her neck. “Our bed doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

“If you’re planning on taking me there tonight to fix the problem, think again.”

“Give me some credit.” His lips trailed across her cheek and locked their mouths together in a kiss that drew moans from them both. “I was just going to ask to borrow your perfume so I could spray a little on the pillow.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “That can be arranged.”

Bethany and Georgie chose that moment to burst into the kitchen, talking animatedly. They obviously thought Rosie and Dominic had already left because they both performed a double take upon discovering them in the kitchen. Georgie tried to go back up the stairs, but she ran into Bethany instead, and they both jolted, stumbling.

“Sorry!” Georgie called. “I didn’t . . . We thought you guys were gone.”

Bethany was staring at them like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Look at you two. You read about raw, primal urges in books, but you never see it—”

“Bethany.” Georgie elbowed her sister. “Are you drunk?”

Rosie hid her face in Dominic’s shoulder. The man had made zero move to free her from the trap he’d made with his body.

“When is her curfew?” he said, winking at the sisters. “I’ll try to have her back on time.”

Before they could answer, there was a knock on the door. Several, actually. Footsteps sounded on the porch and voices reached the interior of the house. With a wince, Georgie crossed to the entrance and opened the door—allowing at least half a dozen Just Us League members to pile in, a good number of them holding covered plates of food and casserole dishes.

“Where is the child?”

“Where is this poor man?”

Variations of the same question were asked while Georgie, Bethany, Rosie, and Dominic gaped at the intrusion. It wasn’t over, either. At least five more women walked in bearing aromatic offerings before Bethany spoke up.

“Seriously, everyone?” Bethany sputtered. “Georgie texted you less than ten minutes ago. How did you get here so fast?”

“We were all at a church potluck down the street.”

The women—young and old—traded nods.

“We received your text at the same time, collected our dishes, and piled into our cars.”

“Swiped this green-bean casserole right out from under the pastor’s nose,” one of them said, setting off a chain of laughter. “The poor man was mid-scoop.”

“This is more important,” said Candy, the woman who ran an artisanal-cheese-and-wine shop in town, making her a local favorite among, well, everyone. “We want to help.”

“Rosie,” called an older woman with a green wool cap—Melinda, if Rosie wasn’t mistaken. “Are you going to kiss that man or not?”

“We already—” Rosie squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh God.”

“What’s going on?” Dominic asked, his breath tickling her ear. “Fill me in.”

Forming coherent sentences when Dominic’s powerful body was heating her like a furnace was not exactly easy, but she forced the words out. “There’s a new man in town. His sister ran off, her husband followed . . . and he’s been left to care for their child.”

Dominic’s brows drew together. “You said he’s new in town?” Rosie didn’t have a chance to question the dawning realization in her husband’s expression before he spoke again. “Everyone is heading over there to help out, huh?”

Rosie nodded.

“Including you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “This is supposed to be our night.”

“That’s why I’m coming along.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’ll push the reservation a couple of hours and we’ll eat afterward.”

“Really?”

His exhale bathed her mouth. “Not going to lie, I want you alone,” he said. “But I can tell you’re only going to be half with me. I’d rather wait until you’re all here.”

“How dare you show up looking this good. Saying things like that.”

He opened his mouth to respond and closed it, his forehead wrinkling. “Should I stop?”

She lifted up and kissed him softly, heat radiating from her face when a cheer went up from just beyond the kitchen. “Does that answer your question?”

“Rosie,” Candy called, turning Rosie’s head. “My two dishes were already reheated once. Are they safe to freeze and heat up again?”

Rosie surveyed the offerings. “Is there meat in that lasagna?”

“No, ma’am. I wish there was,” Candy replied. “Those damn vegetarians have infiltrated the church and—”

“Yes, you can reheat the lasagna. No on the pork dish, though.”

Rosie started to turn back to Dominic, but Melinda tapped her arm. “How would you portion this? I’d say there’s enough for three nights, if we stretched . . .”

“Um. We can mix and match a little, but we should use the more perishable items first. Here, let me get something to take notes. Everyone, line up your dishes.” Rosie was torn between wanting to leave and feeling really amazing that the women seemed dependent on her advice. Her . . . leadership. For a woman who’d been ignored on the cosmetics floor of the mall for years, being seen as relevant was like a breath of fresh air. One she couldn’t help but suck down, letting it stretch her fingers as she picked up something to write with. “We’ll need kid-friendly meals, ladies. Who makes the meanest macaroni and cheese?”

Several hands went up.

Rosie smiled and clicked her pen.