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

Rosie watched the lights of Manhattan pass by in a blur. Some of that blur was thanks to the champagne she’d downed on their limo ride into the city. Mostly, though, it was just the nature of tonight. The breathless pace of it, the freshness of the experience. She was dressed in silver sequins—straight from Bethany’s closet—her hair was in glossy spirals around her face, and she’d been decorated with dark, cherry-red lipstick. She barely recognized the woman looking back at her from the opposite window’s reflection.

Good. She wanted to be a different kind of Rosie tonight. A Rosie who took risks and made decisions for herself, for better or worse. Tomorrow morning, when she woke up, she wanted to be someone who wasn’t afraid to try new things. Maybe getting drunk and dancing with her girlfriends was a far cry from opening a restaurant, but she had to start somewhere.

She couldn’t blame Dominic for the sheltered life she’d been living. As much as she wanted to blame him for the fact that she never went out, never cultivated friendships or had fun, she had to take ownership. Once upon a time, she’d wanted nothing more than to be home with him. Just the two of them. But toward the end, staying home meant staying in silence. Bobbing around feeling like a disconnected spare part.

She refused to feel that way tonight.

With the expensive leather rubbing the bare backs of her thighs and the sounds of the city drifting in through the open moonroof, Rosie might as well have been living on a different planet. The lack of familiarity excited and scared her at the same time. With her axis already tilted, she was getting ready to tip it even more. Before the night she’d gone to stay at Bethany’s house, she never would have believed she’d leave her husband. This morning, she never would have believed she’d quit her job. Something was changing inside her. Throwing herself outside her comfort zone when everything was already in flux made her pulse race.

Bethany scooted closer on the leather seat. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yes.” Despite her answer, Rosie shook her head no. “I’ve never gone out dancing and drinking like this. Not without Dominic.”

Her blond bestie sipped from her champagne flute and tilted her head thoughtfully. “What are you worried about?”

“We’re not even in the club yet and I feel unfaithful,” Rosie admitted, cupping her knees in her hands. “I’m in this weird place where I’m not sure if I’m afraid to piss off Dominic or if that’s exactly what I want. And I would never look at another man while we’re still married—that’s not what I mean. Maybe . . . maybe I’ll never be able to look at another man. But this dress and this situation where he can’t confirm my safety would be enough to drive him crazy.”

Bethany sighed. “I’m sorry it’s so complicated right now,” she said. “Look at it this way—if going out in a sexy dress is enough to make him lose his shit, the deed is done. The shit has been lost. But you’re here. Might as well relax and enjoy yourself.” They both glanced toward the other end of the limousine where Kristin was trying to fix Georgie’s hair and getting her hand slapped away. “We didn’t come here to meet men, Rosie. It’s just going to be us girls dancing and curating hangovers. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Rosie’s spine straightened. “You’re right.” She blew out a breath. “I deserve this.”

“You’re damn right you do,” Bethany drawled, tossing back the rest of her champagne.

“I’m going to dance until I get blisters.”

“Ouch, but yes. Who says fun can’t be bloody?”

The limousine started to bump along the cobblestones that signaled their arrival in the Meatpacking District. Their destination appeared in the window, and Rosie’s excitement level rose, eclipsing her trepidation. While they’d been getting ready earlier that evening, Bethany had regaled her with stories of nights out at the Gansevoort Hotel. It was a sleek black building, looming high above the packed Friday-night street. After their driver helped them out of the limousine, the women linked arms and clicked on their heels toward the entrance.

As soon as the seemingly identical doormen swung open the double doors, sexy, earthy music rode over Rosie’s bare skin and she inhaled the myriad scents of expensive perfume, cologne, and the rich, polished tones of the hotel lobby. It was darker inside the hotel than on the street, the staff almost intimidatingly good-looking in all-black uniforms.

The women piled into an elevator with several strangers and hit the button labeled Lelie Rooftop. It took them to the penthouse club in three seconds flat, letting them out into one of the most decadent spaces Rosie had ever seen. Just like downstairs, the atmosphere was dark, lit up tastefully with modern chandeliers and muted red candlelight. The club took up the entire rooftop of the building, sprawling in every direction with lounge areas and a dance floor, with a bar in the center of it all. Every side of the club afforded a different view of the twinkling New York City skyline and the Hudson River beyond. It was luxurious and magical.

“Wow,” Georgie breathed, getting off the elevator beside her. “And I thought the Waterfront was lit,” she said, referring to Port Jefferson’s favorite date-night spot. “I should have practiced dancing before we came. I’m going to look like a tawdry chicken out there.”

Rosie giggle-snorted. “No, you’re not.”

Bethany signaled a passing waitress, said a few words to her, and they were led through the undulating masses of people, through another set of glass doors, only to be seated in the very corner of the closed-in terrace on a collection of low leather couches. Around them, the avenues stretched out in between the tall buildings like arms wrapped in Christmas lights. They were high up enough to see the downtown sprawl that made up Lower Manhattan and uptown toward the Empire State Building, which was lit orange and yellow for fall.

“You weren’t kidding when you said this wouldn’t be a half-assed girls’ night out,” Rosie murmured when Bethany came up beside her to look out over the city. “I would have been happy with fancy sushi and a rom-com.”

Her friend was visibly trying not to look smug. And failing. “The club owner owed me a little favor. We were in a bidding war over some lighting fixtures online. I let him win in exchange for the VIP treatment next time I ventured into Manhattan.” She threw her arms out wide. “Witness the spoils of décor war.”

They high-fived.

“But wait, there’s more.” Bethany slipped something that looked like a credit card out of her clutch purse and pressed it into Rosie’s hand. “He hooked me up with a free room in the hotel. I thought you could use a night to clear your head.”

“I’m staying here?” Rosie took the shiny gold card, turning it over in her palm with a puffed laugh. “I didn’t bring my pajamas.”

“Don’t you know by now I think of everything?”

Rosie wanted to ask for more details, but Bethany left her standing at the railing and went to sit down. After taking in another deep breath of the city, she followed.

“They don’t have many places like this in Georgia,” Kristin said, as they all sunk down into the lush leather couches. “This is the type of establishment churches sign petitions against in my hometown. I bet my mama senses my proximity to the devil right this second. She’s probably itching up a storm.”

“Way to perpetuate the sexy vibe, Kristin,” Georgie said, patting her sister-in-law on the shoulder. “So do we order drinks at the bar or—” Just then, a giant bottle of vodka was plunked down into an ice bucket at the center of the table, along with a selection of fruit-juice mixers. “Oh, okay. I can get behind this.”

“I bet Stephen is beside himself right now,” Kristin breathed, her expression gleeful. “He about died when I told him his dinner was in the microwave. I blew out of the house like a turkey trying to escape Thanksgiving. His face. I’ll never forget it.”

Georgie turned to Kristin. “Why do you like torturing our brother so much?” she asked. “Don’t get me wrong. I know he’s a natural target because everything gets under his skin. But you seem to take particular joy in inflicting misery.”

“If there’s one thing that has been passed down between the women in my family—besides our recipe for sweet potato pie—it’s the knowledge that a man must be kept on his toes at all times. The second he gets comfortable, the magic fades.” She shifted around in her seat with a sniff. “I plan on being chased and placated until I’ve got both feet in the grave.”

“How very uplifting.” Bethany golf-clapped. “I plan to enjoy watching that from the sidelines.”

“Oh no you won’t,” Kristin shot back. “You’ll be getting chased yourself.”

“By who?”

Kristin worked her neck like a strutting pigeon. “You know who.”

“Uh-oh,” Rosie muttered, fishing the bottle of vodka out of the ice and beginning to pour drinks for everyone. “At least let her get a buzz before bringing up Wes.”

“Wes?” Bethany uncrossed her legs and doubled over, laughing loud enough to draw attention from the surrounding patrons. “You can’t be serious. You think Wes is going to chase me? If he tried, I would slap the ego out of him with both hands.”

Georgie raised an eyebrow. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“I’ve given him no thought. None whatsoever.”

“Now, Bethany,” Kristin said slowly. “There were enough sparks shooting between the two of you the other night to start a fire. Don’t piddle on my leg and tell me it’s raining.”

Bethany’s mouth fell open and then snapped shut. “Maybe that kind of antagonism between a man and woman is normal for you, Kristin, seeing as how you terrorize my brother for sport. But it’s not normal. Me and Wes actually dislike each other.”

“Antagonism is fun. Makes him work harder between the sheets.” Kristin ignored the groans from everyone, throwing an elbow at Georgie. “You and Travis had your fair share of spats and it only made him work harder to earn your favor. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Georgie’s drink remained suspended in the air for several beats. “Oh God, she’s right.”

Rosie could sense Bethany staring at her profile. “Rosie, lend some much-needed sanity to this conversation. You don’t actually think Wes and I . . .” She trailed off with a shudder. “You can’t actually believe there’s something there. Do you?”

“Um . . .” Rosie pursed her lips and pretended to consider the question. “I mean . . .”

Bethany gasped.

“Hear me out,” Rosie rushed to say, laying a hand on her friend’s forearm. “You know your own mind and how you feel toward Wes. But. Well, I think if you do decide to enter into a long-term relationship with someone, he needs to be a certain way. Strong. Capable of . . .”

“Putting up with my shit?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Yes, it is,” Georgie piped in, sucking down half her drink with relish. “Oh my God, this is already shaping up to be an amazing night.”

Bethany wrinkled her nose at her sister. “You’re all dead wrong on this one. Sorry.” She shook around the ice cubes in her tumbler. “I’ll admit there might be a certain unfortunate sexual . . .”

“Synergy,” Georgie supplied.

“Ooh!” Kristin danced in her seat. “Magnetism.”

Rosie tilted her head. “Connection?”

“Scourge.” Bethany pushed her fall of blond hair back over her shoulder. “It’s an affliction. An annoyance.”

“Only one way to get rid of it,” Kristin singsonged.

Bethany smiled sweetly. “Drop it or I’ll tell Stephen you’re pregnant.”

Georgie did a spit take. “What?”

Rosie covered her mouth with both hands and tried not to laugh.

“How did you know?” Kristin gasped, hands flying to her stomach to feel around. “I’m not even showing yet.”

“The level of your drink never goes down. You’re just pretending to sip.” Bethany shook her head. “How are you planning on using this to make my brother insane?”

“I’m not revealing my secrets.” Kristin huffed for a few seconds. “You’re really taking the wind out of my sails here. Is a surprise pregnancy-announcement-slash-gender-reveal soiree with a Venetian theme really so much to ask?”

“Yes,” Bethany and Georgie said at the same time.

Rosie needed to get out of there before she burst into a fit of laughter. “I’ll go to the bar and get you a ginger ale, Kristin,” she said. “We’re all going to keep your secret, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” the sisters grumbled.

A moment later, Rosie breezed back into the even busier club, the dark, anticipatory vibe swallowing her whole. Since being seated outside, the music had grown louder, the lights dimming even more. The bar was packed with people trying to get the attention of the bartenders, but she didn’t mind waiting and soaking up the atmosphere. The later hour had turned people more amorous. There wasn’t a hint of air between the dancing couples. As Rosie watched, a man’s hand slid down his dance partner’s back and massaged her bottom, making the woman’s mouth open against his neck. Rosie could almost hear the heavy breathing, the groaning, the whisper of clothing rasping together.

As she got closer to an open space at the bar, Rosie’s pulse rippled in time with the bass. Heat slithered around in her belly and pressed her thighs together. Dominic would know what was happening below her waist at a single glance. What would he do? She’d always done her best to keep her arousal hidden on days that weren’t Tuesday, but on that scheduled night, she would finally let the veil drop. He’d strip her naked and press her facedown on the couch, bring her to a blistering orgasm to take the edge off, then embark on a slower, more deliberate round two.

Rosie’s nipples beaded inside her dress, her shaky inhales loud in her ears.

God, she needed to be touched so badly. Kissed, stroked, embraced. All of it. She and Dominic might have been relying too much on sex to bolster their marriage, but it had been satisfying in the moment. A fleeting connection during which she could feel the pull of a deeper one. One they’d neglected for years. After what happened in therapy yesterday, she couldn’t sense his dependable presence at her back anymore. The rug had been pulled out from under her feet and she was in a continuous freefall. She might be mad as hell at Dominic for several things, but she would never stop wanting those arms to wrap around her. To catch her.

The bartender appeared in front of Rosie with a tight smile. “What can I get you?”

“A ginger ale, please. Thanks,” she managed over the music—and then realized she’d forgotten her purse outside. “Oh, shoot,” she muttered at the ceiling, torn between explaining the situation to the bartender or running back outside and attempting to retrieve her purse before he came back . . .

Dominic saw Rosie the second he stepped off the elevator.

He came to an abrupt halt, blocking everyone’s exit behind him.

Jesus. It wasn’t news to Dominic that his wife was fine as hell, but that fact wasn’t usually on display quite so fucking clearly. She could have walked out onstage at the Grammys to accept an award in all those sequins. And with those legs. And that ass.

Even in the dark club, her skin glowed. What little light there was flocked to her, highlighting the smooth curve of her calves, the plump side of her breast—which definitely should not be showing. Not here in this public place with hundreds of men. He could feel the primal tug of possessiveness in his gut, his throat, his clenching fists.

My wife. No one looks at my Rosie but me.

It was written in his DNA to charge over like a bull and demand to know what the hell she was thinking. He wanted to rip off his shirt and wrap it around her, hiding every delicious inch of skin from anyone who might want a taste. Taking her home was a given.

Christ, more than anything, though—more than anything—he wanted to throw himself down at her feet and worship her. Look at you, honey girl. The hottest thing in the fucking club.

As if he’d spoken to her out loud, Rosie’s head turned in his direction and the incessant motion around him slowed. So beautiful. She was so goddamn beautiful. Not just her face or her body or the clothes. Looking at her through a sea of strangers, the years of their lives were right there between them, rushing like a river. The excitement of falling in love, the hormonal lust of their teens, the trust they’d built while he was away, the millions of hours they’d logged talking on the phone or in her backyard, the silence that had fallen when they stopped trying.

Hearing their marriage was over.

Dominic made a sound halfway between clearing his throat and choking.

On the way into Manhattan, he’d been determined to come collect his wife, and the more miles they’d eaten up, the more his head of steam had built. I’m going to remind her where she belongs, he’d thought. With their eyes locked and the reality of their situation sitting on his shoulders like a ton of bricks, that shit seemed so juvenile. I’ve lost my wife. She’s going to move on without me unless I man the fuck up and work on myself. On us. Dragging her out of the bar like a caveman wouldn’t win her back. And he was fresh out of tries. Mistakes were no longer an option. There was only one direction left to go and that was forward.

Dominic was only vaguely aware of Travis asking the hostess where he might find a girl with “bangs, freckles, an adorable laugh, and a rock on her finger the size of a baseball” as he cut toward Rosie where she stood at the bar, still looking at him like a deer in headlights.

“Miss,” the bartender was saying when Dominic reached her. “Six dollars for the ginger ale, please.”

Without taking his eyes off his wife, Dominic slid a ten out of his wallet and handed it to the bartender. “Keep it.” Now that they were close, Dominic had to once again check the impulse to carry her to a dark corner and snarl at anyone who dared glance in her direction. Instead, he leaned in and spoke near her ear. “I’m Dominic. What’s your name?”

He heard Rosie’s breath catch and prayed he was doing the right thing. The past would always be there, but she needed to know he could change. That they could be different. Better. “I’m Rosie,” she said finally, her gaze dropping away to land on the ginger ale. “I’m supposed to bring this to my friend.”

“You mean I just paid six dollars for a soda and it’s not even for you?”

She pressed her painted lips together to hide a smile. “You didn’t ask.”

Dominic eased the drink out of her hand and set it back on the bar. “Let the waitress bring her what she wants. I’m more interested in what you want.”

“I was just trying to figure that out.”

“Meaning?”

There was no space at the bar. There was no space in the whole damn club—and it was loud as hell, music and voices creating a din. In order to talk, Dominic had to get close and Rosie did the same, stepping into his space and pressing her tits to his chest slowly, so slowly, and, needing an anchor, his palm splayed over her hip.

“Meaning I can’t decide if I want to hide with my girlfriends all night or if I want to dance.” She shrugged a graceful shoulder. “Cut loose a little.”

Dominic’s hand rode over her hip and slipped around to her back. Which was very much bare, all the way down to the swell of her ass. He ground his back teeth together, her eyes challenging him, and his voice emerged strangled. “Do you cut loose very often?”

“No.” Her answer puffed against his lips. “Never.”

She was telling him something. It was there in the sudden somberness of her eyes as she searched his face. Her lack of a smile.

“If you have a man, he’s . . .” Dominic swallowed hard. “If you have a man, he’s probably spent a long time assuming you need security instead of excitement. Dreams. Maybe he’s always known you’re the most exciting woman in the world, but he’s not sure you feel that way about him. So he works and provides. He can control that.”

Fuck. Had he just said that out loud? A gash was open and oozing on his chest after voicing those words to the world. He had a hard enough time admitting these things to himself. But here he stood with the woman of his dreams and their future hanging in the balance, so if a second chance meant opening wounds, so be it. He’d open every last one.

“Not sure if she thinks he’s exciting,” Rosie breathed, confusion knitting her brow together. “How . . . long has he thought this way? Why?”

Dominic forced a casual smile. “You’re asking the wrong guy,” he said, his fingertips drawing patterns on her smooth back. “If I had to guess, though, I’d say it started a long time ago and got worse after he saw other parts of the world, met new people. Got some perspective. After that, the only thing he felt confident in giving was stability. Maybe after being raised to believe that was a man’s job, it was easy to fall into it.”

Damn, he was grateful he’d pretended to be someone else. Every time he took a shaky step forward, the pretense was something to fall back on. The role-playing made talking easier.

“Look at you. You know? You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever seen. So beautiful you make me ache. And you’ve got a heart to match. You’re patient and loyal and dedicated and kind. A man who never worried about doing enough to earn you? That man would be an idiot.”

The yearning in Dominic’s chest gave him no choice but to pull her close, tight enough against his body that Rosie’s back bowed.

“You probably came out tonight to get away from him. When I walked in here, I could see that. You’ve been missing this chance to shine. And God, you shine so fucking bright.” His mouth found her ear and opened just beneath it, taking a small bite as her hips pressed forward, cradling his growing cock. “If your heart is set on having this night to yourself . . . I’ll go. If that’s what you need. But I’d love to stay and learn everything about you.”

Rosie turned her head and kissed his jaw. “I’d love that.” Their eyes met. “And I think there’s a lot I need to learn about you, too.”

With that, she took his hand and led him out onto the dance floor.