Chapter 2 - Ours
“Where am I?”
Dominic placed the water on the bedside table.
“My house.”
“I figured that part out.”
“You fainted.”
“I figured that out too.”
His mouth almost moved.
Not quite a smile.
Norah pulled the duvet higher, suddenly aware that she was alone in a bedroom with a man whose name made nightclub owners lower their voices.
“I need my phone.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I need to go home.”
“No.”
One word.
Calm.
Absolute.
Norah stared at him.
“You don’t get to tell me no.”
Something changed behind Dominic’s eyes.
Most people probably did not speak to him that way.
Good.
Maybe irritation would convince him to throw her outside.
Instead, he rose.
He was even larger than she remembered.
His black shirt was open at the throat, revealing ink across his chest and neck. His hands were tattooed too, the elegant silver watch on his wrist looking almost absurd against scarred knuckles.
Norah instinctively moved backward.
Dominic stopped immediately.
That surprised her.
He kept several feet between them.
“My physician examined you while you were unconscious. Dr. Levin is downstairs. She refused to leave until you woke.”
“You had someone examine me without permission?”
“You were unconscious for almost 40 minutes.”
His composure cracked for half a second.
There.
Fear.
It vanished immediately.
Norah remembered the opening of the story in her mind.
His hand against her stomach.
That word.
Ours.
Her pulse accelerated.
“What did you mean?”
Dominic said nothing.
“When I woke up before—”
“You were barely conscious.”
“You put your hand on my stomach.”
His jaw tightened.
“You said ‘ours.’”
Silence.
Norah felt cold.
“What did the doctor tell you?”
Dominic looked toward the door.
“Dr. Levin should explain.”
“No.”
Norah threw the duvet aside.
“Tell me.”
Her bare feet touched the floor.
She stood.
Immediately regretted it.
Dominic crossed the distance before she fell.
His arm wrapped around her waist.
Norah grabbed his shirt.
For one strange second, neither moved.
She could feel his heartbeat.
Fast.
Far faster than his expression suggested.
“Let go.”
He released her instantly.
Norah sat down.
Dominic stepped away.
Then he said it.
“You’re pregnant.”
The world became very quiet.
Norah laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes disbelief escaped the body wearing the wrong sound.
“No.”
“Approximately 11 weeks.”
“No.”
“Dr. Levin ran the test twice.”
Norah pressed both hands against her face.
Eleven weeks.
Her mind searched backward.
Eleven weeks ago.
A wedding.
A hotel.
A storm over Manhattan.
And—
Her hands dropped.
Dominic was watching her.
Something terrible clicked into place.
“No.”
His expression changed.
This time she recognized it.
Pain.
“You remember.”
Norah stood so quickly that dizziness hit again.
Dominic reached toward her.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand froze.
“You.”
The word barely escaped.
Dominic’s face hardened.
“Yes.”
Eleven weeks earlier, Norah had worked another Rossy event at the Halcyon Hotel.
She remembered finishing her shift.
Remembered the elevator breaking.
Remembered getting trapped for nearly 2 hours with Dominic Rossy during a citywide blackout.
They had talked.
That was the dangerous part.
Not flirted.
Talked.
He had told her about losing his mother.
She had told him about her father dying when she was 16.
When the elevator finally opened, the storm had shut down half Manhattan.
Dominic had offered her a room.
She had refused.
Then she had accepted because there were no trains.
One drink had become conversation.
Conversation had become a kiss.
And the kiss had become the single reckless night Norah had spent the last 3 months trying to convince herself had meant nothing.
She had left before sunrise.
Dominic had apparently never forgotten.
Neither had she.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Then why were you watching me tonight?”
Dominic hesitated.
Wrong move.
Norah saw it.
“What?”
“Norah—”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Dominic walked to the window.
Outside the bedroom, footsteps moved down the hallway.
Men.
Security.
An entire world she did not belong in.
Finally Dominic turned.
“Your collapse wasn’t why I was watching you.”
Cold slid down Norah’s spine.
“Then why?”
“Because somebody brought you into my house tonight deliberately.”
“I work for the caterer.”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
“The catering company has no employee named Norah Gallagher.”
Her stomach dropped.
“That’s impossible.”
“I checked.”
“I’ve worked there 8 months.”
“I know.”
That answer frightened her more.
Dominic continued.
“Your personnel records were deleted 6 days ago. Your tax documents disappeared. Your emergency contact was changed yesterday.”
Norah stopped breathing.
“To who?”
Dominic's eyes held hers.
“Me.”
A knock sounded.
One of Dominic’s men entered without crossing the threshold.
“Boss.”
Dominic glanced over.
“What?”
The man looked at Norah before lowering his voice.
“We found the champagne flute.”
Dominic became perfectly still.
“And?”
“Positive.”
“For what?”
The guard hesitated.
Dominic’s voice dropped.
“Say it.”
“A sedative.”
Norah’s skin went cold.
“I didn’t drink champagne.”
Both men looked at her.
Dominic slowly turned.
“What?”
“I was serving it. I didn’t drink any.”
The guard reached inside his jacket.
“Then we have another problem.”
He placed something on the table.
A photograph.
Norah stared down.
It showed her leaving her Queens apartment that morning.
On the back, someone had written 5 words.
ROSSY’S HEIR DIES BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Dominic read it once.
Then again.
The man who had seemed terrifying minutes earlier became something worse.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Certain.
He looked toward his guard.
“Lock the estate.”
Norah’s throat tightened.
Dominic’s eyes returned to her stomach.
May you like
“Nobody leaves.”
Then the lights went out.
