"Oh, God," Melissa said as he drove away. "That was too close for comfort. If it got out that I was sleeping with a client, I'd be a laughingstock."

He didn't say anything, and the silence grew awkward. Had she hurt his feelings? No, that was impossible. She was as much his secret as he was hers.

Wanting things to go back to the way they'd been before, she teased, "You were pretty smooth there. How many times have you been caught in a car with your pants down?"

A muscled jumped in Dominic's jaw. "My past mistakes have nothing to do with us. I was just a stupid kid."

Mistakes? What mistakes? She stroked his arm, joking, "Okay, then, how about I tell you about all the sex I've had with guys in cars?"

Dominic hit the brakes hard at the Stop sign. Then gripping the stick shift so hard that his knuckles turned white, he shot forward on the dark, empty road. "I want to rip them all limb from limb," he growled. "Use their faces as punching bags."

It was all she could do not to giggle with glee. "That's not very nice."

"Where you're concerned, I have trouble being nice." He pulled into his parking garage. "I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you you're my first in a car?"

"I hate thinking of you with other men at all. It drives me crazy."

She tried to keep her feelings in, but couldn't. "You're the only one who matters."

Chapter Sixteen

Spend the night with me, Melissa." Melissa let him thread his fingers through hers. "You make it hard for a girl to say no," she whispered.

He smiled at her, a seductive flash of white teeth and stubble dusted across a strong jaw. "I'll keep that in mind." He came around to her side of the car and helped her out just as her stomach grumbled.

"I'm starved, too," he said. "Have you ever eaten spaghetti alla carbonara?"

She shook her head. "My people walked off the Mayflower. I grew up on Wonder Bread and processed-cheese slices. Kraft macaroni and cheese, if my mother really wanted to spice things up."

He grinned. "Looks like it's up to me to educate your palate."

They took the elevator up to his condo and she followed him into his kitchen. Most men she'd been with didn't know the first thing about cooking. They always expected her to whip up something amazing with fifteen minutes' notice. Unfortunately, cooking wasn't part of her skill set. She even burned microwave popcorn. If Dominic could actually cook, it would be one more plus to add to his already long list.

He uncorked a bottle of red wine. "You prefer merlot, don't you?"

She nodded, warmed by the fact that he'd noticed. She sat on a leather bar stool and he slid a glass to her across the black granite island. "White wine makes my toes itch," she admitted.

He raised an eyebrow. "Also good to know." Butterflies hatched in her belly as she wondered what exactly he was going to do with that knowledge. She wiggled her toes as he pulled out eggs and bacon from the stainless-steel fridge and spaghetti from the pantry. Then he grabbed a pot from the gleaming copper rack above the gas range.

"Where did you learn to cook?" she asked. "My mother could make anything. She was passionate about food." He reached into the fridge, turning his face away from her. "If cooking shows had been invented thirty years ago, she would have been a star."

Melissa digested this information, wondered about what he wasn't saying. "Was she a full-time mom?"

He put on water to boil. "My dad died when I was three. She supported us by bagging groceries at the mom-and-pop store around the corner."

Melissa suddenly remembered a story she'd read about Dominic. After signing his first major-league contract, he'd bought his mother a house. "Were you the youngest?" "Nope, the oldest. My sister is one year younger, my brother just behind her."

"My God," she said. "Three kids under three. How did your mother do it?"

He looked uncomfortable. "It was rough at times. She did the best she could."

Clearly, Dominic didn't want her to probe any deeper. It hurt her feelings that he wouldn't share with her, but at the same time she understood. She wasn't exactly offering up tidbits about her relationship with her father. Besides, she knew Dominic. He was a natural protector. Were it not for his size, he would have been a natural defensive player.

As a child, he must have tried to assume the role of man of the house. What a big burden that must have been for such a little boy.

It wasn't unusual for pro athletes to have a chip on their shoulders. So many of them had overcome bad childhoods, rough neighborhoods, little money. But Dominic had never once tried to use his upbringing as an excuse for bad behavior. He was a better man than that. It was one more reason to love him— one more reason she didn't need.

Dominic looked like a wild gypsy with his dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin. She wanted desperately to be the mate he would sacrifice everything for. But the truth was that there would come a day when she would see another woman giving him a celebration kiss after a game; maybe even pregnant with his child.

Suddenly, Melissa hated that woman with a passion.

She gulped her wine, wishing they could stop talking and get back to bed, where things were simpler. When they were making love she could concentrate on her body and temporarily forget about her heart.

Dominic never shared family stories with anyone. Not his teammates, none of his coaches, and certainly none of the women he'd dated. Even his brother and sister avoided rehashing their childhoods when they got together, stepping around the fact that their widowed mother had brought home a new guy every month, and that each guy had been more horrible than the last, until she married the biggest asshole of them all.

His siblings had never thanked him for protecting them from these men; they didn't need to. Someone had had to start making good decisions in their house, because his mother hadn't been able to manage it. So, Dominic had stepped in.

Then, when he was a senior in high school, his mother chose her dick-wad husband over her kids, and Dominic had thought, Fuck it. He drank and he fucked and he stole cars. He was a hot-shot football player, the big man on campus with a fancy football scholarship to the University of Miami. He was the master of the drunk joyride with a pantyless girl sitting next to him, writhing beneath his fingers on her clit.

But his lucky breaks had ended late one night just before graduation. Joe had stolen the car, but Dominic was driving. Going a hundred miles an hour made the uncapped bottle of Jim Beam splash onto the leather seats. It was raining and dark, and Dominic had thought he was unstoppable.

The tree knew better. The tree was stronger than both of them, crushing Joe's legs.

Though Dominic walked away from the crash physically unscathed, he was emotionally destroyed. Joe lost his scholarship and never played football again. Dominic should have been prosecuted, should have been made to pay for what he'd done. But Joe's family was big in politics in Washington State, and they had insisted on keeping the incident completely under wraps.

Which was where the official story began. Dominic went to college, went pro, made millions. But every day, he paid for that lack of control twenty years ago. Being with Melissa was the closest he'd come to losing his grip in all that time.