Dark Dominion: Dangerous Desire Book 1 Read online

  I wasn't bringing some casual meaningless fling to my new sister's wedding. It just felt wrong. Besides, I'd probably end up going home and wallowing in the memories of my failed marriage with a bottle of bourbon again like I did after Dad's wedding. My frown deepened.

  Dad placed a firm hand on my knee. He gave me an understanding expression. He knew how I felt about weddings and how hard the dissolution of my marriage had been on me, even if it was for the best. He'd been there for me through all it. He wasn't just my dad. He was my friend too. He'd always been the one certain and solid thing in my entire life. I loved him and admired him more than anyone I'd ever known.

  "Did I tell you that Victoria and I are keeping Daniel while Natalie and David go on their honeymoon?" Dad asked to change the subject.

  He adored his new step-grandson. The little guy was only seven months old, and even I could admit how cute he was. Dad loved kids, and I was relieved that he had Daniel now.

  He grinned broadly. "There hasn't been a baby in the mansion since you were little."

  I squashed yet another sigh as guilt fell over me. I didn't think there were any kids in my future anymore. He never mentioned wanting grandkids from me, but I knew he wanted them. At least now, he did, even if it was through his own marriage. It helped assuage some of my guilt. It was stupid, since Dad had never made me feel bad about any of my life choices, but it was there nonetheless.

  He began telling me all about the nursery Victoria had set up in one of his guest rooms, and how excited she was to have Daniel for a whole week. I tried my best to focus on how happy she made my dad, and not on my own self-inflicted shortcomings as a son. Oh yes, this weekend couldn't end soon enough.

  2

  MALORY

  My sister let out a weary disgruntled groan as she stared down at her outstretched legs. "I have cankles," she said in disgust. She held up her hands and glared at them. "And my fingers look like sausages." She sighed and rested her palms on her swollen pregnant belly as her head fell limply back onto the couch she was sitting on. "I look like a beached whale."

  I was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Lydia's feet resting on a small cushioned foot stool in front of me while I painted her toenails. With less than two weeks until her due date, she couldn't reach them to do it herself. Enter her little sister to the rescue. I frowned up at her. I had no point of reference since I'd never been pregnant myself, and I struggled to think of something to reply to her statement that didn't sound trite.

  "You look beautiful, babe," her husband Andy said with a soft smile as he walked into the living room. He just got home from work a few minutes ago, and had changed out of his filthy mechanics uniform into a long-sleeve blue plaid shirt and jeans. He stopped behind the couch and leaned down to press a tender kiss to her forehead, his fingers softly brushing some of her big dark-red curls away from her face.

  "This is all your fault." She glowered up at him, but I knew it was just for show. He'd said exactly the right thing to make her feel better.

  "Fuck, yeah it is." His smile turned wry as his blue eyes gleamed wickedly. "You're a lucky woman. I'm one fertile motherfucker. My super sperm won't be denied."

  Lydia shook her head in exasperation, her aqua-blue eyes lighting up with adoration as she looked up at the father of there soon to be born first child. She reached up to sift her fingers through Andy's short spiky light-brown hair while he caressed her cheek. His smile softened again and I looked away, feeling like I was intruding on something intimate. I pushed my own lighter shade of red hair out of my face to focus on painting Lydia's toenails instead. I needed to concentrate if I wanted them to be perfect.

  "You're disgusting, Andy," I told him with a wry smile.

  "Why do you have Malory painting your toenails anyway?" Andy asked Lydia in bafflement.

  We both frowned at him.

  "What?" he asked in irritation. "It's a valid question. It's February. No one is going to see your toes at the wedding tomorrow anyway."

  "I want my toes to look pretty," Lydia said vehemently, "because the rest of me looks like I'm gestating a litter of elephants."

  "No, babe," Andy said warmly as he reached down to rest his hand on Lydia's belly. "You're gestating the most perfect little girl in the world, and I hope she looks just like you."

  She immediately began crying happy tears at his sweet words. I couldn't blame her, pregnancy hormones or not. For all of Andy Purcell's crass language and exasperating tendencies, he adored my sister and worshiped the ground she walked on. He had since the day almost three years ago when she walked into his family's car dealership, Purcell Auto, to get her car worked on. They instantly fell for each other, and were inseparable ever since.

  As I watched Andy come around the couch to sit next to his wife and put an arm around her shoulders, ugly jealousy reared its head inside me. I hated it. I loved Lydia and Andy, and I was happy for them, I really was, but seeing them like this reminded me of how alone I was without even a boyfriend, let alone a potential husband. It made me feel petty and small. It made me wish that Mom was still here. These were the kinds of things I could have talked to her about, but thanks to the evil bitch that was cancer, I'd been denied that for the last five years.

  I sighed softly as I fought my own tears. "I need to use the bathroom," I announced as I stood suddenly. Even after all this time, my grief still managed to sneak up on me every once in a while. It never really went away completely.

  They both absently acknowledged me as I walked out, their heads bent together as Andy murmured softly in her ear. My sister blushed, and I walked faster. I could only imagine what Andy was telling her, but I knew from Lydia that they'd been having sex a lot during her pregnancy. The hormones were making her horny all the time. Who knew that was a thing? It made me jealous again too. I was in the middle of a long dry spell, and I didn't even want to think about the fact that it had been almost two years since I had sex. I wondered if my hymen had grown back yet.

  It wasn't that I didn't like sex. I did, but socializing and flirting didn't come naturally to me, and I wasn't into casual sex either, so random hook ups were out. I'd been burned by enough men now that the thought of trying to start a new relationship terrified me too. My last several were disasters. Apparently, I attracted arrogant controlling assholes who liked to cheat on me. Now, here I was fast approaching thirty, alone and sexless. It wasn't how I pictured my life going at all, and going to a wedding tomorrow wasn't going to make me feel any better about it either.

  Andy and Lydia's friends, Natalie and David, were getting married tomorrow. Natalie's brother, Ford, was engaged to Andy's sister, Jenny. David was best friends with Sydney, Andy's best friend Jensen's wife. Yeah, it was kind of complicated, but they were all good friends, and since I was related to Lydia, I'd been invited too. Yay. Add one more thing to remind me how very single and very much alone I was.

  I sighed as I closed myself in the bathroom. I frowned at the mirror as I passed it to go take care of business. My round face with its big hazel eyes, small nose, and full lips made me cute and innocent looking. I was on the tall side at five-foot-seven, and I wasn't what you'd call sexy or drop-dead gorgeous, but it's not like I was completely unfortunate looking. I worked out to maintain my figure with its curvy hips and small to average breasts. I didn't have a tan. My skin was far too fair for that and burned at the first opportunity, but it was soft and smooth, and I loved my dusting of freckles. Surely you'd think there was someone out there who could be into me and wasn't a complete asshole.

  When I went back out to the living room, I was grateful to find Lydia alone again. I was half afraid I'd find them making out. She was smiling broadly with her face flushed. I didn't want to know why. I plopped back down on the floor at her feet.

  "Are you excited about your new job?" Lydia asked curiously as I grabbed the bottle of nail polish and got to work again.

  "I'm nervous," I admitted. "It's been a long time since I worked in an actual office."


  I was a copy editor, and for the last few years, I'd been freelancing from home for a book publisher. Recently though, I'd started to wonder if my lack of social skills and a boyfriend had a lot to do with spending most of my time alone. I was hoping my new job with a local media company that started on Monday would help. I'd be editing newspaper and magazine articles in an actual building in an actual office with actual people. I'd have to go to work in something other than my pajamas and a robe, and interact with others. Surely, I could build a bigger social life for myself that way.

  "It'll be good for you," she said. "You need to get your nose out of a book every now and then."

  I nodded in agreement. It was true. If I wasn't editing, I was usually reading. It was my passion, and I'd always had an affinity for the written word. I loved English and I majored in it in college, intent on finding a career with it. I'd succeeded, but working at home wasn't exactly conducive to dating or an active social life. That was probably why I only had a handful of close friends and had practically become a nun. It was time for a change, even if it stressed me out and was keeping me awake at night worrying. Unfortunately, my brain was always ready to obsess over something that bothered or worried me. I changed the subject to keep from fretting about it again.

  "Where did Andy go?"

  "He insisted on making dinner," she replied with a frown as she threw a glare toward the kitchen.

  I glanced up at her with raised brows. "And you let him?" I asked incredulously.

  Lydia rarely gave up control of her kitchen to anyone, even Andy. She was a trained chef and worked as the head-chef at The Glass House, a highly regarded local restaurant. Her kitchen was her domain, and woe to anyone who messed something up in there. I suddenly feared for Andy's well-being.

  "It's too hard for me to get around in there with this beach ball in the way," she grumbled down at her belly. "And he can be very persuasive," she added with a wink. That explained her flushed face when I walked in. I didn't need anymore explanation.

  A sudden crash echoed through the house. It sounded like metal pans bouncing around on the tile floor. "Everything is fine!" Andy hollered from the kitchen in a panicked voice. "Don't get up! I got this!"

  Lydia growled loudly. "You're going to have to kill him for me if he dented my cookware, Mal. I'm too pregnant to do it myself, and I'm counting on you."

  "Don't worry." I answered gravely as I gave her a wry grin. "I swear, Lydia, as God is my witness, your pots and pans will be avenged."

  **********

  "You better not light that damn thing up in here," I growled out as I glared up at the tall lanky man who was standing at my door with a cancer stick dangling out of his mouth. Several days of scruff covered his chiseled jawline, and his thick chestnut hair was styled in a perfect tousle atop his handsome head. He was dressed in a black wool pea-coat and dark jeans, and a thick gray scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck.

  "Bitch, please," he grumbled out as he pulled the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and tucked it behind one ear. "I know better than that." He breezed past me into my loft apartment, the delicious scent of expensive men's cologne following in his wake. He turned to give me a long accessing look as he pushed his Versace glasses up higher on his nose. His keen brown eyes raked up and down my body. One thick dark brow quirked up in disapproval.

  "What?" I flung my arms out in exasperation.

  "Just checking out what I've got to work with here," he said with a shake of his head. "And it doesn't look good."

  I looked down at myself. I was wearing leggings, and my favorite sweatshirt with "Word Nerd" emblazoned across the front of it. There were zebra stripe slippers on my feet. "Doesn't look good for what?" I asked in confusion.

  "The wedding?" he asked in a tone that suggested that I was dense. If I didn't love him, I'd be offended.

  "It's ten o'clock, Dean," I replied in irritation. "The weddings not until five." It was Saturday morning and since I didn't need to be anywhere for hours, I'd been cleaning.

  "Good." He nodded. "That should give us just enough time."

  "Time to do what?"

  "Time to turn this," he motioned at me with a flourish, "into a sex goddess." He grinned and shook his head. "And it's going to take all damn day."

  "I don't need all day, and I'm perfectly capable of getting ready by myself." I crossed my arms over my chest.

  "And when was the last time you got laid or even had a date, Mal?"

  I gave Dean a baleful expression in response to his question. He grabbed my arm before I could reply and led me further into my apartment.

  "This situation calls for desperate measures or nuns will start showing up to ask you to join their convent. Willa is on her way over here with some dresses." He glanced back at me and narrowed his eyes. "Do you own a thong?"

  With that inappropriate question, I put on the brakes and jerked my arm out of Dean's grip. I frowned deeply. "Am I that hideous?" I snapped out in actual annoyance.

  Dean's face softened abruptly. He reached out to cradle my face in gentle hands. "You are a veritable goddess, Malory," he proclaimed vehemently. "Aphrodite herself, realized in the flesh." He shrugged and smirked at me. "You just need the right bait to reel a man in."

  "And that would be a thong?" I asked as I fought a smile.

  "Among other things." He waggled his eyebrows at me salaciously.

  "Okay, fine," I grumbled as I ended up smiling against my will. "What should I do first?"

  Dean reached up and pulled the elastic out of my hair. My messy bun fell apart into a tangled snarl of thick red waves. He made a disgusted face. "Definitely a shower with copious amounts of shampoo, and don't skimp on the conditioner either."

  "You are a veritable asshole, Dean," I told him in a voice dripping with thick sarcasm. "Uranus himself, realized in the flesh."

  He snorted out a laugh and flipped me off, his eyes dancing with humor as I turned and went to my bathroom sporting a shit-eating grin.

  When I came out freshly showered and in my robe, my two closest friends in the world were having a heated debate over a pile of dresses that were draped all over my couch.

  "We want her to look sexy, not slutty," Dean said as he motioned to a red dress that looked entirely too short. His arms were defiantly crossed as he glared down at the petite blond facing him.

  Willa's tiny five-foot-two body was in stark contrast to Dean's lean six-four frame. Her honey-blond hair was pulled back into a long silky-smooth ponytail, and she was dressed flawlessly in a long-sleeve gray cashmere sweater dress. She'd paired it with some black suede knee-high boots with heels so high I'd never manage to walk in them without breaking a leg.

  Her large cornflower blue eyes flashed angrily at him as she put her hands on her hips. "It just shows off her legs."

  "Yeah, and if she bends over it'll show everyone her ass and her hoo-ha too."

  "It's not slutty." She turned and grabbed a black dress that was barely more than lace and a few straps and shoved it at him. "This is slutty."

  "That's beyond slutty." He flung the black dress back on the couch. "It's downright pornographic." He huffed loudly. "She can't go to a wedding in that, or the red one." He shook his head in exasperation. "She's got to have some class. I don't understand why you brought either of those."

  "I wanted her to have choices," Willa said insistently. She owned a clothing boutique, and it looked like she might have brought one of everything in her inventory.

  "What, the choice between looking like a whore or looking like a slut?"

  "Is there a difference?"

  "Well, duh," Dean said like it should have been obvious to anybody. "A whore will sleep with anyone. A slut will sleep with anyone but you."

  Willa snorted loudly, and busted out laughing as Dean grinned wickedly. Morons. I rolled my eyes and decided I wasn't wearing either dress. Besides, one of the other dresses already caught my eye.

  "If Dean is done with his stand-up routine, I'd like to try on a dress.
" I picked up the burgundy dress I'd spotted and held it up with a sigh. The fabric was silky soft when a ran my fingers over it. It was mid-thigh length and dipped almost indecently in the back. I wouldn't even be able to wear a bra. Thankfully, I could get away with that since my breasts weren't so huge that I had to have one.

  "Ten bucks says she picks that one," Dean murmured to Willa out of the corner of his mouth.

  "Done," Willa answered immediately.

  I was too enamored with the dress to be annoyed with them making wagers over my decision. I took the dress up to my room to try it on.

  When I came downstairs with the dress on, I knew it was the one because neither of them said a word as they stood there gawking at me with matching idiotic smiles. I grinned back smugly. Rendering the two of them speechless was an infrequent and nearly impossible feat. Dean made a spinning motion with his index finger, and I complied.

  "I should never have taken that bet," Willa mumbled in disgruntlement as she shook her head. She pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her handbag and shoved into Dean's hand. "She looks beautiful."

  "Absolutely stunning." Dean nodded in agreement. He glanced down at Willa's boots and then back up at me with a calculating expression. "Take off your boots," he told her with a beckoning motion of one hand.

  Willa immediately unzipped her boots, pulled them off, and handed them to Dean with a knowing smile. He held them out to me with a smirk.

  "Oh no," I blurted out in a panic. "Are you insane, Dean? I can't wear those. I'll fall on my ass or break an ankle."

  "Just try them, Mal," he said insistently. "Have I ever steered you wrong before?"

  I raised my brows at him incredulously.

  "Okay," he said sheepishly. "Have I ever steered you wrong when I was sober?" he clarified with a smirk.

  "No," I admitted grudgingly as I eyed the boots skeptically.

  "Just try them," Willa said pleadingly. "If you don't like them, we'll find something else."

  I sighed. "Alright."

  I snatched the boots from Dean and sat on the sofa to pull them on. I pulled the long zipper up on each boot, and the snugness of the suede hugging my calves felt nice. I stood and took a few steps that weren't as awkward as I thought they'd be, and I had to grudgingly admit they were fairly comfortable. I glanced over at my friends. They were nodding and grinning like idiots at me. I walked across the hardwood floor to the bathroom to see how they looked in my floor-length mirror.