She didn’t know if a dressed Dominic was any better. It was almost impossible not to drool at such sexiness. He was extraordinarily handsome dressed all in black, dark, intense, sensual, a graphic novel kind of hero, unequivocally hard-edged and powerful. His longer hair was the same style he wore in most of the surfing photos that cluttered the room. One huge, colored photo covered an entire wall. Dominic was in the pocket of a powerful wave, riding the face in a fluid turn, the white-capped lip so high it dwarfed him, and even from a distance, even racing against the thundering blast of water churning behind him, you could see his beautiful, wide smile.

“You surf much?” she asked, pointing to the photo. “Or is that in the past?”

“I do when I have time. But that was one of my more awesome days,” he said, grinning. “In Hawaii. The beach had been blackballed because the waves were so dangerous. But that just means you have to ride the wave hard core, no fear. Everyone crashed that day except me. I iced that kamikaze wave, Gerry caught me on camera, and there it is. One of my better memories.”

“You look young.”

He pursed his lips for a second. “I must have been fifteen or sixteen—no, sixteen—I was living here already. I bought this place so I could be near Melanie. I helped baby-sit her first two kids before I went to college.”

“Can you do that?”

“What?”

“Live on your own at sixteen.”

He shrugged. “I never asked. Melanie signed for me. It worked out.”

As Kate bit back the dozen prying questions crowding her brain, Dominic tapped his watch. “Enough memory lane shit,” he said. “We should get you dressed.” He held out the clothes draped over his arm. “Although, if you want, there’s still enough time for me to give you a little prize for being so nice.”

She smiled. “Am I nice?”

“Nicer than anyone I know,” he said softly, his eyes half-lidded, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

A hot current of need ran up her spine. She’d seen that look before. “Tell me I don’t have to talk to your mother,” she said quickly, rising from the bed, her heart fluttering against her ribs. She refused to melt into a puddle of lust on cue.

“Don’t worry,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t registered her reaction. “I don’t want you talking to my mother. She’s troublesome,” he added dryly.

Coming to a stop before him, Kate tipped her head back and grinned. “You’re way too good to me. Life’s strange isn’t it?” Her voice went soft. “How we met, how I can’t live without you”—she smiled—“at least for long.”

“It’s good strange, babe. And it’s the same for me… your absence tears me up.” He almost said, You have to sign the exclusivity contract, but caught himself. Time enough in the morning to begin that battle. “Lift your arms now. We’re on the clock.”

Loss of control aside, when it came to pure gratification, she had to admit that having Dominic dress her was right up there with Venezuelan chocolate and winning the lottery. The act itself was tender, affectionate, impossibly erotic. And in her current mood of complete, utter adoration, Kate glanced at the shimmering midnight-green-velvet long-sleeved, scoop-neck blouse Dominic was holding and said, “Should I wear a bra?”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Should I?”

“You might be more comfortable.”

“It’s not about me being comfortable.” She smiled. “Are you worried about your mother?”

He shook his head. “That’s useless. There’s no pleasing her. But I don’t like other men looking at my tits. You know that.”

“Yours?” Her voice was teasing.

“Yes. Mine.” Not a scintilla of teasing in either word.

She shouldn’t feel a hot, sexy rush flood through her senses when he spoke like he owned her. Taking a small breath to tamp down her desire, she tried to speak in a normal tone. “I suppose you have some bras here.”

“I suppose I do.”

She waved her hand at the walk-in closet, a great variety of women’s clothes visible on the racks. “How do you do this on short notice?”

“Phone.” From Paris. But he left that unsaid.

“And everyone scurries.”

“They don’t mind. They’re paid well.”

“I suppose you have a bra in a matching color.”

“I expect so. Should we look?”

He found a dark green lace bra in a drawer of bras and held it out for her while she slid in her arms and turned her back to him.

Reaching around her, he slipped her breasts into the lacy cups, slid his fingers up the straps to smooth them over her shoulders, hooked the bra, and bent to kiss her shoulder. “Maybe you won’t need a maid. Maybe I’ll always dress you,” he whispered, his fully clothed body pressing into her back, his fingers slipping over her shoulders and downward to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like that?”

Suffused with desire, Dominic’s powerful body and gentle touch stirring her senses, his sweet comments affecting her susceptible heart, she leaned back into his solid warmth and nodded because tears were welling in her throat.

“Hey, baby. We can’t have you crying,” he whispered, beginning to recognize her moments of silence. He turned her in his arms. “You’ll mess up your nonexistent mascara.”