“Commendable of you. But Mila’s no pushover. She doesn’t need anyone acting as a voice for her. If she wants me to leave, I’ll leave.”

Mila snorted. “No, you won’t.”

Dominic’s mouth curved. “No, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”

“It did.” She looked up at Joel. “Thanks for the concern, but it’s not needed.”

“If you really think that, you haven’t learned your lesson from Grant,” Joel clipped.

Her cat snarled and lashed out with her claws. The way the feline saw it, Joel had relinquished his rights to her; he had no business interfering in her life. But Mila saw his interference for what it was—a subconscious drive to shield her, one that his instincts wouldn’t allow him to ignore. His intention wasn’t to hurt her. “You’re back to lecturing me again.”

His mouth tightened. “I just wish you were as protective of yourself as the people who care for you are.” With that parting shot, he left.

Mila sighed, and her cat’s hackles lowered. She needed to start locking the freaking break room door. Feeling Dominic’s eyes on her, she stood. “Come on, let’s get you sorted.” Soon enough, she had him caped and reclining in her chair with a warm, moist towel over his face.

As she browsed the shaving products on the shelves, Evander sidled up to her and asked, “Have you taken Lothario up on his offer of ‘fun’ yet?”

“I heard that,” said Dominic, his words muffled by the towel.

Mila tossed Evander a glare. “I told you, I’m not interested in being another notch on his bedpost.”

“I heard that too,” Dominic muttered.

“Well, we weren’t whispering.” Mila swiped off the towel, ignoring his chuckle, and patted his face and neck dry. As she applied a light coating of preshave oil, a low, contented growl rumbled out of him. Her cat kind of liked it.

“You smell good,” he said, his voice pitched low.

“Thanks, I do try.”

He chuckled. “Do you and Joel have some kind of history?”

At the mere mention of him, her cat’s mood plummeted. “No. He’s just a friend.”

“He’s very possessive of you.”

“Protective,” she corrected, grabbing a tub of shaving cream. “He’s mated—you must have sensed it.”

“I did. That doesn’t mean he can’t still have lingering feelings for someone he was once involved with.”

“There has never been anything between me and Joel other than friendship.”

Dominic watched her closely as she used a little shaving brush to apply the cream. She was telling the truth. And yet she wasn’t. He didn’t quite get it. Wondered if maybe she’d once tried to push for more than friendship with Joel before he mated and then had gotten her heart broken. “Your cat doesn’t like having him around. I sensed her tension. Did he hurt you somehow? Reject you?”

She gave him a curious look. “I never had you down as nosy.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? You intrigue me.”

“Hmm. Right. I want to leave the shaving cream on for at least a minute.”

Before she could walk off and busy herself elsewhere to escape the conversation, he grabbed her hand. “Fine. I’ll drop the Joel thing. Besides, I have a question: Should we take a bottle of wine or something with us to dinner tonight?”

Her brows snapped together. “You can’t be serious about going.”

“I was invited.”

“Only because my parents plan to use you in their little bid to keep me here.”

“Your mother promised me Prague Cake, Mila. Now it’s true that I don’t know what that is, but you can’t go wrong with cake in my experience. I’m not about to miss out on it just because I make you nervous.”

She pulled her hand from his and planted it on her hip. “You do not make me nervous. You make me want to slap you.”

Wrestling back a smile, Dominic said, “Hey, it’s okay. You make me nervous too. That’s why I get so shy around you. When you look at me all predatorily like that, it makes me feel like a baby gazelle about to get devoured by a lioness.”

She crossed her eyes. “I don’t know whether to laugh or finally give you that slap.”

“As long as I’m deep inside you while you’re slapping me around, I don’t mind. It’ll make it feel all forbidden and wrong.”

She scrubbed a hand down her face, determined not to laugh. “We are not having sex, and you are not coming with me tonight.”

“Oh, I’ll be coming with you in multiple ways,” he said with a wicked smile. “You know, I’ve never done dinner with the parents before.”

“We’re not a couple.”

“No, but if you go along with it instead of fighting me on going to dinner, they’ll think we just might become a couple. If, however, you don’t turn up with me at your side . . . well, they could try their hands at matching you up with other males instead.”

Fuck, he was right, Mila thought. Her parents could be relentless at times. Nothing stopped them once they got an idea in their heads. “Hmm. I suppose you are the lesser evil.”

He smiled. “I knew you liked me.”

“Unless you want to donate blood, be still.” She rinsed the blade under hot water before taking that first swipe. It glided smoothly and effortlessly across his face and neck with each pass. Once she’d finished, she rinsed him off, applied some aftershave balm to his slightly damp skin, and then patted him dry with a towel. “There.”

He glided his hand over his now butter-smooth skin. “Nicely done.”

After he’d paid and left a far-too-generous tip, she said, “I just have a couple of things to do, and then we can go.”

He gave her a pointed look. “Ten minutes, Mila. My face is leaving in ten minutes—be on it.”

“Oh my God. Do you ever stop?”

“Being what? Charming? Funny? Irresistible?”

“Bizarre? Warped? Disturbed?”

“Hey, now, there’s no need to get mean.”

She stalked off, shaking her head. “Hopeless. You’re totally hopeless.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mila had no idea how he did it. Really. It was like he had some magical power that enabled him to enchant people or something. Valentina liked very few people, but she quickly developed a fondness for Dominic—it was apparent in the way she kept refilling his plate and regaling him with stories of her childhood.

Even James clearly liked him, and James didn’t like any male who had designs on his only daughter. The three were chatting like they were lifelong friends, and Mila knew that Dominic would be invited to eat at this table again and again—even though her parents’ matchmaking efforts would lead to nothing.

She supposed that part of why people quickly warmed to him was that he was super good at keeping the conversation light and easy. No invasive questions, no deep talk, no tricky topics like politics. He just joked and flattered and charmed, putting people at ease. It wasn’t an act, though. He wasn’t playing a part. He was quite simply easy to be around. But he also wasn’t being totally himself.