A Tiara Under The Tree

“I don’t see how we can marry tonight without a mutual attraction,” Waverly said with a grin. She pulled her wrist away, hating the immediate withdrawal of his touch. Addicted after one touch?

Dominic wiped his hand against the length of his face. “Attraction is putting it mildly. We eat the same kind of cupcake and pizza, drink the same beer.”

The imaginary neon orange warning sign over his head flashed, but Waverly ignored it. Why bother following the rules now? An unmistakable pull drew her close to him. Her wrist twitched for him to take it again; he did, and let his fingers lace with hers. “What more proof do we need?”

As if to show her, Dominic rose to his feet and brought his face down, close to hers. His lips lingered over her mouth, his breath teasing her with anticipation. Waverly rose on tiptoe, inciting the kiss, fanning the flames of desire boiling between them. Dominic caressed the side of her face with his free hand. His fingers found their way into her hair and tousled the loose strands. His lips covered hers.

His tongue gracefully entered her mouth, introduced itself to Waverly’s and slipped away. Her hand had twitched with withdrawal a few minutes ago, and Waverly’s lips quivered when Dominic pulled away for a moment. Not done with their kiss, Dominic turned his head to the other side and cupped both her cheeks. For the first time in weeks, Waverly forgot about everything else in the world. A rumble rolled through her belly. How fast would it make her if she invited Dominic to her bedroom?

“I have my answer,” Dominic whispered. He kissed her lips one last time before he pulled away and stood to his full height. “How about you?”

Waverly pressed her forehead against his chest. The beat of his heart sounded against hers. “What was the question?”

Chuckling, Dominic dropped his hands and stepped backward to hold out her seat for her. “We should stop.”

“We should,” Waverly agreed with a slight shake of her head.

They went back to eating, forgetting how their pizza chilled while the tension between them heated with each bite. Waverly tossed her crust onto the plate. “My God, that was good.”

“The pizza or the kiss?”

“The pizza is fantastic,” Waverly answered with a sly grin. “So tell me, Dominic Crowne, what do you do at this garage of yours?”

After hearing her question out loud, Waverly hated to admit how foolish she sounded. She’d almost taken this man to her bedroom without knowing the first thing about him.

“Well, besides the typical oil changes and routine work on cars,” Dominic said, “I restore old cars and customize them for clients.”

“What’s the last big project you worked on?”

Dominic took a long drink of his beer before answering. “This morning I flew in from Dubai after a two-week trek of bringing my friend Aamir his customized Ferrari.”

“What did you do to it?”

“I put in some speakers and tires and fixed the motor so he can maximize the power when he races.”

Waverly frowned. “And how old is he?”

“Thirty, like me, almost thirty-one.”

“Ah,” Waverly drawled, “so he’s old.”

Dominic nodded. “Oh, you got jokes?”

“I’m known to say something funny a time or two,” Waverly told him with a laugh. “So did it take two weeks to deliver a car?”

“Wait until you meet Aamir at our wedding,” Dominic said. “You’ll understand.”

Waverly’s heart surged again. She knew he was teasing about the marriage, but hearing someone making plans for something other than beauty pageants felt good...human, almost. Speaking of being human, Waverly reached for a third slice of pizza. “How did you end up with friends overseas?”

“College,” he answered. “Stanford, to be exact.”

“Oh, that’s too interesting.” Waverly bit her bottom lip for a half second. Here she was, barely a full semester under her belt with a tarnished tiara, while he was highly educated and worldly. “I hear those Ivy League schools are stuck-up.”

“Stanford is not Ivy League,” Dominic countered. He held out his muscular arm. “Would a guy tatted like me get into an Ivy League school?”

“How would I know?” Waverly shrugged. “Maybe as a graduation treat, you’d got yourself a few tattoos.”

“I promise you, I had tattoos before I started college.”

Waverly didn’t know why this was an issue. Dominic stood up, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. “Don’t try to show me some Photoshopped version of yourself.”

“What do you know about Photoshopping?” he asked.

A little too much these days, Waverly thought to herself.

“I say we make a wager of this,” Dominic began. “If I can prove you wrong, you have to do something with me.”

Considering what they almost did, sure. Waverly grinned. “Deal.”

“Don’t go back on a promise, now.”

Waverly rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Man, if you don’t show me this picture...”

Playfully Dominic held the phone in the air and out of her reach. Now would be the great time for her to come up with her part in the wager when Dominic failed to provide the photograph. Wasn’t he the prize, though? Waverly licked her lips in anticipation.

“Bam,” Dominic said after his thumb stopped scrolling across the screen. He shoved the phone close to her face.

Waverly took a step backward to adjust what she saw. There, surrounded by a set of twin preteen boys flexing their nonexistent muscles and a young girl, draped in an oversize green graduation gown, was a young Dominic. His hair was cut in a high top fade, too high for his graduation cap, which he held in one hand. He wore a pair of jeans with holes at the knees and a muscle shirt. Dark tattoos covered his biceps. Considering how buff he was now compared to then, Waverly had to concede.

“This is your high school graduation. How old do you have to be to get a tattoo?”

“Sixteen with your parents’ approval. My mom came with me,” Dominic said. “Ever been around someone with tattoos?”

Waverly sighed. “My first serious boyfriend had them. But since he was older, I assumed.”

“Okay,” Dominic said, blowing out a sigh in the universal manner of changing the subject. “I’ve proven you wrong and now it’s time to pay up.”

Excitement flashed within her. A date? The movies? “Sure,” Waverly replied in an even-keeled tone.

Dominic extracted something from the back pocket of his jeans. A folded envelope.

“While I was gone, I got this thing. My sister thinks I need it to fit in with the community better.”

“What thing?”

“The Miss Southwood Pageant. Have you heard of it?”

Dread loomed over her. Waverly nodded. “I have.”