His attention snapped away from me instantly. He turned without hesitation, rushing back to the car, his movements urgent. I watched as he wrapped an arm around Celeste, his voice dropping into a low, soothing murmur, coaxing her as if she were something fragile, something precious.
Then, without even glancing back at me, he barked into his phone, ordering the house steward to bring another car to the compound within ten minutes.
Efficient. Decisive. Concerned.
Just not for me.
The first time I died for him, he had been just as frantic.
A hired diver had pinned him underwater during a job off the coast, holding him down long enough for panic to set in. Without thinking, I had plunged in after him, ignoring the danger, ignoring the way my lungs screamed for air. I had forced the man off him and pushed Dominic toward the surface.
And then I died.
My body had convulsed violently as oxygen left me. My vision had gone dark at the edges, my face turning numb, then cold, then nothing.
Just before everything faded, I heard his voice, hoarse and broken with fear.
"Someone, please save her! I'd give my life!"
At the time, I believed him.
But that was only once.
Then came three times.
Ten times.