Bad Boys After Dark: Mick

by Melissa Foster

  “Like avoiding eye contact,” she said softly. “Mick?”

  She was like the moon, her gravity pulling at him, distorting his plans, his thoughts, and causing tides of anger and frustration to ebb and flow against the warmer feelings she evoked. Powerless to resist her, he met her all-knowing gaze. He gritted his teeth, struggling to mask his inner turmoil and force his thoughts into order. Or at least into deceptive calmness.

  A quizzical look washed over her, and he thought he’d pulled it off, but when she pressed her hands to his cheeks and touched her forehead to his, it sparked another internal storm.

  “What about you, Mick? You lost your baby sister. What was your role for her? What was hers to you?”

  “Amanda.” The warning was weak at best.

  She lifted her head, leaving her hands on his cheeks. “You owe me nothing, and I trust that come Monday, everything we’ve said and done will still be our secret. But I’ve bared myself to you, and I’m offering you a chance to unburden your heart, Mick. With me. You’re safe with me.”

  His mind refused to register the significance of her words. The world had always spun around him, buzzing with distractions from all the guilt he carried. He used that whirling buzz to pull him from moment to moment, day to day. Filling his head with information, pushing himself to excel in college and law school, building the practice, watching out for his brothers—they were all distractions from the guilt and pain and loneliness that threatened to drown him at every turn. Over the last few months, watching out for Amanda had become his biggest distraction of all, and he’d had to find other distractions to keep himself from thinking of her.

  Accepting her offer meant facing the darkest part of his past, and facing that demon meant jumping into a dark, cavernous abyss he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

  Chapter Eleven

  VOLATILE. EXPLOSIVE. TERRIFIED. Amanda cataloged Mick’s emotions as they assailed him, one after another at a thunderous pace, pounding through his body, muscle by muscle, vein by vein, reminding her of the Incredible Hulk. He gripped her just above her ribs, hard yet restrained, and lifted her to her feet.

  “Ready to hit that bar?” he asked sharply, and stepped away.

  Momentarily rebuffed, she watched him retreat, then snapped out of her hurt stupor and grabbed his arm. He spun around angrily. His glare was not nearly as threatening as the pain she saw behind it.

  Gutted by the look in his eyes, she didn’t think, didn’t speak, as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. His heartbeat sprinted, as if trying to escape its confines. The rigidity of his body told her he wished he could do the same.

  “Amanda,” he growled coldly.

  She held him tighter, knowing that doing so might bring an end to their weekend. He’d probably pack them up and drive back to the city tonight, but it was a risk she was willing to take. He’d given her so many things. Freedom, relief, a sense of safety. Those things barely scratched the surface. He had her thinking about herself differently. Every time he told her she was being seductive when she wasn’t trying brought awareness and understanding. But as she held him, she realized he’d given her something much better, much more meaningful. He’d given her a piece of himself that she didn’t think he ever expected to share. If he chose to cut their weekend short, at least he’d go home with this moment, knowing there was one person he could trust.

  “Amanda,” he said a little warmer, though still riddled with frustration.

  “You need this.” Her head told her to turn and walk away, but her heart wanted no part of that plan. She tipped her face up, taking in his tight jaw, the bulging veins on his neck, and the trouble swimming in his eyes.

  “You can’t possibly know what I need.”

  His words stung, despite his soft tone.

  “That’s a shame, because you’re a good man, and someone should.” She released him, and for a minute they stared at each other. Unmoving. Unrelenting. Unable or unwilling to give in, or to sever the bond that had formed between them, and he was apparently just as unwilling to deepen it.

  Everyone had their demons. It hurt knowing she’d laid her demons out before him and he didn’t want to fully reciprocate. But he hadn’t abused her trust. He’d treated her well, better than well. He’d made her feel special and safe. His refusal might hurt, but, she reminded herself, this unexpected discussion wasn’t tied to her decision to open up to him. She fought to remember that. This wasn’t a tit-for-tat weekend. This was a Sex Adventure Weekend. An agreement that had nothing to do with baring their souls, regardless of if they chose—or didn’t choose—to do so.

  She drew her hands behind her back, urging herself to accept their agreement for what it was—pinchigan, pinchigan, pinchigan. Shocking her heart into submission, she reached for his hand. “How about that drink?”

  “Amanda.” He sounded apologetic, but he said nothing more.

  The drive back to Sweetwater was nothing like the ride up. Sounds came at her muted, then sharp. Cold air whipped against her skin. Vibrations sent disturbing quakes to her chaotic thoughts.

  The bar.

  Drinks.

  That would do them both some good. Take the edge off. All she had to do was play it cool until then.

  When they arrived at Sweetwater, they parked the motorcycle in the garage behind the house and ascended the stairs in uncomfortable silence.

  Mick pushed open the door and said, “I’ll get our stuff.”

  “We’re leaving?” Panic carried her words. Way to play it cool.

  He turned to her with disappointment in his eyes. “Do you want to leave?”

  “No, but you said you’re getting our stuff, and after I pushed you up on the mountain, I thought…If you want to go back, we can. You’ve helped me a lot, and I appreciate it. I—”

  “Am rambling,” he said, tugging her against him.

  The possessive move sent reassurance soaring through her. Pinchigan! Pinchigan!

  “Adorably,” he added as he touched his lips to hers, settling her worries even more.

  “I’m sorry I pushed,” she said softly. “It wasn’t any of my business.”

  “You did what any good friend would.”

  Friend. The pit of her stomach sank. Pull up your big-girl panties. She swallowed hard, determined to be just as good of a friend to him as he had been to her.

  He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, brushing his thumb over the spot he loved to kiss and sending threads of hope through her. We’re friends. The reminder did nothing to quell the love swelling inside her, or the hope that he might share whatever he was holding back with her after all.

  “I’m not an easy man to get to know. There’s a reason I don’t do relationships.”

  If she opened her mouth to speak she’d want to reason with him, to tell him he’d feel better once he got whatever it was out of his system. But that wasn’t their deal, so she kept her mouth shut and nodded.

  “I thought we’d stay on my boat. Would you rather stay here?”

  “No. The boat sounds lovely.”

  He watched her for a long, silent beat. “Okay, let’s get our things.”

  She had to work really hard not to let disappointment get the better of her. As they gathered their things, she focused on the warm, masculine rooms they’d rushed through earlier. It seemed like days had passed since they were last there. The furniture was heavy, rustic, not elaborate or expensive like the furniture in his apartment in the city. She stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, remembering the things they’d done in the shower and how lovingly he’d washed her afterward. A rush of emotions swelled in her chest. She tried desperately to keep them at bay as she gathered her toiletries. Mick was in the other room, but his presence and masculine scent was inescapable. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. She felt a deep connection to him, and when they were on the mountain, she thought he’d begun to feel the same. But maybe she had read too much into his confession and the way he was treat
ing her. Either way, she had no regrets about their time together, beyond the notion that she’d probably have to give up her job.

  “About ready?”

  She startled. Mick stood in the doorway, his leather bag hung from one hand, and his face—God, she loved his face—was unreadable. So she’d been wrong about the connection. Okay, as much as that hurt, she could deal with it, because as much as this weekend was shaking her up like a snow globe, it was also satiating a place inside her she’d reserved just for Mick.

  “I’m ready.” She reached for her bag, and Mick’s hand covered hers.

  “Men like to feel needed, and it’s past sunset. You’re in seduction mode, remember?”

  Right, the deal. She was supposed to be picking him up at the bar, not just easing her nerves with alcohol. She’d need many more drinks to soothe the butterflies and bees warring inside her.

  She followed him down to the car. “About tonight,” she said as he put the bags in the trunk. “You’ve done a great job of cluing me in to things, so maybe we should forgo the seduction tonight.”

  He opened the passenger door without responding. She slid into the seat and tried to read his body language as he rounded the car and climbed in behind the wheel, but even with his brooding, all that registered was how much she wanted to be near him.

  He settled into the car and drove around the lake. “Not feeling up to the challenge?”

  “I thought you might not be into it, after everything that happened earlier.” She peered out the window at the cobblestone streets and the shops lining them on the way down to the marina. Old-fashioned awnings shaded big picture windows, and above each shop was a balcony, like Mick’s house, which had the bookstore below. She wondered about that house, and the store, but now wasn’t the time to ask, so she focused on the lights of the marina shimmering against the night sky.

  “I’m into you, Amanda,” he said out of the blue. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

  She turned, confused and shocked. She’d hoped to get a read on his expression, since he’d spoken so matter-of-factly, but if there had been any change, she’d missed it. He was staring absently at the road.

  She made small talk to try to ease her nerves. “How does this work? Do we walk in together but pretend we’re strangers?”

  He parked at the far end of the marina and took her hand in his. “See the pub on the other side of the boat house?”

  She spotted Dutch’s Pub anchoring a row of shops. “Yes.”

  “We’ll get ready, and then I’ll walk you over. You’ll go in first, and a little while later I’ll show up.” He rubbed the spot between her thumb and index finger, then pressed a kiss there. “The rest is up to you.”

  If it were up to her, they’d skip the seduction and go straight to the part where he ravaged her, murmuring sexy things that made her forget how to think, and then they’d hit repeat for the rest of their lives.

  She was getting more nervous just thinking about sitting in the bar waiting for him. She needed an edge, like Mick had when he was in the courtroom. Something that would make him want to study her. She mentally skimmed The Handbook. The Perfect Entrance, Chapter Twenty-One.

  Oh yeah, she could do this.

  Maybe.

  I hope.

  “I have a better idea,” she offered. “How far is your boat?”

  He stepped from the car and came around to help her out. “Let me get the bags and I’ll show you.” After retrieving the bags from the trunk, they walked past the docks and around an outcropping of trees, and another dock came into view. At the far end was a single slip, and there, basking in the moonlight, was a gorgeous yacht. Aqua lights dove like darts from the bottom of the vessel into the inky water. White lights twinkled around the perimeter of the decks, giving the beautiful yacht a magical appearance that took Amanda’s breath away.

  Yacht? She touched Mick’s forearm, wondering what other things in his life he’d minimized and why. “I think we need to have a talk about semantics.”

  **

  HARLEY DUTCH SLID another drink across the bar, skeptically eyeing Mick. “It’s not like you to watch the door.”

  Mick watched Dutch wipe down the bar, thinking the same damn thing. It had been a long time since he’d been on an actual date, not that this was a date, but it had the hallmarks of one. After he’d showered, he’d taken far too long deciding what to wear. His typical weekend attire was jeans and a comfortable T-shirt, but tonight felt different, and he wasn’t all that sure that it only had to do with being seduced by Amanda. The thought that he might have competition had irritatingly played in his mind as he’d picked out his slacks and white button-down. He’d hated the idea of her walking alone from the boat to the bar, despite the safe town, but she’d been adamant about him going first. He’d been sitting in the bar for forty-five minutes, his gut churning as each of those minutes passed, wondering what was going through her mind and if his confession had changed her view of him for the worse.

  He lifted his glass to Harley with a nod and took a drink. “One of those nights, I guess.” He purposely gave nothing away about his and Amanda’s seductive game. He didn’t want to embarrass Amanda, and even though it was a bitch to think about, he didn’t want to embarrass himself, either. He’d checked out the other guys in the bar, all of whom had an air of attraction he didn’t—a clean conscience.

  “Right.” Harley elongated the word and shook his head. “There’s nothing I haven’t heard, seen, or wished I could unsee.” His lips quirked up in a knowing grin that reached his deep-set blue eyes. Harley was Mick’s age, burly as a grizzly, with a shock of brown hair to match. He was a good-looking, smart guy, and a hell of a nice one at that. He’d given up a thriving finance career in the city to return home when his father had taken ill. That was three years ago. He’d taken over his father’s pub and had never looked back.

  Competition.

  Mick gulped down that thought with his drink, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. It wasn’t like Amanda was going to come into the bar looking to seduce someone else. Although he had been a bit of a dick when they were on the overlook. His mind reeled back to the night of the bar crawl. They’d connected across the floor immediately, with an intensity that drew him like a tiger to fresh meat. But she’d approached other men instead of approaching him. He stared into his drink, swirling the amber liquid as he picked that uncomfortable fact apart.

  A sandy-haired guy slid onto a barstool to Mick’s left, leaving one empty seat between them. “How’s it going?”

  “Not bad,” Mick said, reluctantly cataloging the guy’s deeply tanned, chiseled features and sharp green eyes. He had to stop this. He was acting like a jealous punk.

  Harley handed the guy a Guinness. “Greer, this is Mick. Mick’s up from the city, too. Greer’s a movie producer,” he said to Mick. The almost indiscernible shake of his head told Mick that Harley didn’t like the guy. “He’s in town to see his family.”

  Greer took a swig of his beer. “Ah. Nothing better than ice-cold beer. What do you do, Mick?”

  “I tinker with the law,” Mick said. He spent the next few minutes listening to Greer talk about himself. His office was a few blocks from Mick’s. He dropped names like he was tossing seed to birds and blew so much hot air it was a wonder he wasn’t floating against the ceiling. Mick downed another drink, catching an eye roll and a chuckle from Harley.

  Harley fixed him another drink, which he was more than thankful for.

  “Mind if I sit here?” The underlying shyness in Amanda’s voice made Mick’s gut go ten types of crazy.

  He and Greer both turned and drank in every inch of her luscious curves in a hip-hugging, thigh-baring little black number with long sleeves and a sexy lace-up thing going on from collarbone to the sweet depths of her cleavage. Holy hell. His cock twitched at the black leather spike-heeled boots running up her long legs and over her knees. Next to her, Greer was practically salivating. Asshole.

  “Absolutely,�
� Greer said in a hungry voice that made Mick want to punch him in the face.

  Amanda sat on the seat between them, turning her attention to Greer, which kicked Mick out of his lust-driven stupor and back into the game.

  “Thank you,” she purred, wiggling her ass so her shoulders rubbed them both.

  “Harley,” Mick said in the least annoyed voice he could manage, which still came out a bit pissed. “Get the lady a sidecar?”

  Harley smirked. “Coming right up.”

  Amanda glanced at Mick, blinking lengthened lashes and smoky eyes. Her full lips were painted fire-engine red, glistening as if she’d just licked them. He was pretty sure she had, given that it was one of her nervous habits he’d noticed—and adored. Her normally straight hair framed her face and cascaded to her shoulders in gentle waves. He wanted to tangle his hands in her hair and kiss that seductive paint off her lips.

  “How did you know that was a favorite of mine?” she asked with an air of anonymity that was beyond impressive.

  The same way I know you like coffee with one sugar and two creams, and romance, and the way I know that when I touch those freckles on your neck, you shiver all over. Because I pay attention. Because I care. It was torture, fighting the urge to claim her with a possessive hand at the base of her spine or on her exposed, tempting thigh. But he’d made a deal, and he took his deals very seriously.

  He lifted his drink to his lips and shifted his attention to the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, then said, “Lucky guess.”

  Tossing back his drink in one gulp, he held the empty glass up toward Harley, who looked confused. Mick was right there with him. What the hell was he doing? He felt Amanda’s eyes burning into him. No doubt he’d left her a little flustered, but he wasn’t about to check, because she could do this. She could nail it, and she needed to know that.

  “I like a man who knows what women want,” she said confidently.

  He turned, catching Greer’s challenging gaze over her shoulder.

  “Then look this way, sweetheart,” Greer said—and she did. “Shoes, Chanel bags, fast cars, candlelit dinners, and a rich man on her arm.”