Bad Boys After Dark: Mick

by Melissa Foster

  She lifted her glass, her gorgeous eyes moving between Greer and Mick, then settled on Greer, tweaking every one of Mick’s nerves.

  “That’s so much better than a guess.” She leaned closer to the wrong man.

  Mick caught the silent message in Greer’s snide grin loud and clear—Dibs.

  Dibs, my ass. Mick Bad backed down to no one.

  Amanda glanced at Mick again, amusement playing in her expression. A few whispered sentences would have her climbing in his lap, but he’d given her this night as her own and had promised to critique her efforts. Fuck him for being an idiot, but a deal was a deal.

  “Are you from this sweet little town?” she asked Greer.

  The asshole scoffed. “I live in Manhattan. I’m just taking a few days to chill.” And off he went on a diatribe about his production company, the stars he’d worked with, and his self-inflated importance. He ordered Amanda another drink and made jokes that she pretended to laugh at.

  Mick was surprised he knew the difference between her fake and real laughter, but nothing about Amanda went under his radar anymore. Her finger was grooving along the side of her glass, which meant she was very bored and a little nervous. She sat up straighter, arching her back just enough to make her breasts press against the lace, and crossed her legs, while shifting her eyes to the wall behind the bar. A perfectly executed seductive move. Her skimpy dress inched up even higher, drawing Mick’s and Greer’s attention and causing a five-alarm temperature spike. One sentence. That’s all it would take. Hell, one word, said in the right tone, with the right smile, and she was his.

  “I didn’t catch your name. I’m Greer.” The asshole flashed a smile that Mick was sure would make many women melt—until he opened his big mouth.

  Amanda held out a hand, bent at the wrist. “Dita. Dita Vandercross.”

  Greer took the invitation and kissed the back of her hand. It took every ounce of Mick’s restraint not to tear the guy’s lips right off his face.

  Amanda angled her body toward Mick, studying him the way she sometimes did when they met with clients. Reading him. He wondered if she saw the way she made him hot and weak at once, or if it was muddied by the visceral need to kick Greer out of the pub. Her eyes were on the move, traveling over his features, lingering on his lips long enough for his mouth to water. Her lips curved up in a wicked smile, and she continued eye-fucking her way down his body, painfully slowly, like lava burning him from the outside in. When she reached his lap, she licked her lips again, definitely not nervously. His cock remembered the feel of those luscious lips around him, the heat of her mouth as she sucked him off, and he ached for a replay. He gripped his glass to keep from grabbing her and waited out every breath-sucking second as she raked his body over the coals again, visually feasting on him on the way back up before finally meeting his heated gaze.

  “And you are?” A pensive shimmer appeared in the shadow of her eyes.

  He couldn’t help but gloat, tossing Greer a watch-how-it’s-done smirk.

  “Bad,” he promised. “Mick Bad.”

  Chapter Twelve

  AMANDA SWALLOWED TIGHTLY against the pulse swelling at the base of her throat, as if her heart had risen from her chest for all to see. She thought she could play this game, seduce another man in hopes of raising jealousy in Mick. But Mick’s presence was like a drug, lulling her in. He wasn’t just looking at her. He was devouring her, sending sinful promises, driving them deeper with every breath, until she could feel every last one of them. She tried to deny the knot forming in her stomach, to write it off as nerves, but there was no mistaking the damp heat between her legs.

  “That sounds like a promise,” she finally managed. “Or is it just another hopeful guess?”

  Greer coughed to cover a laugh.

  Mick didn’t flinch as he leaned closer, holding her captive with his piercing stare, and said, “A hopeful guess is that you aren’t wearing anything beneath that dress. A lucky guess is knowing I’m going to get lucky tonight and guessing you haven’t realized it yet.” He slid a hand to the nape of her neck, alighting prickles of heat beneath her skin, holding her so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath. “And I always make good on my promises.”

  He leaned back, giving rise to cooler air that whisked over her skin. He turned his attention to the television in the far corner behind the bar, sipping his drink as if he hadn’t just made her cave in on herself.

  Greer ordered her another drink and pressed his leg against hers. “I was out in LA schmoozing with Spielberg, and…”

  If she had to listen to one more word about who this guy knew, she was going to scream. Her plan was obviously not working. She’d thought she had Mick, but he was staring off at the television and this guy was so into himself he didn’t need an audience. She stepped off the stool. Mick turned. Greer continued talking to himself.

  “I’m going to the—”

  “Mick!” A petite blonde practically leaped over a table and threw her arms around Mick’s neck.

  He embraced her for a long moment. Very long. The type of long that said he missed her, too.

  “Piper. You look gorgeous. How are you?” He motioned to the stool on his other side, and Piper slid her perfect size-two ass onto it like she owned it as Mick shot a smile at Harley. “Harley, Disaronno on the rocks, please.”

  “Little girls’ room,” Amanda mumbled to herself. She grabbed her purse and stalked off. Thankfully, she had the bathroom to herself to fume, and maybe to pout. She wanted to pace, but the heels of her boots were like walking on toothpicks. And if that wasn’t enough, the leather wasn’t tight enough, so she was constantly pulling them up. She’d walked halfway to the bar hunched over and clinging to the top edge of the boots so they wouldn’t shimmy down her calves and gather around her ankles. With pacing off the table, she had no choice but to stand and stare at herself in the stupid mirror, thinking of Mick hugging Piper. What kind of name was that? Was she an instrument?

  Had he played her?

  Oh God. Not helpful.

  She couldn’t believe Mick didn’t even introduce her! That was just plain rude. And that little blonde? All perky and perfect in her snug white V-neck and boyfriend jeans that hugged her skinny freaking hips. Amanda couldn’t get one rounded hip into the entirety of them.

  She tugged open her purse and eyed The Handbook. She’d followed the rules all the way down to waxing body parts that should never feel such pain. I can pull dark secrets from witnesses, but give me one man to seduce, and without a wig I’m a total failure. Well, fuck that. She was not going to fail. There were plenty of men in this bar, and she’d seduce every one of them until she had it down pat. Then she’d get the only one she wanted.

  She took another glance at the woman in the mirror and was surprised to see she was smoking hot, and not a woman but a babe. The pit of her stomach twisted, and she pointed at the unfamiliar vixen.

  “Shut up. Just shut up.”

  “Blond,” she said with distaste. “Ha! I was blond for two nights, and I know damn well brunettes have more fun.” She hoisted her purse over her shoulder, determined to hook at least three—two; two sounds doable—men before the night was over. One. Okay, one man. No, two. One for practice, and Mick.

  She pushed the door open and bent to tug up her damn boots.

  “That’s the perfect height for that pretty mouth of yours.”

  Motherfucker. She straightened her back, meeting Greer’s revolting glare. She had seductive powers, all right; she just had very bad aim. She’d gotten the wrong guy…again.

  He stepped forward, and she retreated—right into the wall.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, pressing into her. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have landed next to me tonight?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. She tried to maneuver around him, but he trapped her with his arm. She rolled her eyes, annoyed with the guy for blocking her when she was feeling so conf
ident.

  “How about we go someplace private?”

  She needed some type of loser radar. Why wasn’t that in the flippin’ handbook? “I don’t think so,” she said, debating a swift knee to his privates.

  Mick came around the corner and stopped at the end of the hall. In a blink he took in the scene, anger turned to amusement. He arched a brow, shaking his head, his message clear. What have you gotten yourself into this time?

  She clenched her jaw, giving him an I’ve got this look. Or at least she hoped she did, though she had no idea if she had this or not.

  Mick slid his hand into his pocket and leaned his shoulder against the wall. His casual stance didn’t mask the instant his eyes went from amused to lethal. She read that message perfectly clearly, too. Take care of it, or I will.

  “If you don’t mind,” Amanda said firmly to the jerk in front of her. “I’d like to return to the bar.”

  Greer, apparently oblivious to Mick’s presence, took her wrist and pinned it to the wall. “Oh, I mind, all right. Do you have any idea who I am? I could have any woman, any actress—”

  Mick’s hand landed heavily on Greer’s shoulder, startling both of them. Without a word, he kicked the men’s room door open and smiled at Amanda as he threw Greer into the restroom. “I’ll be right back, Ms. Vandercross.”

  Amanda’s hand flew to her heart. She was more annoyed than scared of Mr. Hot Air, but the brawling noises coming from the bathroom had her tipping to the scared side. She would have kneed the asshole if she’d had to. Damn it. This was the second time Mick had intervened on her behalf, and as hot as it was to see him in alpha mode—and it was smokin’ hot—she wasn’t a frigging damsel in distress.

  Mick came out of the bathroom a few minutes later smoothing his shirt over his chest. He stretched his neck to the right, then to the left, and put an arm around Amanda’s waist. She glanced over their shoulders, wondering what he’d done to Greer.

  “Maybe we went too fast,” he said, leading her out of the hallway. “Maybe you need the remedial course.”

  “What does that mean? I could have gotten him off.”

  Mick cocked a brow. “That’s what I was worried about.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You were gone so long I thought you’d fallen in the toilet. I guess being pinned by Andrew Dice Clay isn’t much better.” He shook his head. “You’re too good at seduction. I was ready to kick the guy’s ass when you offered him your hand.”

  “Really?” Elation sent her up on her toes for a kiss, and her heel slid out from under her, sending her down, down, down. Her hands flailed toward the ceiling. She clenched her jaw, preparing for the impact—but her crazy mind screamed I did it! I seduced you! She landed with a jolt, gasping for air and smiling, stuck in some ridiculously happy place. She was lying flat on her back, a dozen pairs of eyes gaping at her from above. And beside her, Mick was on his knees, returning her insane smile, his arms outstretched beneath her, and he was giving her that look again—What have you gotten yourself into this time?

  “I did it,” she said foolishly.

  He lifted her to her feet and righted her dress, giving her thighs a titillating squeeze in the process. “Baby,” he said, smooth as butter and rich as silk. “I never stood a chance.”

  How he understood her cryptic message was beyond her. Wait, no, it wasn’t. This was Mick, and whether he liked it or not, he got her. You’re my one. I knew it all along.

  Greer stumbled past, grumbling under his breath. His hair and shoulders were dripping wet as he headed out the door.

  She looked up at Mick. “What did you—”

  “Not nearly enough.” He pulled her in close, and she gladly went. “Now that you’ve successfully seduced two men, how about we get out of here? There are way too many guys visually gobbling you up, and with your penchant for going pantiless, I imagine you gave them an eyeful of your goodies when you went down.”

  **

  AMANDA CLUNG TO Mick as they left the bar, undoubtedly so she wouldn’t fall off her fuck-me heels again.

  “Wait!” She stopped at the edge of the parking lot and set her hands on her hips. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Shit, was this the other shoe falling? She realized she could seduce a man just fine and didn’t need him and his fucking past hanging around?

  She plopped down on her butt and lifted one leg. “Please pull these suckers off. I swear, if you help me out of these torture traps, I’ll do anything you want.”

  Mick chuckled and took her heel in his hand, trying to avert his eyes from the nakedness between her legs, but it was too damn tempting. He’d surely paved his way straight to hell already. Why not ensure the trip? He followed her legs to the sweetness between them.

  “Hey!” Amanda snapped her fingers and waved them in front of her face. “Eyes up here, mister.”

  “When did you get so pushy? I’m kind of digging it.” He tugged her boot off.

  “You are a god.” Amanda fell back, arms stretched out to her sides on the pavement, and let out a loud sigh.

  Damn, he did love her laugh. “A god, huh?”

  She lifted her other leg, and Mick grabbed hold. He knew she wasn’t drunk, but she seemed looser and more relaxed than she had in, he realized, weeks.

  She pushed up on her palms and jauntily cocked her head to the side. “I don’t know. Now I can’t really tell. Maybe after you take that boot off, I’ll see your godliness again.”

  He pulled the boot off, draped both over his shoulder, and helped her to her feet. “Let’s go to the boat and see how the view of my godliness looks from there.”

  “Yacht,” she corrected him.

  He put his arm around her, acutely aware of the late hour and their time together dwindling. “You have a thing about semantics. Tell me about this godliness I possess.”

  “Not until you admit it’s a yacht.” She laughed, and it struck him straight in the center of his heart.

  “Okay, it’s a small yacht. Who cares?” They walked around the trees toward the dock. “Now, back to my godliness.”

  “Like you need an ego boost? Maybe you should go back into the bar and find that pretty little blonde again.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Ms. Vandercross, is that jealousy I hear?” Because I like it a hell of a lot more than I should.

  “No!” She pushed from his side as they stepped onto the dock. “It was just an observation.”

  “Hm. Interesting. None of my other staff members has ever made such an observation.”

  “So,” she said softly, “you’ve gone out with other girls from the office?”

  He pulled her away from the edge of the dock. “Careful.”

  She gazed up with the doe eyes that had first captivated him. Keeping his emotions in check was getting harder by the minute.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer.” She began walking toward the boat again.

  “Amanda, I haven’t gone out with anyone else in the office. You should know that. Have you ever seen me even flirt with any of our employees?”

  She glanced at him as they made their way down the dock. “Well, no, but…”

  “Careful of that green-eyed monster,” he warned. “She’ll make you see things that aren’t there.” Her brow knitted. “And the girl in the bar was Piper Dalton. She’s Willow and Bridgette’s sister. They have another sister and a brother, but I don’t expect to see either this trip. Piper is a builder and incredibly good with boats. She takes care of my place and boat while I’m out of town. I called her when we stopped for gas and asked her to stock the boat with food, drinks, set the timers for the lights. That’s all. She’s a friend.” He helped her aboard and kept hold of her hand.

  “That was nice of her,” she said with a sweet smile. “And of you, actually, to think ahead like that. Thank you. I’m sorry if I sounded weird, I just…” She shook her head. “I guess it’s just a weird night.”

  “It’s been a nice night,
and an intense couple of days.” He was having trouble believing that’s all it had been. “Let’s take the boat out and anchor away from the shore for the night. Then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  TWO HOURS LATER Mick and Amanda lay on a bed of blankets and pillows on the deck of the yacht, gazing up at the stars. Neither was hungry for a meal, so they had cheese and crackers and shared a bottle of wine. A chilly breeze swept off the lake, but Amanda felt toasty warm. That could have been from the wine, but she had a feeling it had more to do with the man beside her.

  “Tell me about your bookstore. I’d imagine you could have bought any house you wanted. Why that one? Why not a cabin in the woods?” She propped herself up on her elbow, struck by how peaceful Mick appeared in the moonlight. His hair fell away from his face, and for the first time since they’d come together, there was no tension in his forehead or in the muscles around his jaw. She wrenched herself away from her ridiculous preoccupation with his face and lay on her back. She had the darn thing memorized. My fantasy man. He was etched into the recesses of her mind forever.

  “I don’t know much about it.”

  She looked at him, and he smiled. “You said you owned it.”

  “I do, but you probably noticed it’s closed.” He propped up on an elbow as she had earlier. “I didn’t want a remote cabin. I like the small town, the people here, the camaraderie. When I was looking for a house, I met a woman named Flossie McBride. She’s a tiny thing, maybe four foot ten or so, in her seventies. She and her husband, Jed, had run the bookstore for forty years, and they lived upstairs. Jed suffered a stroke and he was moved to a rehab facility on Long Island. She had to sell the house and the store to make enough money for his care.” He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “So I bought it and told her if she was ever ready to come back, the store would be here waiting for her.”

  “Aw, Mick. That’s just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. How long ago was that?”