by Eden Bradley
She nodded against his chest again. “Okay,” she said, her voice muffled.
“Okay. Let’s sit down and we’ll both get some coffee in us.”
He helped her into a chair, then pulled out another and folded himself into it, trying unsuccessfully to tuck his long legs under the table, finally settling on sprawling them out to the side and leaning his back against the table.
Allie sipped at her chicory-laced coffee, grimaced.
“Is it a sugar day?” Jamie asked, already getting up to poke through the cupboards.
It touched her that he remembered she only took sugar in her coffee when she was stressed.
“Top cupboard on the right, bottom shelf,” she directed him.
He came back with the Tupperware she kept the sugar in—it was too humid in the old house to keep it in a bowl—and a spoon and offered it to her. She added a good rounded spoonful to her cup and stirred.
“Better?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“So?”
She shrugged. “This thing with Mick . . . it’s not going so well.”
“We both knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”
“Yes, but I don’t think I realized it might actually be impossible.”
“Is that how you’re feeling right now?” Jamie asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. We started getting closer—too close, maybe—and he totally shut down on me. One minute we were perfectly fine, then suddenly there was this glaring disconnect. And he can’t seem to come back from it. I was with him last night and it was . . .” She paused, her throat closing up. She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it tight, needing the sensation—the little bit of pain—to help her loosen up enough to say the words. After several moments she let it go. “It was bad, Jamie. I was up all night thinking about it. And this morning I just . . . left.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got up and sort of . . . snuck out while he was still sleeping.”
Jamie chuckled quietly. “Oh, he’s going to love that—Mr. Control Freak.”
“He hasn’t tried to call.”
“Either his ego is too sore or he’s too pissed off.”
“That’s his problem,” she said, anger suffusing her. “I’m tired of being the one to babysit things along. We’re supposed to be reconnecting but I can’t be the one who does all the work.”
Jamie put a hand on her arm. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m with you on this one.”
“I know. So tell me—what do I do?”
“Honestly, leaving may have been the best bet. We guys are cavemen—we need to retreat when we’re overwhelmed, and it sounds like that’s what he’s doing.”
“Well, he’s retreating his way out of any chance at a relationship with me. I don’t know how much more I’m willing to deal with. I’m not about to just lie down and take it—not even for him. Anyway, I’ve done enough of that with Mick already. I did it for years, whether we were together or not. I let the distance he imposed between us keep me from New Orleans, even from seeing my family, because I couldn’t stand it. But I’m not that girl anymore.”
Jamie smiled at her, drew his hand back and took a sip from his coffee. “No, you’re not. And I’m glad to see you remember that. Mick will be, too, once he gets his head out of his ass.”
“When do you think that’ll happen?”
“Not sure. If it wasn’t about you, I’d probably say when pigs fly. But it is you. And maybe I can help him along. Want me to try to talk to him?”
“I don’t want to put you in the middle.”
Jamie grinned at her crookedly. “Sweetheart, you put me in the middle from day one.”
That made her smile. “So I did.”
“Anyway, I don’t mind having a reason to tell Mick he’s an idiot.”
She shook her head. “You boys.”
“Don’t let him catch you calling him that.”
“As if. So, tell me what’s been going on with you. I don’t mean to make this all about me. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Nothing much has been happening, anyway. Except . . .”
“Except what?”
“You know . . . Summer Grace stopped by the shop yesterday.”
“Did she?”
He nodded. “I was out, so I didn’t see her. She didn’t tell any of the guys what she wanted.”
“Maybe her car needs work? Or maybe you should give her a chance, Jamie.”
“And maybe you should have your head examined. You know damn well why that’s not going to happen.”
“Another case of stupid man, maybe,” she muttered into her coffee. “Must be an epidemic.”
He picked up his cup before responding to her barb. “You seem to be feeling better.”
“You’re just doing a good job of distracting me.” But she reached for the bag and extracted a beignet, bit into it and chewed as she leaned back in her chair. “These are still pretty damn good even after they’re cold.”
“Have as many as you want. I ate mine on the way over.”
“I didn’t think that white powder meant you’d developed a cocaine problem.”
Jamie wiped at his chin and she laughed.
“You are feeling better.”
“I’ll really feel better when Mick calls me and apologizes for being an ass. And follows it up by being appropriately attentive and actually working toward something with me.”
And by “appropriately attentive” she meant more than just great sex.
“He will. He’s never forgotten about you. I don’t think he can, no matter how checked out he’s been lately. It’s part of him transitioning into this. It’s a lot to accept all at once after the years he’s put into being stubborn when it comes to you.”
“So, you think talking to him will do some good?”
“It’ll be a little push. Or a big one if he’s in bastard mode. But mostly it’ll be the fact that he still loves you, Allie.”
Her eyes misted—she couldn’t help it. “I wish I didn’t need him to so damn much.”
“That’s the bitch about love—people don’t have much control over it. That’s what’s eating him up, sweetheart. It’s not you.”
That was the part that hurt the worst—knowing he couldn’t drop the control issues long enough to just love her, to let that old amazing love they’d shared rekindle into something current and real. They could have so much together if only . . .
But “if onlys” didn’t make a relationship—not the one she wanted to find with him.
She wanted to be able to say she could walk away forever if Mick couldn’t let his walls down with her. She wanted to. She wasn’t entirely certain she could.
Meanwhile, she had better learn how to pray.
* * *
IT WAS NEARLY ten that night when there was another knock at her door. She’d been halfway anticipating it, but her heart thundered in her chest as she smoothed her hair and went to answer it, knowing it would be him.
When she opened the door, he was a shadow silhouetted against the amber porch light, but she’d have known that big frame anywhere, his cocky stance, the familiar scent of him that immediately drifted to her, even against the backdrop of the magnolia blossoms and the crepe myrtle starting to bloom in her yard.
“Can I come in, Allie?”
Somehow he managed to sound demanding and humble all at the same time, but she moved back to let him pass. He went into the living room and stood facing the mantel, which was cluttered with items she hadn’t managed to put away yet: a collection of glass candlesticks, her sewing box, a folder full of the postcards she’d collected from all over the world during her travels. She followed him in and switched on a lamp.
“You still unpacking?” he asked.
“The cardboard boxes make it that obvious?” When he didn’t answer she prompted, “I suppose you didn’t come here to talk about my boxes.”
“No.”
He turned around and she gasped. “Jesus, Mick. What did you do to yourself?”
“It’s just a split lip.”
She marched across the room and held his chin in her hand. “Let me look at that.”
“I’m fine.”
“Have you had any medical attention?”
“I don’t need it, babe. It’s nothing.”
She dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you ‘babe’ me. You’ve been fighting.”
He nodded.
“An illegal fight.” When he didn’t say anything she went on. “Mick, I know damn well it was one of those stupid club fights. If you’d been sparring, you would have just told me.”
“I didn’t come here to upset you, Allie. I’ve done enough of that already.”
Her blood went cold, a slow knot forming in her stomach. Was this where he told her—again—that she was better off without him before he walked out of her life once more?
She couldn’t speak, so she just nodded.
He was quiet for several long moments while her breath stalled in her lungs. He was so damn handsome, his lush mouth drawn tight around the swelling, his gray eyes full of shadows.
She waited.
He ran a hand over his jaw, winced when he came too close to the swollen lip. Finally he said, “I guess you know Jamie came to talk to me today?”
“Yes.”
“He made a lot of sense after he finished verbally beating the shit out of me. Which I deserved—I know it. He told me about his conversation with you. And it wasn’t like I wasn’t thinking about this stuff already. But fuck, Allie, when I woke up this morning and found you gone . . .”
“What?” she demanded. “You found me gone and what, Mick?”
The anger was rising again, making her throat go tight, but it was better than the pain, the panic at the idea of not having him in her life.
“And I couldn’t stand that I’d done it. That I’d been so dense. Needing to escape the issues so badly I acted like a twelve-year-old.”
She smirked a little. “Maybe fifteen.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that a half-assed apology, Mick?”
“No. This is. I’m sorry, Allie. I’m sorry it’s been so hard for me to let you in. I’m sorry I’m not coming through for you no matter how much we negotiate and talk and agree to try.” His gaze locked hard on hers, and he looked right into her in the way he always had, making her feel naked right down to her bones. “I want to try.”
Her heart twisted. Tears burned but she swallowed them down.
“Do you, Mick? Really try? Because this half-assed stuff is not going to work for me.”
“I know. That’s why you left. I get it. I would have left, too, if I were you.”
She bit her lip. “Mick, I think . . . there has to be more than simply trying, do you know what I’m saying? I feel like you have to sort of transcend what’s happened in the past. You accused me—rightfully so—of living in the past where we were concerned. But I think you do it, too. About a lot of things. Us. The accident. Your self-image when you were younger. I don’t think you’ve really let it go yet.”
He dropped his head and stuck his hands in his pockets, looking absolutely humble—so out of the ordinary for him that she waited with bated breath for what he might say. Either that, or for him to bolt.
Finally he lifted his head. “Okay. You’ve got me there. I was the troublemaker in my family. Neal pulled some pranks, but it was normal teenage stuff. I’ve always been a little darker. Not just the kink, although that probably had a lot to do with how I viewed myself back then. But the staying out late, cutting school, stealing my dad’s good Scotch.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I always did like a bad boy. But Mick, none of that was really that terrible. You weren’t stealing cars or dealing drugs. You were just a kid with a bit of a wild streak. So what?”
“So you were the A student with aspirations and virginity intact.”
“And you were a high school man-whore. Again, so what?” she countered.
“Only until I met you,” he said, his gaze softening. “Once I met you . . .”
God, he had loved her so much once. She remembered the way he looked at her. The way he held her. As if nothing in the world mattered but the two of them being together.
“Mick, there was an innocence to you back then, too.”
“Me?”
“You were just a kid! Think about a sixteen-year-old now, from an adult perspective. If your nephew cut classes or slept with a few girls, would you think he was a terrible person?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Then maybe it’s time you cut your teenage self some slack, too.”
“Fuck, Allie . . .”
He looked away, but she could tell she’d gotten through. She waited for him to absorb what she’d said.
He turned back to her and there was the edge of a grin on his handsome face. “But if he tied a girl up, we’d have to have a talk.”
“Yes, you would. And when he was eighteen you’d show him how to do it the right way. The safe way.”
“Yeah.”
“So, maybe not so terrible, are you, Mick? And if it’s the kink issue—”
“No, I’m starting to get that.”
“Okay. That’s good, especially because I feel like that’s what’s brought us back together.”
“I think so, too.”
“And you’re here. You came for me, and that’s important to me. But Mick, there’s still the damn fighting.”
“Sometimes I need it, Allie.”
She shook her head. “You are so stubborn, Mick Reid! You just make me want to . . .” She shook her head again. “And would you just . . . God, you really are dense!”
He moved in and grabbed her, pulling her in tight. The still-mad part of her wanted to scramble away from him, make him work for it, but she melted right into him, as she always did. Nothing in the world felt better than Mick’s arms around her, his scent, the feel of him. The mad faded away.
He held her head close to his chest, his fingers buried in her hair. She laced her arms around his waist, her palms smoothing his muscled back.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“What?”
He grasped her hair just hard enough to tip her head back until he caught her gaze with his.
“This,” he said before kissing her gently.
“I don’t want to hurt your lip,” she whispered.
“I don’t care.”
He kissed her again, harder this time. She felt the swelling on his mouth, and it made her want to cry. But Mick was there and he wanted to be with her, he was willing to talk stuff out, and the crying was over.
He slid his tongue along her lower lip and she opened to him, her tongue darting out to soothe his injury.
He groaned deep in his throat.
She pulled back. “Did I hurt you?”
He smiled at her, a crooked grin. “Yeah. That doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.”
“You’re so kinky.”
“Luckily—thank the fucking heavens—you seem to like that about me.”
“I do.” She smiled back at him, stepped away from him and took his hand. “Come over here and let me show you, Mick.”
He gripped her hand and yanked her back into him roughly, making her gasp. “Oh, no. I’ve had enough of you trying to be boss, princess.”
She yelped when he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Hey!”
He gave her ass a s
ound spank. “Don’t argue with me.”
He carried her into the bedroom and flopped her down on the bed and immediately started to undress her. Her yoga pants came off, followed by her tank top, then her underwear. With only a few fingertips, he pressed between her breasts, using one finger to make a hard pressure point that told her in no uncertain terms to do what he wanted. She lay back and watched as he tore his T-shirt over his head.
She never got tired of looking at his muscled chest, the ridges of his abs. The narrow line of dark hair leading into the waistband of his jeans. She bit her lip as he unzipped them, knowing he always went commando. In seconds he was kicking the denim away and, naked, he lowered himself over her.
She reached for him, her hands hungry for the weight of his already hard cock, but he took both wrists with a low growl and spread her arms out to the sides. He lowered his mouth, and she felt the heat of his breath on the side of her breast before he bit in savagely.
“Ah! Mick . . .”
But the pain was immediately washed away in a flood of endorphins and that sense of being his she craved down to her bones.
She moaned quietly, and he licked at the sore spot, sucked the tender skin. She was going wet, loving his mouth on her, his teeth.
“God, when you bite me . . .” she said, groaning.
“When I bite you, what?” he murmured against her skin.
“It makes me feel . . . owned.”
“Do you want that? Do you like it when I leave marks on you? Tell me, Allie girl.”
“Yes. I love to be marked. I love to look at them and remember it was you.”
“Did you look at your marks while I was gone, baby? Did you want to remember me?”
She licked her lips. “Always. Always, Mick.”
“Allie . . .”
He moved down to her stomach, kissed her there softly, his mouth hot and lingering before he nipped at her flesh.
“Oh . . .”
He paused for a moment, blew onto her skin, tickling her, then he bit. Hard.
“Oh!”
She reached for him, buried her fingers in his hair, but he pushed her hands away and she knew she was to try to hold still. She lowered her arms, spread out on each side, a lovely, liquid sense of obedience flooding her.