by Zoey Oliver
Mick’s hands engulfed Ayla’s. “It may not be my place to say so, but that’s bollocks. Your son seems so happy, like such a good lad. They’re his grandparents! And your mum and dad! The whole thing breaks my heart in half, Ayla, it truly does.” Without thinking, Mick reached across and wiped the tears from Ayla’s left cheek with his right hand.
“Mick, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this, and it might make you hate me or I don’t know what, but Preston is… he’s… well, he’s your son. You’re his father. You were the only one. I couldn’t find you again. I tried and tried. Please don’t hate me, and don’t be mad at him…”
Ayla’s confession came directly from her soul, a place she kept her deepest pain and all her innermost hopes and dreams.
Mick let go of her hands and stood up from the table. He stumbled two steps back from the table as if he’d been slapped.
The initial shock on his face softened just a bit as he looked over at the splash pad and watched Preston chasing Desiree with a bucket filled with water. The way he ran and smiled reminded him of someone he’d known at that age.
His little brother, Frank.
Mick began to cry.
He probably hadn’t cried in ten years. And now here he was.
He looked back at Ayla, who was sobbing, and then again to Preston. He went through the calculations in his mind, and the dates seemed to roughly line up. It would have been almost seven years ago, that night at Scald. Nine months later, plus six years…
Mick dropped to his knees on the green grass. Preston was being chased now, and it was as if he was watching Frank running down the sideline, soccer ball at his feet, joyously eluding defenders in his youth league back in Sheffield. The same loping, gangly run, all arms and legs.
In Mick’s mind’s eye, Frank was alive. His father was alive, shouting encouragement from the sideline. His mum was yelling at a referee.
They were all back home again in Sheffield— shit. He had a flight to catch. But that was the last thing he wanted to think about. His entire life had just been turned inside out and upside down. He had a family? At the very least, a son. Who knew what Ayla was, or what she wanted to, or could become, to him? She took his breath away, always had, from that first night, and still did. But in truth, he barely knew her.
But she’d had his baby.
This beautiful, sexy girl, who he’d spent so much time thinking about, and pining away for, without even knowing her name, had given him a priceless gift. A gift he didn’t know he’d received, or even wanted, but now it was all he could think about. Introducing Preston to his mum. Teaching him rugby. Taking him to Bramall Lane to see the statue of Preston’s uncle. Telling him about his grandfather. So much catching up to do.
Where to begin?
Ayla held her head in hands. The way Mick backed away from the table when she told him the truth about Preston tore her guts out. He looked like he wanted to run. To run and keep running, all the way back to Sheffield, and then to just keep running. She’d made a terrible mistake. What had she been thinking?
But suddenly he’d stopped. And he was crying, too. He was watching Preston and Desiree playing and he was weeping. Ayla couldn’t read him at all.
She was devastated. The emotional roller coaster that began at the gas station had gone horribly off the rails and ended in a fiery crash at the park, because she couldn’t contain herself. Couldn’t take things slowly, get to know him, let him get to know her. What did she really know about Mick Merryweather, anyway? Even if he wanted to be part of Preston’s life, which seemed beyond unlikely now, she barely knew him. It would be doing her son no justice to give a virtual stranger access to him.
Just like she shouldn’t have given a stranger the unfettered access she’d given that same man to her body…
She blinked through her tears to watch Mick stand up and return to the table, where she sat.
He walked around to her side and opened his arms, beckoning her to rise.
Ayla did, and Mick wrapped her up in a warm, loving embrace. Both their shoulders shook. He released and held her at arm’s length, smiling.
“It’s good. It’s so good. Thank you, Ayla.”
Her face found his chest, and she cried, anew, tears this time of joy. Of peace.
Of relief.
“I never thought… I never imagined I’d find you,” Ayla gasped.
“You’ve found me. I’ve found you. Fate found us,” Mick assured her. “I’m right here. I’m not letting you go again. Ever.”
Preston noticed his mom and the man from the gas station who’d bought him a slushie were hugging. He’d never seen his mom hug a man before, and he felt a twinge of jealousy. He rushed over, with Desiree trailing. “Preston! Preston, wait!”
But he was too quick, and he reached Ayla and Mick before she could intervene. He wrapped his wet arms around his mother’s waist, staking his claim to her.
Mick stepped back, deferring to Preston. “Go on, big man, hug your mum. I’m sorry, mate.”
Preston looked up at him defiantly, then smiled and stuck out his tongue. Mick tentatively reached out a balled fist, which Preston bumped with his own fist.
“Hey, Preston, I was thinking about going to get pizza,” Desiree suggested. “Are you hungry?”
“Sure,” he answered, keeping his hold on Ayla.
Ayla and Mick made eye contact and shared a nod and a smile.
Chapter 14
“I want to take you to dinner, but I desperately need a shower,” Mick told Ayla. “If you hadn’t noticed.”
“You seem fine to me,” Ayla admitted. “But I definitely need to rinse the road off. So, yeah, let’s each go home and take showers.”
“Do you like Thai food? There’s a great place called Lotus of Siam. It’s off Sahara, a few blocks from the Strip.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever had it, but I like Chinese, is it similar?” Ayla asked.
“You’ll love it. I live near the restaurant, in the condos at Arroyo Place. You live near here? In Henderson?”
“Just a few streets over from here.”
“I’ll send a car for you. Will an hour give you enough time?”
“Perfect,” Ayla said. “But what about your trip?”
“Ah. I’m going to reschedule. Or something. I think my mum might want to come here when I tell her the news, don’t you?”
Ayla smiled sheepishly. “Do you think she’ll like being a grandma?”
“You’ve clearly never met Bev Merryweather. Her lack of grandchildren is her favorite thing to complain about. And she’s only happy when she’s complaining.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean, in a roundabout way, that she won’t be happy anymore?”
“Or any less,” Mick laughed. “Trust me, she’ll be thrilled. Not with having to move slowly and take our time explaining everything to Preston, but she’ll be tickled.”
“So, I’ll see you in just a bit then?” Ayla asked.
“I can’t wait. Just for the record, this is the coolest thing that’s happened to me since, well, nothing comes to mind. We have a lot to catch up on. Over the best Thai food on the continent.”
Ayla and Mick hugged again, and when they broke the embrace, Ayla stood up on her tiptoes and kissed Mick on the cheek. He blushed and tilted his head to look her in the eye. He took her chin in his hand and kissed her back, softly at first, then more deeply. She withdrew, gasping.
“Um, wow. Okay. Let’s slow down before we wind up where we were last time,” she said, hands on his chest.
“Was last time so bad?” Mick asked, grinning.
“Just the opposite,” Ayla confirmed. “But maybe we ought to strive for somewhere a little more private? And you have to buy me dinner first, anyway. What kind of girl do you think I am?”
Mick licked his lips. “A delicious one. Text me your address. A car will pick you up in an hour. You can dress casual, I wear the monkey suit to work, I don’t feel like getting so
dressed up tonight. If that’s okay with you?”
“Sounds good.”
Desiree had taken Preston to Chuck E. Cheese, and Ayla rushed home to get cleaned up for her date.
Mick called the airline from his SUV, canceling his flight and scheduling one to bring his mother from Sheffield to Las Vegas. He knew she’d complain, but he’d tell her he had a surprise waiting for her. She’d grumble, but in the end acquiesce.
He received Ayla’s address and scheduled a town car to pick her up and bring her to Lotus.
In the shower, he found himself singing Lovesong by The Cure. A song he hadn’t heard, much less sung, in more years than he could count. But it popped into his head as he shampooed his hair and before he knew it, he was belting it out.
However far away… I will always love you.
As he dressed, he repeated her name aloud. “Ayla. Ayla Murray. Ayla Murray. Ayla. Ayla. Ayla. Finally. My Ayla.”
Chapter 15
Mick wore khaki pants and a forest green golf shirt that contained his pecs and biceps only under protest. Green and blue socks under brown dress shoes that matched his belt finished him off.
He was standing outside when Ayla’s town car pulled up.
Ayla emerged in a red sundress with a yellow floral pattern. It hugged her curves before billowing out just above her knees. Strappy sandals completed her ensemble. Her makeup was light and her shimmering blonde hair swung in a simple ponytail.
Mick couldn’t contain a grin as Ayla approached, and his easy smile melted her nerves away.
“Wow,” he exclaimed. “You’re… just… wow.”
Ayla blushed. “You’re ‘wow’ yourself. Mick Merryweather.”
They shared a quick kiss and walked inside. While waiting for a table, Ayla noticed the scar on Mick’s left bicep. She traced it with her fingertip. “Is there a story?”
“Not one I care to tell over dinner,” Mick replied. “It’s one of many. Picked it up in Laos.”
“Is it one of those ‘you should see the other guy’ things?” Ayla asked.
“Oh, you wouldn’t want to see him.,” Mick countered. “But you won’t have to. He was a very bad man. I was the last person he’ll ever hurt.”
Ayla was wide-eyed. She knew Mick had a military background, but he was insinuating that he’d killed the man who gave him the scar. Mick looked dangerous. He was dangerous.
Ayla couldn’t help it— she was wet.
The menu was overwhelming, so Mick helped with some of Ayla’s choices. She loved the things Mick ordered, as he predicted. The chicken larb and choi soy were more “native” to Southeast Asia than the stuffed chicken wing appetizer they shared and the garlic prawns to which Ayla became immediately, hopelessly addicted to.
The meal was delicious, the wine refreshing, and despite Ayla’s reservations about the distinctly “non-American” dessert of sticky rice with mango, it was likewise mouth-watering, and Ayla ate more of it than she’d intended to. Along with everything else that showed up on her plate. Her plan to eat lightly in front of Mick went out the window when she tasted the food. Besides, she knew she needed to eat enough to build up her strength for the nightcap she was hoping for.
The conversation flowed easily, bouncing between Ayla’s jobs, Mick’s various careers, his brother, Ayla’s sister and brother, and Mick’s announcement that his mother would be arriving in two days’ time.
Mick was especially excited to learn that Ayla had a brother in the military. He felt that they’d have quite a bit in common.
The began the meal across from each other, but as dishes arrived, Mick moved over and sat in the booth next to Ayla. Their arms and hands brushed more and more often, and Ayla found her body responding to his proximity in naughty ways. She squirmed under the intensity of his gaze after they finished a particularly memorable kiss while waiting for dessert to arrive.
She needed him badly.
They left the restaurant holding hands, emerging into a world cooler and darker than the on they’d left. Ayla didn’t technically have any sick days left for the year at NPE, but she was hopeful that Randy could cover for her. Jeff would probably be happy she wasn’t there, anyway, although as her co-worker J.R. had said countless times, “If Jeff doesn’t like you, you must be doing something right.”
Ayla sent Lupe a text asking if she could stay with Preston until she’d pick him up and drop him on her way to her second job, and Lupe agreed.
Mick drove Ayla back to his condo, valet parked his Navigator, and the two of them strolled inside. On the elevator up to his floor, they could barely contain themselves, kissing, groping and clawing at each other until they reached Mick’s floor and his elderly, snooty neighbor caught them making out like teenagers when the door opened. She gave them a disapproving glare as they eased past her and into the hallway.
“Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Roban,” Mick said with a bow and flourish. Her eyes widened and she made a “Hrmph!” sound.
“Roban?” Ayla asked. “Like the jewelry store Roban family?”
“Exactly the ones,” Mick replied. “She lives here. I’ve never seen him. I think he has a place on a golf course somewhere. And a girlfriend your age.”
“That’s kind of gross. He’s got to be, what, almost eighty?”
“If you’ve waited until now to tell me you don’t fancy older men, I’m going to be terribly disappointed,” Mick joked.
“Every girl likes older men,” Ayla replied. “But there’s a difference between a silver fox and a… well, whatever somebody old enough to be your great-grandfather is.”
“I’m a silver fox, then?” Mick asked, opening the door, letting Ayla in, then locking it behind him. Before she could answer, he had her hands above her head, back to the door, kissing her voraciously.
Between kissing Ayla’s neck and mouth, Mick spoke directly into her ear. “I’ve thought about you… ever since… you’re a work of art… I’ve been obsessed with you… and I never even knew your name.”
Ayla writhed and whimpered under his assault, the spaghetti straps of her sundress sliding down her shoulders and down her body, leaving her clad in only her sandals and panties.
Mick kissed her bare shoulders and her collarbone. Ayla gasped when he kissed her hard on the mouth and pressed his hips forward, his erection separated from where she so desperately needed it by only her sodden panties and his tented pants and boxers. She felt it pulse angrily as he kissed her.
Ayla reached for Mick’s shirt, trying to pull it off, but instead he bent down and placed an arm behind her knees, lifting her effortlessly into the air and carrying her through his condo toward the bedroom.
Focused entirely on Mick, throwing her arms behind his head and kissing him as he walked, Ayla was only vaguely aware of the floor to ceiling windows with the spectacular Strip view and the elegantly appointed post-modern furnishings in Mick’s home. She knew Arroyo Place’s reputation for housing the rich and beautiful of Las Vegas, alongside the movers and shakers in the gaming industry. When she learned that Mick lived there, she was impressed, but taken aback.
She knew full well that Arroyo Place residents didn’t mix with National Parcel Express hourly employees like herself.
But this was Mick. Her Mick. And he was demonstrating now how little any difference in wage or station in life meant to him, at least when it came to her.
Mick set Ayla down gently on his bed, and he slithered down her body, slipping her underwear down and off in one smooth motion.
Ayla lay naked before a fully clothed Mick, but for her sandals. The room was lit only by the neon glow of the Strip pouring in through the window, which she noticed for the first time.
Mick knelt at the foot of the bed and gently removed Ayla’s footwear, cradling her feet and kissing them softly.
Her body was on fire, and she couldn’t keep still. Her hips undulated on the bed, and her hands touched her stomach and slid down her pelvic lines toward the source of her need.
Mi
ck noticed and cautioned her. “Don’t touch yourself, Ayla. Your body is all for me. Let me do everything. Be a good girl and give yourself fully to me.”
Good girl.
Fuck.
Ayla’s core temperature went from one thousand degrees right past a million. Her sex felt like it was boiling.
Satisfied that his mewing, whimpering prey would comply, Mick resumed kissing Ayla’s feet. He moved slowly up to her ankles, then her calves, touching her body with only his lips.
He rose up between her legs to a kneeling position and reached back over his shoulder to pull his shirt off and toss it aside.
One look at Mick’s shoulders was almost enough to send Ayla tumbling over the edge.
He bent back down, kissing Ayla’s knees, his hands beginning to roam, fingertips on her sides, making her squirm even harder.
She could feel by the way he was moving that he must be removing his pants, and she lifted her head from the sheets in an effort to see the weapon he’d so expertly wielded when they’d first met.
All she saw, however, was his dark eyes, meeting hers as his face dipped down between her legs.
He kissed all around her opening, deliberately avoiding her clit.
“Please,” Ayla hoarsely begged. “Kiss me there. Please.”
“Where, Ayla?” Mick asked, feigning innocent ignorance of her desire. “Just tell me and I’ll kiss you anywhere you want.”
“My pussy. My clit please make me come. I’ll do anything to come. Let me come for you, Mick. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for six years.”
Mick’s hands found the backs of Ayla’s thighs and lifted them up and apart, lewdly exposing everything.
He stared in reverential awe at the source of Ayla’s femininity, the altar of her womanhood.
He kissed around and around, moving lower, his lips brushing against that almost painfully-sensitive spot between her sex and her… Ayla clutched at the sheets, balling them in her fists.
Mick had never been harder.
The scent of Ayla’s arousal was overpowering. It went straight to his manhood, making it swell and throb each time he inhaled.