“You got it,” Cillian replied, still smiling.
“Aisling,” I said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
She glanced up at me swiftly and then away, muttering, “Good to see you, Amy.”
I braced and looked at her father. “Mickey.”
“Amy,” he replied, drawing his brows together and again dipping his eyes before they came back to mine.
I had no opportunity to make a further fool of myself by soundlessly demanding to know what Mickey was saying because Bradley drew me away.
When we got to our table, he pulled my chair out and I sat in it. Then he sat. And thankfully we did this, ordered drinks and received them, all without incident.
We were perusing our menus when I looked across the three tables that separated us and saw Bradley’s back was to the Donovans, but Mickey’s side was to me and his head was turned my way, his complete attention on me.
And I could tell he was still angry.
Very angry.
That was when I had my first inkling I was in trouble.
He jerked his head in an aggressive manner that irked me.
Chancing a glance at Bradley, who was studying his menu, I looked back to Mickey, tipped my head to the side and flipped out a hand in my non-verbal, “what?”
He lifted a hand and jabbed a finger my way, tipping it slightly down, then up, then moving it to touch it to his chest.
Oh God.
Did I have something on my dress?
I looked down instantly and saw all was clear.
I lifted my head, snapped my brows together, and after another click glance at Bradley, who was still examining his menu, I looked back at Mickey and again flipped my hand out.
Her jerked his head in that aggressive way again but not toward me, in another direction.
I looked in that direction and saw there was a door to a hallway, above which it had a sign that read “Restrooms.”
I looked back to Mickey’s table to see he was no longer there. He was up and prowling infuriatedly toward that door, looking insanely hot doing this in his sports jacket.
God, he was killing me.
“What looks good to you?” Bradley asked.
Mickey Donovan, I did not answer.
“I need a moment,” I said and his head came up, his eyes to me. “Just need to freshen up a bit. Do you mind?” I asked.
“No, Amelia,” he replied, his face getting soft. “Take all the time you need.”
He was a nice man.
And I was an idiot.
Even knowing that, it didn’t stop me from grabbing my clutch and shooting out of my chair perhaps a wee bit too swiftly for someone who’d just insinuated she might need to use the restroom but mostly she wanted to fix her lipstick.
Then I stormed across the restaurant to the hall and down it.
It was a long hall and at the end of it, another hall led off at a T with a sign that said “Restrooms” with an arrow pointing right, “Staff Only” with an arrow pointing left.
I went right, passing the men’s (why was the men’s room always first? irritating) and then the ladies’, heading to the very end of the hall where Mickey was standing, arms crossed on his chest, scowling at me.
I shoved my clutch under my arm, again lifted both hands, stomping his way, but this time I asked a verbal, “What?”
I arrived at him.
Then I was not in the hall but shoved into an alcove off the side, which was quite possibly a place where they put racks to hang coats during winter months but right then was a dark space totally removed from everything.
“Mickey,” I whispered, half in shock, half something else entirely.
“Uh…no,” he said infuriatedly and bafflingly.
“No, what?” I asked, staring up at him, not believing I was in a dark area removed from a restaurant where my date was, his kids were, and I was pressed against a wall by an aggressive, inexplicably angry Mickey Donovan.
“No,” he repeated but he did this shocking me to my bones by lifting a finger and gliding it from the very start of the cleft of my cleavage over that cleft, dipping slightly into my cleavage.
Even though his touch made my nipples harden instantly, I lifted my hand and snatched his finger away, keeping hold of it.
“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath.
“Pull your goddamned dress up,” he clipped under his.
“Are you crazy?” I kept hissing.
“That guy, fuckin’ Bradley, is that a joke?” he asked.
I didn’t know what that meant.
That didn’t stop me from snapping, “No.”
“Amy, even your ex, who’s a dick, is not as big of a douche as that douche at your table.”
Oh my God!
“Bradley is not a douche,” I retorted.
“Bradley is a douche and you do not give cleavage to a douche who you’re gonna let take you out for a couple of dinners and then dump his ass when you figure out he’s a douche.”
“For your information, I’m ending things with Bradley tonight, but not because he’s a douche, since he’s not. He’s nice. Because it just isn’t working for me.”
Mickey’s expression clouded over with sudden brotherly affront. “And you’re showin’ your tits to give him a look at what he’s not gonna get?”
I felt my face get pink and not in ways that Mickey normally made it pink.
Because I was furious.
“I have cleavage because my dress has cleavage, Mickey.”
“Pull up the dress, Amelia.”
I looked from side to side in mock panic before looking back to Mickey, letting his finger go, and grasping frantically at his lapels.
“Oh God!” I cried. “Did I enter a time machine and didn’t notice it? Are we back in 1818 where a man can drag a woman into an alcove at an eating establishment and demand she cover herself up?”
Mickey didn’t answer, and him not having a ready comeback surprised me enough to pay closer attention.
And what I saw was him looking down at me, his face thunderous, his jaw ticking, looking like he could easily murder someone, painfully and bloodily.
And the closest someone was me.
“Mickey,” I whispered, uncurling my fingers in order to smooth his jacket and then hopefully slide away and escape.
I didn’t get that far.
He muttered a terse, “Fuck it.”
And then he was kissing me.
Mickey Donovan was kissing me!
At first, I was suspended in utter disbelief.
Then his tongue touched my lips, I opened my mouth, it slid inside…
And I tasted Mickey.
He was the most beautiful taste to ever touch my tongue.
Because of that, I wanted more.
And I took it, in doing so receiving the best kiss I’d had in my life.
It was deep, wet, blazing.
So much of all that I forgot everything.
I forgot I was in a restaurant.
I forgot I was on a date.
I forgot my date was in said restaurant.
I forgot Mickey’s kids were there.
I forgot everything.
Everything, but Mickey.
It consumed us both in its blistering heat to the point mouths and tongues weren’t enough and we both started groping.
I was right.
He was hard and he was hot, everywhere I touched.
I loved it.
And his hands on me, over my clothes, did things to me I didn’t know I could feel.
I whimpered against his tongue and he tore his mouth free.
But he didn’t go far and I found myself pressed to a wall by the solid heat of Mickey, his fingers tangled in my hair, his other hand cupped on my behind. My arms were in his jacket, one hand clenched in the back of his shirt, the other one pressed tight against his rock-hard shoulder blade.
We were both breathing heavily.
“Two choices, Amelia,” h
e stated in a low, throaty voice that sped right between my legs, forcing the wet already gathering there from the kiss to become soaked. “You either go out there and tell that guy to take a hike, come and sit at our table and have Cillian’s birthday dinner with us or you go out there, get that guy outta here, end it with him and I’ll be over later.”
“It would be rude to tell him to take a hike,” my mouth said for me.
“Then get his ass outta here, end it and I’ll be over later.”
Oh God, what was happening?
“Mickey,” I whispered.
He pressed me into the wall and his fingers slid deeper into my hair, gripping my side bun as his hand at my behind clenched.
Sodden was history, now I feared I was dripping.
“Get him outta here, Amy,” he growled.
“Okay, Mickey,” I breathed.
His eyes dropped to my mouth and he muttered, “Right across the street, fuck.”
“Mickey, I think—” I began.
He interrupted me, “You think for the next three hours that you’re gonna think about anything but that kiss and ending it with that guy, I’m gonna kiss you again, Amy, so you won’t.”
He couldn’t kiss me again. If he did, I’d lose thought of everything and probably end up having sex against the wall in a dark alcove in a fancy restaurant with Mickey.
“I don’t think I’ll forget that kiss,” I told him breathily.
“Right,” he bit off, sounding angry.
“Are you angry?” I asked.
“Are you gonna walk out to that guy wearing that dress?” he asked back.
“Well…yes.”
“Then yeah, I’m angry.”
More baffling.
“Why?” I asked.
“Reverse roles and think of me walkin’ out to a woman who was wearing that dress,” he clipped.
That wasn’t baffling.
“Oh.”
I had a feeling my fourteen-year-old daughter was right.
Mickey Donovan was into me.
“Now are you gonna be cute, which means I’m gonna have to kiss you again, which will maybe be so hot I won’t be able to stop it this time so I’ll have to fuck you against a wall in the hall of a restaurant while my kids are waiting for me to eat my son’s birthday dinner? Or are you gonna get your ass to the table and get that guy outta here?”
I was breathing heavier when I answered, “I’m gonna get that guy outta here.”
“Good call.”
We stared at each other and didn’t move.
This lasted long moments before Mickey noted, “You aren’t leaving.”
“You have to let me go, honey,” I whispered.
“Fuck,’ he whispered back, and the unbearable happened.
His fingers slid out of my hair, his hand glided away from my bottom, and he stepped back.
I felt like a treasure chest full of gold had been bared to me, all mine for the keeping, and then the minute I dug my fingers into the gleaming coins, it disappeared in a blink.
“Go, baby,” he ordered gently.
I held his gaze, licked my lips, rolled them together and nodded.
Then I started to go but stopped when he called a soft, “Amy.”
God, just my name on his lips made me even wetter.
I turned to him to see he’d grabbed my forgotten clutch from where it had dropped to the floor and was holding it out to me.
I took it, whispering, “Thanks.”
“Go,” he whispered back.
I took off, wisely going first to the bathroom to fix my hair (it didn’t look near as good when I finished, then again, I didn’t have a lot of time and my hands were shaking).
I also put lipstick on.
But there was no way to hide I looked like I’d been kissed. Thoroughly. My lips were swollen, my cheeks flushed, my eyes dazed. I tried to rectify it but I didn’t have time enough for that either.
This would be to my fortune, though not entirely, for it would make my errand of getting Bradley out of the restaurant easy, it was just that doing it wasn’t pleasant.
He’d noticed Mickey gone.
He noticed my thoroughly kissed mouth and disheveled side bun when I returned.
So when I shared gently we had to leave so we could talk, he threw an acid look Mickey’s way before he tossed his napkin down, pushed his chair back, got out his wallet, flung some bills on the table and stalked away.
He didn’t help me out of my seat.
He didn’t hold my hand as he marched out of the restaurant.
And he went so fast, I had to hurry to keep up so I could only glance and wave at the Donovan table.
Mickey was looking at me, his look was a mix of annoyed and heated.
Cillian waved at me.
Aisling only glanced at me but when she looked away, she smiled a little smile like the cat who just got her cream.
* * * * * *
I was pacing in front of my wall of windows, phone to my ear.
I was also babbling.
To voicemail.
“Okay, so I know I pulled back. I know you tried to keep in touch with me. I know I had a lot of things on my mind but you were one of them and I should have let you know that and not just through texts,” I said to Robin’s mailbox. “But a lot was happening with me, is happening with me, and while that happened, I made a lot of mistakes. Lots of them.”
I pulled in a deep breath and kept babbling.
“But later tonight, a man is going to ring my doorbell and I know in my heart I won’t be making a mistake opening it to him. But I screwed up so bad picking Conrad, who I knew in my heart was the man for me, I’m scared to death because that man that’s soon arriving and I…it’s been rocky. It’s been…Robin, it’s been really rocky.”
I closed my eyes and started winding it down.
“I’m shutting up now. And I’m hoping to all that is holy that you’re not communicating with me because you’re angry with me and not because something has happened with you and nobody’s told me.”
I turned and looked out at the sea.
“Call me,” I finished. “Please, Robin, call me. And if you’re angry with me, then at least text me to tell me you’re okay.”
With that, I ended the call.
I stopped pacing and looked out the windows.
Suffice it to say, while Bradley was wasting no time (and scaring me a little) driving like a madman to get me home and dump me at my house, he didn’t mind at all that I was ending things.
He also didn’t walk me to the door or even wait to reverse out of my drive and take off before I got to it.
This was beyond awkward and it made me feel like a bitchy slut, or a slutty bitch (no, actually, both).
So after I let myself inside and turned on a lamp by the TV, walked to the kitchen and flipped on the pendants over the bar, I put my clutch on the counter and dug out my phone.
Then I texted him, There’s no excuse for what happened tonight so I won’t try to make one. I’ll only say I’m very sorry. I enjoyed our time together and I’m sad that it ended this way.
I said no more, not telling him he’s a good man and he’ll find someone, which would probably not be something he wanted to read from me. Nor did I tell him I wasn’t leading him on or playing games and that things with Mickey and I were complicated, which was true but would sound banal to him and also something he wouldn’t want to read. Nor did I tell him I hoped he didn’t think badly about me because that was selfish and likely an impossible feat.
I kept it short and offered my apologies. It was the only thing I could do.
I fretted for a while about my behavior but the fretting drifted away and the pacing started when it sunk in completely that Mickey Donovan had kissed me.
Kissed me.
I didn’t know how that could happen. I’d kissed him and he’d pulled away, told me I was…“attractive,” gave no indication he was interested in me, and in fact gave lots of indication he didn’
t much like me.
When the fretting about that started to overwhelm me, I’d called Robin.
With that call done, now I had hours before Mickey would show at my door, possibly to kiss me again (which caused such extreme excitement I felt the urge to go straight to the toy in my nightstand drawer and make use of it). He also possibly would ask me out, which was frankly unfathomable (or had been, until he kissed me).
Or he possibly would come over in order to tell me what happened at the restaurant was a huge mistake and he thought it best we never see each other again.
Which would mean I’d lose Mickey even though I didn’t have Mickey and when I did, we were fighting.
Even so, the very idea of that loss was too much to even contemplate.
It would also mean I’d lose Aisling and Cillian.
Something else I couldn’t contemplate.
When these thoughts were about to send me over the edge, I decided to call my brother, who would listen then give it to me straight. And since he was a man, he might know what was in Mickey’s head.
On this decision, my phone in my hand let out a chime.
I looked down at it then quickly slid my finger on the screen to get to the text.
It was from Robin and it read, “I’m fine. I’m also pissed at you. Give me three days to hold a grudge then I’ll call you. But I reserve the right for the grudge to last less time.
That was it but it gave me relief, made me smile and was a little surprising since a three day grudge for Robin was unheard of—case in point, the grudge she had against her ex lasting five years without cooling.
Before I could send a reply, I got another text from her.
And this guy better be hot. Hot enough to make Conrad lose his mind and consider suicide. Anything less, MeeMee, and I’ll be very disappointed in you.
That made me smile bigger because it was funny and because she would very much approve of Mickey. She might live for revenge against her cheating ex-husband, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate masculine eye candy.
I texted back, Okay, sweets, and this is the last you’ll hear from me until your grudge is over. But just to put your mind at ease, Mickey is definitely hot.
After sending that, I called my brother.
“Hey, MeeMee,” he greeted.