Bad Boys After Dark: Mick Page 3

  He really needed to come clean and then walk away. Set last night aside as a mistake. An incredibly wonderful mistake. He’d mastered the art of gracefully turning down advances from his eager and beautiful clients, yet here he was, walking into the Wine Garden, about to cross another line with Amanda.

  Mick strode through the quaint bar, ignoring heated glances from hungry women and seriously questioning his judgment for the first time in his adult life. His eyes drifted from one table to the next, seeking the only woman he wanted and fighting against the battle ensuing in his mind. Spotting a gorgeous blonde sitting at a table in the back of the bar, nervously fidgeting with her napkin, his heart raced with recognition. Weren’t they well past this ruse of disguises? He slowed, taking advantage while unnoticed to drink her in. Her plunging neckline revealed the swell of her breasts. Heat stroked down his spine with the memory of feeling her frantic heartbeat against his tongue when he’d tasted the silky swells.

  She raised her head, and her brows knitted with confusion.

  Holy hell. She had no clue it had been him last night. The realization hit him in the solar plexus like a bullet train. She’d been ready to fuck a stranger in the bathroom of the bar. His hands fisted by his sides. His gut knotted and burned. He was surprisingly turned on and pissed off in equal measure, which made no sense, because he had no right to be pissed off. He’d screwed plenty of strangers, and Amanda wasn’t his to claim. But she was not the type of woman a guy fucked and forgot. Hell, she wasn’t the type of woman a guy spoke to and forgot.

  He closed the distance between them slowly, allowing her time to make the connection.

  “Mick? Wh-what are you doing here?” Her eyes darted toward the front of the bar.

  “I have a date,” he said more casually than he felt. “What’s with the wig?”

  She touched the wig as if she’d forgotten she had it on. “I…um.” She paused as he lowered himself into the chair beside her. “It’s a joke,” she said in a shaky voice. “You can’t stay. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Are you?” He sat back, taking in her high cheekbones and her slim upturned nose. He’d always found her beautiful and preferred her natural beauty to tonight’s vixenish makeup. But that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the seductively dark shade of red on her full lips—lips he was currently picturing wrapped around his cock.

  “Tell me about him,” he urged. If she wanted to play, there was no game he couldn’t master.

  Her big, round eyes darted around the bar, their innocence belying her sultry makeup. “He’s…” Her gaze finally landed on him, and he felt his lips curve up in a go ahead, tell me smile. She scanned the front of the bar again, then her eyes returned to him, serious and confused.

  She pushed to her feet, wobbling on a pair of black spiked heels as she reached for her purse. “He’s late. Probably stood me up. Oh well. I guess I’ll see you next week.”

  Mick rose to his feet in front of her. Her floral scent permeated his senses, but his mind replaced it with the arousing scent of her desire from last night. His cock twitched with the memory, and he searched her face for a sign of the same recognition. Beyond her confusion, there was definitely something provocative and eager trying to remain hidden, but it wasn’t the clarity he was looking for, and he hated knowing it wasn’t meant for him—at least not knowingly so.

  With a hand on her elbow, he guided her to the chair beside him. “Stay.”

  “But your date?”

  Holding her confused gaze, he shifted in his chair, bringing his knee between her legs. Her breathing hitched with the intimate move. She blinked several times. He was as drawn to her innocence as he was to her daring prowess. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the three freckles that had given her away last night, watching as her confusion deepened.

  “Mick…?”

  “My date is already here.” He leaned closer and whispered, “So is yours, Lola.”

  **

  THE RICH, SEDUCTIVE sound of Mick saying Amanda’s fake name skated through her befuddled brain, wreaking havoc with her ability to think clearly. He was touching her in ways that sent shocks of heat to her core—and sparks of confusion to her nonfunctioning brain. His leg brushed against her inner thigh. He held her wrist—like he did last night. She was riveted in place by his piercing stare as he watched her with faultless calm, trying to make sense of her boss and the mysterious masked man being one and the same. A bead of sweat formed between her breasts. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She swallowed hard, thinking of all the dirty things they’d done, the things he’d said. I bet your pussy tastes fucking sweet.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  Mortified and stupidly thrilled, she turned away, catching sight of blond hair moving with her, driving her embarrassment up to shoot-me-now level. She couldn’t believe she’d felt empowered in the stupid wig. Why hadn’t she listened to Ally? She wished she could snap her fingers and disappear. Mick didn’t like when she dressed sexy—and last night she’d gone full-on slut. Plus, here she sat in spiked heels and a whorish dress she’d bought after work with the sole intent of seducing her mystery man. She must appear foolish and immature.

  “Mick, I…” I’m an idiot. She eyed the door, wishing she could run out and never look back. Her lower lip trembled with a painful mix of anger and embarrassment. Not only did she not have a mystery man, but now she needed to quit her job. How could she ever face him again? She rose on shaky legs, but his hand on her wrist kept her near.

  “Sit down, Amanda. Please.” His tone was careful, purposeful, his stare unwavering and commanding, and somehow also warm and inviting.

  She sat down and crossed her legs, feeling exposed. Ally was right. She wasn’t owning any of this. Forcing herself to be brave, she studied him, putting the pieces of his face to the man last night. She saw it now, his eyes behind the silver mask. His face beneath that jet-black beard. But wait. He knew?

  Anger climbed over her embarrassment, shoving it down beneath the regret, beneath the fear of losing her job, making her shake all over. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

  “I didn’t know,” he said with the same calm he might use to offer coffee.

  This didn’t make any sense. She’d never known Mick to lie, which was one of the things she respected most about him. But now she wondered how well she knew him at all. The unflappable professional who didn’t like her to don sexy attire had been out for a fast fuck in a seedy bar? She shouldn’t be surprised that he would hook up with a random woman in a bar, but she was. It floored her.

  There was only one way for her to survive this conversation. She drew her shoulders back and told herself she was discussing work, not staring at the man she’d fantasized about and seduced. And come for—twice. Not the man she’d thought was pure gentleman but turned out to be as animalistic as…as the type of man I was seeking.

  Gulp! Okay, time to pull my shit together. She forced herself to sound confident. “Then you must be really disappointed to have found me sitting here.”

  “No, Amanda. It’s not like that.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, still holding her wrist like she might bolt—which she was seriously considering.

  Lowering her chin, she leveled him with her best don’t-even-try-to-lie stare. He’d taught it to her, and she’d mastered it for interviewing clients and witnesses.

  “Tell me, Mick. What is it like?”

  “I didn’t know when I saw you in the bar,” he said in a low, firm voice, holding her gaze. “And I didn’t know when we were in the bathroom.” He slid his hand from her wrist to her fingers, curled his big hand around them, and stroked the skin between her finger and thumb. “I realized it at the end, when I stopped. When I saw this.”

  She followed his eyes to her hand. She wore no jewelry, and she had no idea what he was referring to. “My hand?”

  “Your freckles.” He brushed his thumb over three freckles between her thumb and index finger.

  Knowing the man sh
e’d been crushing on for years noticed something so small made her feel special, though she knew it probably shouldn’t. “You noticed my freckles? On my hand?”

  “I happen to have an affinity for them.”

  “For freckles?” This had to be a come-on. An outright lie. Something to take the bite out of the fact he’d brought her to orgasm last night and promised so much more for tonight without revealing his true identity.

  “No.” He leaned closer and slid his hand along the nape of her neck. She melted a little despite her warring thoughts. “Your freckles. Like these.” He brushed his thumb just below and behind her ear. “When you wear your hair in a bun, I can see those.”

  I have freckles there? She’d died and gone to heaven.

  No, this wasn’t heaven. It was hell. He’d been at the bar for the same thing she was last night, but it obviously hadn’t been his first time. He held her other hand and ran his fingers along the length of her arm, sending prickles of heat to her core.

  That feels really, really good.

  Tapping his finger on the back of her arm, he said, “And the four you have here.”

  His gaze was serenely compelling. He was no longer looking at her like he was trying to figure her out or bring them both up to speed. It was confusing her, making her feel more vulnerable and…wanted.

  “Mick…?” What is this? What are you doing? The questions lodged beneath disbelief.

  “That’s why I stopped.” He sat back, leaving her feeling bereft. “I realized it was you.”

  He was the man she’d pined for, her forbidden fruit, and he was making her feel warm and mushy. She couldn’t afford to be warm and mushy. Her job, her reputation, and her sanity were on the line. She had to keep this in perspective and remember why he’d been there last night. He was good at the game she’d only dipped her toes into. This had to be part of that game for him, not the baring of his true emotions she was twisting it into.

  “But you would have gone through with it with anyone else,” she challenged.

  “As would you.” His voice was dead calm, nonjudgmental.

  She turned away, embarrassment creeping back to the forefront. Own it. Right. She was clearly not made for the temptress life if she couldn’t tell one man from another. She forced herself to face him again.

  “I stopped because it was you,” he repeated. “I wanted to do this right.”

  Right? What did that mean? That he wanted her and not just any woman? Or that he was following through with a promise? This was supposed to be a night of anonymous sex. Sleeping with her boss was not part of her game plan—and having sex to fulfill a promise he made when she was still in the dark about his identity wasn’t happening.

  “Well,” she said, her back rigid. “This isn’t what I’d planned. Not by a long shot.”

  “What did you plan, Amanda?”

  How could she admit the truth? To him! It didn’t help that he already knew exactly why she was there. What was the alternative? Make up an even lamer excuse? She needed help.

  “I need to go to the ladies’ room.” Grabbing her purse, she rose to her feet, but he snatched her hand, holding her stare for a long, painfully silent moment. She was sure he could hear the blood rushing through her ears.

  “Don’t take off on me.” The stern command conflicted with the tender kiss on the back of her hand that followed.

  It took all of her focus to get to the ladies’ room without stumbling. She had no idea what game he was playing now. Was this payback for last night? Would he sleep with her and then fire her? Was it a control thing? Did he want to have sex with her so every time she saw him in the office she’d have an even better understanding of who was boss—in the boardroom or the bedroom? She pushed through the ladies’ room doors and plunked her purse down on the counter. She looked at her trembling hand, wondering what all that stuff about her freckles really meant. She dug The Handbook from her purse, frantically flipping the pages until she found what she was searching for.

  Remaining in Control. She skimmed the chapter, feeling like she was on a game show and up for the ten-million-dollar question. Only this was no television show, and the prize was sex with a man she wanted—desperately.

  She read aloud to hear over her thundering heart. “Picture the man you want to conquer.” No problem there. “Now picture him naked and tied to a chair.” She slammed the book closed. Mick naked and bound to a chair? Not helpful. She’d felt his impressive cock last night, and the thought of it there for the taking...

  Oh God.

  How was he sitting out there so calm and in control when she was falling apart at the seams?

  She was so far out of her league she couldn’t even see the field. She considered calling Ally. She would know what to do. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She knew her sister would tell her not to even entertain whatever was going on out there, but to walk right out the front door. But as scared and confused as she was, Amanda’s heart was wrapped up in that man, and she didn’t want to turn her back without knowing if anything he’d said was true.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. No, not herself. Lola. Blondes did not have more fun. Blondes apparently got into sticky situations with their bosses. Ally was right. Again. She hated that. Amanda was usually the right sister. She was a skilled paralegal; she wasn’t a woman who hid or cowered. She wasn’t pitiful. And she sure as hell was not going to allow her boss to see her as such.

  The hell with this. I am owning this transformation once and for all. She removed her wig and began brushing out her dark hair. Right here, right now. Her spine of steel righted itself one brush stroke after the next. Regardless of the consequences. Okay, that part kicked her in the back of the knees, because the consequences were high, and she cared about them—her job, her reputation.

  She spent the next few minutes giving herself a pep talk, preparing to look Mick in the eye and own up to what she was doing last night and what she’d planned for tonight. If he could have sex with a stranger without guilt or regret, so could she.

  Feeling jealous of a fictitious stranger, she shoved the book in her purse and began her pep talk once again.

  Chapter Three

  AMANDA MOVED CONFIDENTLY across the dimly lit bar, her dark eyes trained on Mick, chin lifted proudly. He found her renewed confidence insanely hot, but regardless of how badly Mick wanted her, he knew if he allowed himself to feast on the remarkable woman heading his way even for one night, it couldn’t end well for either of them. His mind reeled back to the first day they’d met, the day she’d interviewed for the paralegal job. She’d worn a conservative blue suit, a white blouse buttoned up to her neck with a strand of baby pearls around the collar, a pair of sensible heels, and a confident expression. But her trembling fingers and the way she’d shifted in her seat told of her underlying nerves. She was fiercely determined and graceful in her presentation—an enticing combination of tigress and gazelle.

  She’d come a long way since then, smarter, savvier, but she’d never hardened like other women. He was glad to see she’d ditched the wig. Amanda didn’t need to be anyone else. She was enough—more than enough.

  Her straight dark hair framed her beautiful face and spilled over her shoulders. He’d fantasized so often about how her hair would feel trailing over his bare chest, he could practically feel it sweeping over his skin now. He recalled the feel of her soft curves molding to his hard body last night, the sexy sounds she’d made as she’d surrendered to their passion. Fire coursed through his veins just thinking about how close he’d come to being buried inside her.

  One night. He needed one night with her. Then she would be out of his system and they’d have no unfinished business. He nearly had himself convinced of it as she took her seat beside him, her shoulders squared, face serious.

  “I ordered you a sidecar.” He pushed the glass across the table, knowing there was no way in hell he was going to leave without her by his side.

  For a second her wide eyes ga
ve away her surprise, but she checked that emotion quickly. “Thank you. How did you know I liked them?”

  “Just a guess.” He didn’t like to lie, especially to Amanda, but the truth would have given him away. There wasn’t much about Amanda he hadn’t noticed. But he’d been careful to keep his feelings at bay during the long nights they worked together after hours, and in all the daylight hours in between. “You look exquisite. I’m glad you lost the wig.”

  She nodded, a hint of a smile curving the edges of her mouth. A flush rose on her cheeks. “You don’t like it when I dress sexy,” she said matter-of-factly. “So please don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “I don’t like…” He shook his head, sure he’d heard her wrong. “I don’t like what?”

  “Please, Mick. Don’t patronize me,” she said sharply. “I get it. I have a professional image to uphold. But other girls in the office wear higher heels and low-cut blouses.”

  He didn’t give a damn what any of the other women in the office wore as long as they dressed professionally enough to uphold the firm’s image. But hell if he wanted Amanda’s knockout figure on display for every other man to admire. He’d given her the wrong impression entirely, but he didn’t want to talk about work. That was a troubling subject he’d rather not think about, much less talk about.

  “We’re not at work,” he reminded her, hoping to sway the conversation away from the topic.

  She took a drink, impressively meeting his steady observation. “You asked me what I had planned tonight.”

  “I did.” He wanted to reach for her hand, to tell her it was okay, that she could trust him, despite the fact that he should be telling her the exact opposite. He was intrigued by this darker side of her, and he wondered if he’d spent three years thinking she was someone she wasn’t, or if this was something new.