“Dee can grab a cab with me,” Jordyn offers. “Don’t sweat it, Mick. We’ll take care of her.”
Dee’s in good hands, but the anxiety in her eyes is replaced by disappointment. “I’m sorry, baby.” I lean in and whisper for her ears only. “I wanted to spend the night with you and wake up in the morning with you.”
“Why can’t you?”
Not what I was expecting.“You still want me to?”
“Of course. I believe you made certain promises.” Despite a case of nerves, Dee attempts a saucy smile.
I bracket the sides of her face and give her what I intend to be a brief kiss. But I stay a fraction too long. When her soft lips part beneath mine, want and need twist hard and tight below my gut. I caution myself to take just a little taste. But the second I slip my tongue into the moist, velvety cavern of her mouth, oblivious to anyone else in the room, there’s no holding back. With the urge to take and take and take, the kiss quickly turns hot and greedy.
“Holy shit! Someone hand me a cigarette!”
Jordyn’s salacious comment yanks me back to the present. I pull free and stare at Dee. Her eyes are dazed and her cheeks flushed.
“I got carried away.” I slide my hands down to her shoulders.
She nods and licks her damp, reddened lips. “Will you be all right?” she asks.
“A few smiles and waves for the cameras…piece of cake,” I say to relieve her worry.
Dee opens her purse and slips me her key. “Jordyn has a spare just in case I get there first. I’ll see you at home.”
Home.Yeah. At last.
IT’S ALMOST ONE WHEN I leave the Lemon Lounge with Jordyn. The photographers have all cleared out. I feel a stab of guilt for letting Mick face it alone and irritation with myself for not having the courage to stand by him. Just hearing the media were outside—knowing that I could be thrust into the public eye—filled me with panic. But true to his word, Mick protected me from it.
The bald, heavily muscled man I recognize from the community center approaches before Jord and I reach the line of cabs. Without his shades, his dark, rugged face looks even more austere, and his eyes seem to be as black as midnight. Through the knit of his sweater, massive biceps strain the fabric. I’m not sure what all he does for Mick, but I imagine just his appearance would be threatening.
“Ms. Chase,” he says in an efficient tone, “Mr. Peters requested that I escort you and Ms. Sinclair home.”
“Ooh…our very own guardian angel,” Jordyn coos.
His gaze discreetly wanders over her tight body, visible beneath her open coat.
“What’s your name?” she asks, her form-fitting dress rising indecently high as we climb into the back of his tank-sized SUV.
He glances at her toned thighs. “Stiles.”
“Are you ex-police, Stiles?”
“Ex-military.”
“I’ll bet you know what to do with a loaded gun.”
He clears his throat and closes her door.
“Cool the flirting, Jord,” I say in a stage whisper. “Stiles works for Mick.”
“So you’re the only one who can get lucky tonight?”
The snip in her tone has me turning to face her while Stiles assumes his position up front. “What’s going on?” I ask, lowering my voice.
“Sorry. Just me having a pity party.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m ecstatic that you and Mick are together again. I seriously am. He’s awesome. The man deserves a medal for suffering through Ice Queen Miranda, Dr. Dull, and the line-up of simpering sorority sisters. And on top of that, he kisses you as though he were starving, and hires a bodyguard to keep you safe. Mick would move mountains for you.” She drops her head back against the seat. Her hazel eyes are clouded and bothered. “I’ve never had a guy move mountains for me.”
