“Well, there may have been other ways to go about it, but we both know Mick Reid is one of the most stubborn human beings on the planet, so really, this may have been the only way.”
“That was my thought, too. That was how I justified it.” She paused, swallowed the tears that burned in her throat. “He was so damn nice about it, apologetic, but the scene was ruined.”
“Allie, you can’t blame yourself for this. He started it years ago—you’re just trying to repair the damage. So, the scene went wrong. So what? That doesn’t mean you two never talk again, or maybe even try the club again. Does it?” Marie Dawn asked.
“No. I mean, there’s nothing in the kink handbook that says we can’t try again, if we want. But . . . this whole thing obviously messed with his head, and I don’t think he’ll want to.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I don’t know.” She moved to the lace curtains at the window, let the streetlights outside blur into a wash of pale amber against the tears pooling in her eyes. “He told me that being there with me tonight brought up how he used to feel, and I think he was talking about our relationship, back when things were good between us. I think. I just don’t know.”
“Are you okay? Do you need me to come over? Because I can come right now. You just say the word.”
“No, I’m okay.” She bit her lip. “I’ll be okay. I’m confused and . . . I’ll be fine. I just need to get some sleep and try to work this out in my head. He did make me promise to call him tomorrow.”
“Good. It’ll give you a chance to talk. You do want to talk to him?”
“Yes. Of course I do. I just couldn’t talk to him tonight. I couldn’t stand to face him.”
“Go easy on yourself, honey,” Marie Dawn said quietly. “Love is always hard enough.”
“I do love him,” she said, her voice low, a little strangled. “Wow. I haven’t said those words out loud since I was a teenager.” Awe made goose bumps rise on her flesh.
“Maybe it’s about time.”
“Maybe. I just don’t think . . . I don’t think Mick will ever love me back.”
“Oh, he loves you. He has for years. Give him a chance to figure it out. And Allie? Personally I think forcing him into facing this is the best way—probably the only way—to get through to him. Don’t you give up. You’re stronger than that.”
Allie smiled. “What would I do without you to mama me?”
“You know I love you, chérie.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“You sure you don’t need me? Neal wouldn’t even know I was gone. I can slide into my slippers and be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m okay. Really. You stay home with your husband.”
“Check in with me tomorrow.”
“I will.”
They hung up and she found herself feeling marginally better. Amazing how the support of a good friend could hold her up when she was down. How had she lived so far from Marie Dawn all these years? But she was back in New Orleans—to stay, it seemed. She didn’t have to be separated from her best friend anymore. Or her family, whom she loved dearly, even if they could be a little crazy and overwhelming sometimes.
Or from Mick, maybe.
She took in a breath, exhaled and pulled in another. There was the familiar scent of New Orleans—old wood and plaster, dust on lace curtains, and always the scent of flowers that seemed to come from everywhere.
If she shook her head so that her hair fell against her cheek, she could still smell Mick’s scent on her.
Her pulse raced. Her body heated.
No matter how emotional she might be, that primal need for him was always lurking, waiting for one small thought to bloom into sharply burning desire.
His hands had been on her tonight—all over her body.
She had been naked and under his command.
A soft moan escaped her lips. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand as if it would erase the need for him.
Mick.
She shook her head as she moved down the hall into the bathroom, stripped out of her clothes as she ran the hot water in the shower, turning the temperature down before she stepped in.
She leaned into the tiles, cool against her back, closed her eyes and remembered.
His dark brows drawn in concentration as he leaned over her. The slide of rope on naked flesh. The scent of him filling her lungs.
She remembered the rope slipping between her thighs, pressing hard between the lips of her sex, and reached down to press there with her fingers.
“Oh . . .”
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
She pulled the shower sprayer down and held it so the water hit her clitoris, groaning at the pressure. Parting her thighs, she moved the hard spray of water closer and imagined it was Mick’s mouth on her. Teasing, licking, sucking. Pulling that sensitive nub of flesh into his mouth, running his tongue over the tip.
In moments she was on the edge of climax, her clit pulsing, her legs shaking.
“Mick . . . I’m coming.” She gasped as the first shock wave hit her. “For you . . . Oh!”
She shivered as pleasure rolled through her, wave after wave. Behind her closed eyes was his face. His scent. His air of command.
Mick.
Always.
She leaned harder into the tiles, panting, dizzy with a need still unsated.
It would always be Mick that she needed. She didn’t know how not to need him. She didn’t know how to tame the raging desire for him without him being the one to tame her.
She shook her head. She had to make a decision: Was she going to pursue Mick, or wasn’t she? What was fair to him? Could she live with herself if she didn’t push for time with him? Could she live with herself if she did and they failed as miserably as they had tonight?
She rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, quickly dried her skin and her hair with a towel. She needed to climb into bed and not think anymore. She’d turn on one of her travel shows and lose herself in whatever part of the world was being explored. It was how she’d always dealt with stress, for as long as she could remember.
She climbed naked into the big four-poster bed that had been in the house when she’d arrived. It was a beautiful piece, probably French, and the first thing she’d done when she’d arrived in town was to replace the mattress and buy a dusky lilac duvet and piles of pillows in lilac and white. The bed was too New Orleans—she couldn’t help but make it romantic and plush.
The sheets were cool against her skin as she settled in, plumping the pillows behind her head. She grabbed the remote from the bedside table, turned off the lamp and flicked on the television.
She found a show exploring Tahiti, and let the beauty of the turquoise water and the narrator’s smooth voice soothe her until she was too sleepy to pay attention any longer. She turned the sound off and rolled onto her side to stare unseeing at the night sky through the window. She didn’t see the moon, half-obscured by cloud. She didn’t see the stars shining with their pale light. All she saw was Mick’s face. She slept, and dreamed of him through the night.
* * *
MORNING CAME TOO early. Allie stretched, testing her muscles for any stiffness after being bound the night before, but it had been over too fast to cause any lingering effects. Not to her body, anyway.
She sat up and flipped back the covers, got out of bed and slipped her robe over her shoulders, pretending she wasn’t already full of anxiety. Was it too early to contact Mick? Did she even know what she wanted to say to him?
A glance at the clock told her it was eight thirty, and if she knew Mick—and she still did—he was probably already up and had been to the gym.
“What the hell,” she muttered, finding her phone in the living room and dialing him.
It rang, then went to voice mail.
“Mick, hi, it’s me. Allie. Um . . . I was supposed to call, so I’m calling, but maybe you’re not up yet. I’m sorry if I woke you. I just . . . I’m checking in. Call me back when you can. Okay. Bye.”