She felt that sense of family right down to her bones—the bond they all shared. It was one of the things she and Mick had in common. Except that he always held a part of himself at a distance from the people she knew wanted to love him, to take him in and accept him completely. She could almost sense his walls coming up the moment they’d walked in the door.
Did he live with that pressure constantly? Carry it nearly every day of his life?
“Come and talk wedding stuff with Katie,” Marie Dawn said, pulling Allie out of her musing to sit with the Reid family’s newest member-to-be. Katie was a lovely young woman, sweet and friendly, and it was easy for Allie to lose herself in discussions about wedding cakes and flowers.
By the time the food was ready, she was much more relaxed, remembering what it felt like to be at home in this house as if by muscle memory. Everyone ate at long wooden trestle tables set up in the yard under a tent of mosquito netting. There was a veritable feast: the promised barbequed shrimp and spicy alligator sausage, Maureen’s coleslaw and cornbread and icy lemonade, red beans and rice, and pecan pie for dessert. Allie ate until she couldn’t move, and everyone but Colby stayed at the table for hours, telling all the old stories about New Orleans’s great fires and the Reid men being there to battle the flames. Gareth was cajoled into showing off his scar from a bad warehouse fire that had almost gotten him killed saving a fellow firefighter from a back draft, and all of Emmet’s sons talked with pride about their father having served the city for almost forty years.
Everyone except Mick.
He sat beside Allie like stone. He tried to smile, to nod his head, but the fact that he couldn’t be an integral part of the conversation was killing him, she knew. The family didn’t do it on purpose, of course, and she understood there was no way they could have ignored Emmet, Gareth, Nolan and Neal’s accomplished careers in the department. But for the first time she came to understand how it must grate on Mick’s nerves, like drilling on a bad tooth, every time the family got together. She hurt for him.
“Mick,” Maureen started, turning to him, “tell us about the time you saved that young girl from being trampled to death at that concert.” She glanced at Allie, pride and something else in her blue eyes. “He was bruised all over by the time he got her out, but there wasn’t a scratch on the girl. Her parents sent him so many thank-you cards you’d think they bought stock in the company.”
“No, Mom. It’s Dad’s day.”
“Ah, come on, Mick,” Neal urged, jostling his shoulder. “It was pretty damn heroic.”
Mick just shook his head and raised the bottle of beer he’d been nursing all day. “To Dad. Happy Father’s Day, chief.”
“To Dad,” the entire family echoed.
There was much clinking of bottles and plastic cups, then everyone fell into different conversations, including Mick and Neal. But Allie was acutely aware of what that bad moment had cost him.
Eventually the party broke up and they said their good-byes, Maureen making Allie promise she’d come by the house again, and Katie having gotten Allie’s number to talk more about making her wedding cake.
Mick was quiet on the drive back to his place. Or, she’d thought they were heading to his place, but he took a turn that led into her neighborhood.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’m taking you home.”
“But . . .” She paused, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Mick? Do we ever see each other and not spend the night if you’re not going out of town?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “I guess not.”
“So, this is different because . . . ?”
When he didn’t answer she looked out the window, waiting. He was quiet as they passed a row of houses laced with scaffolding, another row of homes that had been newly rebuilt. There were shops on the next block, one a produce market with stands on the sidewalk, stacked high with melons and cabbage and beans, oranges and peppers in every imaginable color. She was glad to see the city had gained so much of its old vibrancy.
She wondered if Mick ever would.
When they got to her place, he parked and sat staring out the front windshield.
“Are you coming in, at least?” she asked.
“I’d rather you not see this.”
“See what, Mick?”
She laid a hand on his arm but felt him stiffen under her touch.
He shook his head.
She waited.
After a few moments she said quietly, “You know, I’m not getting out of this truck until you give me some sort of answer.”
“I kind of figured you wouldn’t, you being you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re stubborn as hell, Allie.”
“I thought you liked that about me.”
“Maybe a little less right now.”
That stung.
“Fuck you, Mick,” she said quietly.
He whipped his head around. “What did you say?” His eyes were blazing.
“You heard me.” Anger was hot in her veins suddenly, burning her up inside. “You and your surly attitude. I used to think it was sexy. Damn it, maybe I still do. But I don’t like it one bit when it’s turned on me. When it’s turned on us. I get it. I have some family issues, too, you know, but maybe you’re too caught up in your own shit to notice. So go on. You do whatever you need to do about your issues—indulge in your juvenile desire to get your face bashed in or whatever the hell helps you get it out of your system—but don’t take it out on me.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Don’t you do it, Mick.”
He looked stunned. Then his tight features relaxed, his mouth going wide until there was nothing short of a grin there.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked in shock.
“Maybe I’m laughing at me. But Lord, were you mad.”
“Maybe I still am,” she said, not entirely certain herself.
He watched her for several long moments, then he launched himself at her.
It wouldn’t have been possible had his truck been any smaller, but in seconds he was on top of her, having pushed her down on the seat, and he was kissing her hard, one hand fisted in her hair, holding on tight.
She tried to push him off her, but she may as well have been shoving at a brick wall. He kissed her harder, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth, and he tasted of beer and spices and only a little of quickly recovering ego.
* * *
MICK PULLED BACK, watching her. He’d felt her surrender, had forced past her stubbornness and her anger to get there. But she was still pissed, he could tell from the way her fingers dug into his shoulders, still pretending to push him away.
“You angry with me, baby?”
“Yes.”
“You’re damn pretty when you’re mad.”
“Didn’t we talk about condescension being a hard limit?” she asked, only partly fake fuming.
“We did not.”
“We should have,” she muttered.
He grabbed her and pulled her closer, heard her small gasp as he lifted her hand and bit into her palm.
“We can have that talk in bed. While I’m fucking you into a better mood.”
“My mood was just fine! Yours is the one that sucked.”
“I never specified whose mood we’d be improving.”
“But . . .” she sputtered. “Whatever.”
“Whatever what?” he demanded.
“Whatever . . . Sir?” She rolled her eyes, but there was a small grin on her face.
“Ah, that’s my girl. Come on.”
He got out and pulled her, sliding her across the seat and out his side of the truck. He took her hand and hurried up the walk, took her keys from her and opened the door, slamming it shut behind them. He led her into the kitchen.
“You. Here,” he ordered, yanking her in hard, until he could feel every soft female curve pressed up against him. His cock went rock-hard.
She was a little breathless already. She licked her lips. He leaned in and bit them—he couldn’t resist.
“Mmm.”
She smelled so damn good—he could smell the sun on her skin, in her hair. He reached behind her and pulled out the clip, and she shook her long tresses free. He buried his face in her hair, inhaled. Dug his fingers in and pulled tight.