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,” he 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).