Chapter Nine #2
She scanned the living room she’d been so proud of, the sofa cover looking dingy, the bookshelves shouting secondhand. “What I wouldn’t give now for a few more days of living with Dad and Riley, even with whiskers in the sink and Dad’s two chicken recipes. Dry and drier.”
Her throat thickened as she caught Mick watching her, his eyes filled with compassion. Normally, she would have been offended by a reaction like his, reading pity into it, but she sensed that he could understand at least some of her regrets.
“I refused to believe it at first, you know. That Dad died by suicide. I knew he kept a rifle to handle occasional pests. But I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that—” She shook her head over a reality that would never make sense to her.
“Even after the county medical examiner put it in her report, I resisted.”
She brushed her fingers over the tabletop, watching her bare nails catch the light. “I didn’t even know he was sad.”
“Some people are good at hiding what they’re going through.”
The softness in Mick’s eyes showed he knew something about masking pain.
“Because I couldn’t accept it, I convinced Riley to take a closer look into Dad’s death, even though he was the one who found his body.
I needed answers. Why did he do it? Why didn’t he come to us?
If I’d known that Riley was in such a vulnerable place himself, I wouldn’t have asked.
His setback with his addiction is on me. It’s all my fault.”
“No, Rachel. You’ve said that before, but it isn’t.”
“You don’t know—”
She stopped as Mick’s hand came to rest across hers, his fingers and thumb curling over her skin.
Her heart pounded so hard as she stared at their point of contact that Mick had to feel it.
She knew she should pull away. But his touch was warm.
Comforting. She couldn’t resist lingering a little longer.
“I do know.” He squeezed her hand and didn’t let go. “You didn’t force your brother to take a drink. His own demons suggested that to him. And kept suggesting.”
With her eyes closed, she shook her head, rejecting his words, refusing to be let off the hook. “But I shouldn’t have asked him—”
“He could have said no. He chose to look for answers just as he was the one who lost his daily battle and took that first drink. You know in your heart you weren’t responsible for your dad’s death, either. He lost a different battle. You just weren’t aware he was fighting it.”
“But I should have known.” Rachel yanked her hand back, immediately feeling the loss in warmth. “For both of them.”
The tears surprised her by coming hot and fast, her cheeks wet before she could pivot and deflect as she usually did. Her loss was almost seven months old, and yet it felt brand-new. She turned her head away and brushed at the dampness in rapid strokes.
“Please hear me, Rachel. It’s not your fault.”
For several seconds, neither spoke, the silence so complete that she swore she could hear her heartbeat.
Maybe even his. He seemed to be nearer to her, too.
So close that his warm breath tickled the back of her ear.
Unable to resist any longer, she turned her head.
Mick had scooted to the edge of his chair and angled his neck so that only a few inches separated them.
“Not your fault,” he said again.
Rachel’s breath hitched as Mick lifted his hand toward her face.
She didn’t deserve the comfort or the absolution, but her heart pounded as she waited for his touch.
His fingers made the first contact, cupping her chin, while he reached with his thumb to brush the most recent tears from her cheek.
She pressed into his fingertips, absorbing the warmth, certain that she’d been frozen for too long.
“Not your fault,” he repeated once more, this time a whisper.
He leaned even closer. She drew in a breath, held herself still and waited.
Instead of her lips that already tingled in anticipation, Mick dropped a kiss on her forehead as he might have on one of the twins if he knew them better.
She tucked her chin and slowly exhaled, hoping to hide her disappointment.
He didn’t seem to notice as he pressed his mouth to the tip of her nose, her cheekbone and then that sensitive spot just in front of her ear.
When his lips hovered over hers, so close that his breath feathered past that area of sensitized skin without granting relief, she couldn’t hold back any longer. She grabbed the sides of his stubbly face and pulled him to her, cracking that last, invisible barrier between them.
Mick’s lips crushed hers as he accepted her invitation with far less finesse than he’d probably planned.
She didn’t care. He tasted of danger and vulnerability and experience.
Not bothering with preliminaries, he slanted his mouth over hers and took the kiss deep the moment she opened for him, his plundering both artistry and instinct.
She couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t feel enough.
Though his hands had moved no farther south than her shoulders, she could feel his touch everywhere as warmth tightened, lifted and pooled in her most feminine places.
It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to be anything other than a daughter, sister and mother, and now she closed her eyes, reveling in a moment of being simply a woman.
At some point, he must have drawn her to her feet and unzipped her sweatshirt—or maybe she’d yanked him to her and pulled the tab herself—but suddenly she found herself clinging to him, his hands low on her back and sinking fast. She couldn’t resist lifting on her tiptoes in her slippers and wiggling until she could fit herself to him, her pajama pants yielding easily and disguising little.
She craved more pressure. More heat. More of everything.
And then it stopped.
She blinked open her eyes, the loss of sensation as startling as the red and blue dots that combined with the facets of light the chandelier cast on the walls and ceiling. What was she doing? What were they—
Mick’s hands were on her upper arms now as he set her back from him as though redirecting a child.
Then he let go completely, crossing his arms over the front of his jeans as though that would hide a statement already made.
His eyes were dazed, his lids hooded, as he looked at everything in the room except her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean… I shouldn’t have—”
Finally, he gave up trying to explain, lifted his shoulders and let them drop.
He wasn’t the only one who shouldn’t have.
She had even more to regret. He’d offered her a Get-Out-of-Blame-Free card, and she’d practically thrown him down on the table for gratitude sex.
Worse, she’d nearly done it right in her living room without thinking of her daughters, who could have come downstairs at any moment, needing another drink or a parent to slay monsters in the dark.
“It’s fine. Really.” For something to do with her nervous hands, she reached down and pulled the tab on her zipper to her throat.
“No, it’s not,” he said after several seconds. “It’s just…well…it’s just not a great idea.”
“Can we dispense with your bad rendition of ‘It’s not you, it’s me’? It was a mistake. Not to be repeated. Ever.”
Rachel forced a smile, trying to push away the sting of his rejection. She wasn’t supposed to want him, either. Wasn’t supposed to feel a heaviness and a void in places that hadn’t seen any action for a long, long time.
She pointed to the two empty mugs on the table. “We’ll blame it on the…tea. The high-octane stuff will get you every time.”
Mick’s tongue darted out to wet lips she’d recently tasted for herself, flavors and sensations she needed to forget right away if she had any sense.
“Maybe I should stick with herbal next time,” he said, his smile tight.
Next time? She took a shallow breath. “This collaboration was a mistake, too. I don’t need anybody—”
“Let’s not go through that again. We’ll work together as planned so we can ensure that the girls are safe. Only we’ll have some strict ground rules. No being seen together in public, of course. But also no risky excursions without giving the other a heads-up.”
He coughed into his elbow. “And no more tea sessions after the twins have gone to bed.”
Rachel had meant to argue, but she found herself nodding at his reasonable suggestions, even if she’d never be able to think of “tea sessions” as opportunities for gossip again.
“Since we’re setting rules, then no more showing up unannounced. Either of us,” she added, when he pointed her way. “We text first. And no more using my front door, you know, just to be safe.”
She held out her hand to shake on their agreement, but when he stared down at her fingers instead of gripping them, she lowered her arm.
“And you’ll call if you see any white SUVs? At least any that seem out of place?”
“Of course, I will.”
Mick tilted his head and studied her as though he wasn’t sure whether he could believe her. After all the secrets she’d shared with him earlier, his doubt stung more than his rejection.
“I will,” she repeated, lifting her chin.
She crossed to the coat-tree, collected his jacket and then pressed it into his arms.
“Thanks for showing me the emails.” He pulled up his sweatshirt hood and zipped his coat.
She led him through the kitchen and opened the back door though she couldn’t turn on the light for him. “Be careful on the steps,” she said in a low voice. “They’re steep.”
As soon as she’d bolted the door, she sagged against it.
What had she done? It didn’t matter how many painful stories they’d shared, how much they had in common or even that Mick was beginning to believe that her brother had been targeted.
What would Riley think about her nearly falling into bed with the man who was sitting in his desk and leading his crew?
She was the selfish person she’d always been, putting her needs before everyone else’s, including her own family.
If she relied on Mick for backup, it could only be while following the ground rules they’d set.
Before she could do that, she needed to take charge of her out-of-control hormones and convince herself that she didn’t want what she couldn’t have.