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“Hmm,” he said. “This will be the fourth time in six years that we’ve had that particular thrill. It started to pall before the first round of vows.”
“Your brother’s been married three times already?” Sophy asked disbelievingly. “And he’s…how old?”
“Thirty-three.”
Good grief.
“Geez. They didn’t all die in mysterious circumstances, did they?” she said without thinking and then visibly cringed.
Her poor tired feet had suffered enough abuse tonight without being shoved between her teeth like that.
Fortunately Mick laughed, a huff of tension leaving his body.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he said, his eyes smiling at her. “Last I heard, they each vanished into the sunset clutching a hefty cheque. And good luck to them.”
“I’m not really feeling the brotherly love.” Sophy tucked her hand beneath her cheek, weighing her words. “Are you…not a very close family?”
She sensed that some of the answers to the Mick-puzzle could be found here, but the navigation was a bit rocky.
“I wouldn’t say that.” His mouth twisted wryly. “They’re peas in a very narrow pod.”
They’re peas in a pod.
She reached out and took hold of his hand again, clasping it between both of hers. Her palms were swallowed up against his much larger fist. A startled flash of emotion crossed his features, a blend of surprise, gratitude and something infinitely more disturbing. She jumped slightly when he lifted their joined fingers and pressed a kiss to the back of her wrist. She was half-anxious, half-hopeful in trying to anticipate his next move, but he merely dropped his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes. His barrel-like chest moved in a deep sigh. He looked exhausted.
“You should get home to bed,” she said quietly.
His lashes barely flickered.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asked, and the words were a deep, sleepy rumble.
“Of course I will.”
The desire to lean forward and touch her lips gently to his was almost insurmountable. There seemed to be a new closeness, a comfort, between them. And it was bothering her that it wasn’t bothering her.
This seemed to be the night for confidences and there was one more subject she desperately wanted to raise. She had the feeling that if she didn’t bring it up now, perhaps she never would. It wasn’t nosiness. She hoped. It just felt like she should know. Even if it went against a lifetime of caution to return to a point of contention.
“Mick,” she said, firmly enough that he opened his eyes and looked at her fully. “I realise that this is the conversational version of poking a bruise with a stick, but I’m just going to come out and ask properly this time. It wasn’t my business before and it’s not my business now, so if you really don’t want to talk about this, just say so. I promise I won’t flee sobbing into the night.”
He had let go of her hands and was sitting up on the edge of the couch, his forearms resting on his knees. Of the two of them, he looked far more inclined to bolt. There was an air of resignation about him, however, rather than the defensive anger she had feared.
“What happened with Jennifer?”
The question fell between them like a gambler throwing down a last-ditch attempt at a winning hand. Everything hinged on the other player’s response.
Mick stared at the floor, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, his movements unhurried and thoughtful. When he spoke, it was without looking at her.
“She slept with me on a bet.”
Whatever Sophy had been expecting, it hadn’t been that.
“What?” she asked blankly, and watched as his fingers tensed against his collar.
“She was headhunted into Ryland Curry last year from a firm in Ireland,” he said evenly, still to the carpet. “I had no personal interest in her, but after a month or so she started a pretty heavy pursuit. She was…fairly relentless.” He glanced at her and his expression, until then lacking any sort of emotion, became tinged with self-disgust. “I eventually took what was on offer. It was only later that Sean discovered she’d made a bet with two other consultants, Anya Hollings and Jack Trevallion, that she could go through with it.” He shrugged. “Trevallion’s an inept prick who’s had it in for me since I gave him a written warning for a misdemeanour last year. I’d always had a reasonable working relationship with Anya.”
He’d been betrayed by one trusted colleague; treated without kindness, respect or decency by another. And he was so bloody polite about it.
Sophy was actually trembling with anger.
