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Before she could ask what he meant, he’d lifted his other arm and trapped her there, against the wall. Those hard arms were inches from her shoulders. She had a sudden insane urge to turn her head and bite on his wrist to give him both pleasure and pain.
“I want sex withonlyyou,” he finally said, his voice thick and intense. “But I want a lot more, too.”
Then he stepped away and let her go. Caro somehow managed not to look back as she raced back upstairs, wondering the whole time exactly what he wanted from her.
BY MIDNIGHT THURSDAY night, Mick had had six beers and was working on a nice buzz to dull the ache in his gut and the tension in his brain. That probably explained why he was trying so hard to pick a fight with one of his best friends.
“No, I don’t want a rematch,” Ty said, putting his pool cue away and walking toward the bar in the Mainline Tavern.
The Mainline was an old standard in Derryville and had been in business during prohibition when it had sold hard cider and mountain stuff out of a back room. It wasn’t usually crowded, tonight even less so. The weekend beer drinkers were playing by their wives’ rules—staying home during the week in exchange for a no-hassle night with the guys on the weekend.
On a Friday or Saturday, the place would be wall to wall with regulars. Sometimes it drew in the odd highway traveler who wanted to stop for a cold one at a quaint bar that advertised dollar beers, misspelling the word dollar on the sign outside.
Only the pathetic singles—like Mick—or their very understanding friends—like Ty—were here so late on a weeknight.
“Why don’t we go out for some late-night breakfast?” Ty asked.
Mick shook his head. “Not interested.”
They’d played four sets of pool. Mick had already lost twenty bucks and was determined to win his money back. Actually, he was determined to blow off steam in any way he could. Including trying to get a rise out of Ty, which only showed how tense this week with Caroline had been. “Since when did you turn into the kind of guy who walks out on a betting situation? You afraid?” Even to his own ears, his tone sounded belligerent.
Ty obviously noticed. “Pal, we both know I can’t take you in a fight,” his friend said, visibly losing his patience, “but I swear to God if you don’t get the bug out of your ass, I’ll go down swinging and land at least a few good ones before I hit the floor.”
Mick raised a brow, impressed in spite of himself. Ty prided himself on being a peacekeeper. He’d been keeping Eddie, his brother, out of fights since they’d all met back in first grade at Harding Elementary School. He was the most laid-back guy Mick had ever known—next to himself.
“You’re really ready to fight me?” He wondered if Ty heard the surprise in his voice.
“Youreally wanna fightme?”
Mick thought about it.
“I mean, if you want some bruises messing up that pretty face of yours, I am eventually going to oblige,” Ty said, sounding both resigned and disgusted.
Before Mick could take him up on the offer—and he was stupid drunk enough on beer and emotion that he might have—someone gave him a face full of water.
“What the f—” he sputtered, wiping the icy cold water away with his palm. He swung around, fists clenched, looking for who had doused him.
“If you’re finished behaving like a total ass, I’d be happy to take you home.”
Jared, staring at him with that quiet, intellectual, assessing gaze that had always made Mick squirm. It was the same look his cousin had had on his face the time Mick had decided to try smoking with his friends in fourth grade and had thrown up all over the dugout in the park where they used to hang out. The same one Jared had worn when he’d come to drive Mick home from college after he’d been cordially invited to leave the campus.
“What are you doing here?” Mick asked, removing a few more droplets of water from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“I called for him to come get you outta here before you took somebody on who doesn’t know you’re drunk and lovesick,” Ty said.
Mick glared at his friend, who held his ground and stuck his finger in Mick’s face. “There’s a reason you don’t drink much, my friend. You’re a stupid drunk.”
Jared nodded. “He’s right.”
Ty wasn’t finished. “Stupid drunk is bad enough. Stupid drunk who uses a few beers as an excuse to get pissed off is trouble in motion.”
Jared gave Ty an assessing look. “Correct. I didn’t realize your friends knew you that well, Mick.”
Mick gaped at his cousin and best friend for a moment, watching them exchange a knowing glance. Then he looked down, not facing either one of them as he gave his head a shake to try to clear his brain and avoid making any more of an ass of himself.
“Let’s go,” Jared murmured. “This isn’t your dorm room.”
Those words did a fine job of starting to sober him up. “Shit.”
