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Laughing at his meaning, I shove him away. We don’t leave until well after eleven. Greeted by the paparazzi and an evening breeze, Mick drapeshis jacket around my shoulders while Max and Hilton stand guard. The limos that Mick arranged for our family and my friends arrive before ours. We hug everyone goodnight, and soon after, Stiles pulls up. He doesn’t usually act as limo driver but he put himself on our security detail, and assigned Bernard to Jordyn—much to her chagrin.
The first thing to go inside the luxury vehicle are my glittery heels. Made for fashion rather than two hours of dancing, I slide them off in sighing relief.
“Here.” Mick lifts my legs onto his lap and massages my feet.
“Mm. That feels amazing.”
“You had a good time?”
“Yes. I enjoyed it all, especially your speech.”
“Given your orgasmic reaction, I thought you’d say the chocolates.”
“Okay, those too.”
“Hope I can measure up.”
I dangle the gift bag that contains a box of the decadent truffles. “I have these just in case.”
“You’ll pay for that, Mrs. Peters.” He teases the ticklish underside of my foot.
A reminder of our younger days, I try to wrestle away from his playful punishment in a fit of breathless giggles. Finally, with us both in hysterics, he shows mercy on me and relents.
I punch his shoulder in weak retaliation. He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. It’s a tender after-moment. Sobering, I curl into him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Tonight was wonderful. Papa T would have been so proud. Thank you for including me in your honor, and his.”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you, but I wanted you up on stage with me.”
“You didn’t. It was really special.”
“For me too.”
I hug him, pressing my nose into the crook of his neck and breathing in his woodsy scent. “I love you,” I whisper.
He lifts my chin and treats me to a heart-melting kiss.
I’m like putty when Stiles pulls into the driveway. Since Mick cleared his name, the paparazzi no longer plague our sidewalk, having moved on to the next shiny object. Yet still, Stiles scopes out the area before he comes around to open the back door.
Mick exits first and reaches for my hand. I join him in my stocking feet, carrying the shoes by the straps over my shoulder.
“Oh, the chocolates.” I duck back inside to get them.
Mick looks at the bag drolly. “My competition.”
“Never.” I smile, then glance from Mick to our ever-alert bodyguard. Before I can thank him and say goodnight, his shout jolts me.
“Get down!” Quick as lightning, Stiles jumps in front of us just as Mick topples me to the ground.
We fall together hard, my head hitting the pavement with a dizzying thud. My vision blurs. Mick’s body covers me. Pain. Radiating pain. Everything hurts. I can’t move. There’s a deafening pop, pop, pop beneath the incessant pounding in my head.
Mick! Mick!I scream over and over again but there’s no sound, no light, nothing but darkness.
ChapterThirty-Seven
Micah
The gunfire finally ceases. Howmany shots there’d been, I couldn’t say. More than three…maybe four, five. It had all happened so fast, yet felt like an eternity. In the chaos, I’d taken Dee down, using my body as a shield.
Sirens wail in the near distance. Breathing rough and frantic, I whisper words of encouragement in her ear: “Dee, baby, we’re okay. It’s over. The police are coming.”
