motorcycle. Not now, not ever. He moved back
into the living room, stared out the window without really seeing anything.
It wasn’t the bike that had ruined his life—it was his own bad judgment. But Allie
referencing their past . . . those had been good days, and he couldn’t find it in
himself to focus on the bad part that had come later—either with the bike or with
her. Not now, with her voice soft in his ear.
“The music was great,” he admitted, “except for your strange fascination with Nickelback.”
“What? I still love them,” she defended. “His voice is amazing.”
“You’ll never convince me of that.”
“Do you remember our song, Mick?” she asked, her voice going soft.
He didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to think about him and Allie together back then.
After a few silent moments she said, “‘Drive’ by Incubus. I . . . still listen to
it sometimes.”
“Great song,” he said gruffly, his breath catching in his throat.
Damn it.
“Allie, if we’re going to play at the club, maybe we’d better set some ground rules
for this stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Trying to bring back the past. That was a long time ago.”
“Okay . . .” She drew the last syllable out, and he could hear the hurt in her voice.
But he had to lay down some boundaries or things were going to get messy.
Hell, they already were messy. This whole thing was messy. But he wouldn’t go back
on his word. Maybe a night of play and they’d both have it out of their systems.
Yeah, right.
And then she’d go on to play with some other Dom at his home club, and he’d fucking
want to kill the guy.
“Mick?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re right. We should stay focused on the present. Not get caught up in history.”
“Glad you see it my way.”
“You always are,” she muttered.
“I heard that.”
She laughed, breaking the tension. And knowing Allie, that had been her purpose.
“I’ll see you Friday,” he told her. “We should both talk to Jamie, just in case.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And give Marie Dawn a heads-up.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He could hear the capital
S
in the way she said it, that breathiness again. His cock twitched.
“Friday at eight. Don’t be late.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
“And Allie?”
“Yes?”
“Be prepared for me to smack some of that sass out of you.”
“I’ll count on it.”
They hung up and the view through the window came into focus. He braced himself with
one hand on the frame.
She would be perfect. She always had been, always would be. But at The Bastille . . .
He groaned.
He knew he was damn good at what he did. He’d had years of practice, was confident
in his abilities. But this one girl just threw him off his game. He’d find a way to
overcome it. He’dhave to. For his own sake as well as hers. He’d have to really watch himself with
her.
Allie was definitely back in town, and was under his skin already.
CHAPTER
Four
F RIDAY EVENING CAME, and Allie was trying to remind herself of what she’d told Mick—that her needs were
simple. But there was nothing simple about the way she couldn’t stop thinking about
him.
She’d had a long lunch with her mother, catching up on news of family and old friends,
local politics and concerns about the bakery’s neighborhood, but Mick had been firmly
in the back of her mind the entire time. Enough that her mother had asked her several
times what she’d been daydreaming about. Allie had thought she’d managed to skirt
the question, but by the end of lunch her mother’s appraising gaze told her nothing
had escaped her, and Allie realized hiding her obsession with Mick—she didn’t currently
know what else to call it—wasn’t going to be simple at all when it came to her family.
She breathed out a sigh as she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror on
the closet door for the tenth time,looking for a bit of mussed hair, a