Текст книги "Dangerously Bound"
Автор книги: Eden Bradley
Соавторы: Eden Bradley
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“In Dangerously Bound, Eden Bradley has created a delicious tale of second chances and dark yearning, of people exploring love’s shadowed edges. Mick is a hero to inspire wicked dreams, while Allie is a strong woman who is not afraid to admit to a fascination for dominance and submission. I enjoyed every luscious word!”
—Angela Knight, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF EDEN BRADLEY
“Intelligent, haunting and sexy as hell . . . for you people who like story and heart with your erotica, I’d definitely recommend any of Eden’s books.”
–Maya Banks, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Honest, tender and totally sexy—a feast for the senses and the heart.”
–Shayla Black, USA Today bestselling author
“Brilliant, seductive and dangerous. All of my favorite things.”
–R. G. Alexander, author of Tempt Me
“A hot and steamy ride to the climactic end . . . This story will steam up your glasses.”
–Library Journal
“An exciting, erotic page-turner that does not disappoint . . . Ms. Bradley’s wonderful storytelling ability and knack for description transport you right into the story and hold you there until the very last page.”
–Night Owl Reviews
“Graphic, loving and incredibly well written, the sex scenes ratchet up the drama with unbelievable intensity . . . Sexual desire intertwines with emotional intensity, resulting in a book you won’t want to put down.”
–Romance Junkies
“Bradley delivers the goods. There is intense intimacy and heart-wrenching emotions . . . This is delicious and delightful from the first page until the conclusion.”
–RT Book Reviews
“Eden Bradley is an incredible author who writes scorching-hot love scenes with characters who are very memorable and so very well written.”
–Fallen Angel Reviews
“Eden Bradley knows how to heat up the pages in a hurry. She creates sexual tension and love scenes that will get your heart racing. But she also creates characters that are realistic and fun to read.”
–Fiction Vixen
“Eden Bradley has a knack for penning extraordinary erotic romances.”
–Wild on Books
“Dark and seductive; it left me breathless and eager for more. I loved it!”
–My Secret Romance Book Reviews
“Highly erotic and sensual.”
–Under the Covers
Titles by Eden Bradley
DANGEROUSLY BOUND
Writing as Eve Berlin
PLEASURE’S EDGE
DESIRE’S EDGE
TEMPTATION’S EDGE
Anthologies
EXCLUSIVE
(with Jaci Burton and Lisa Renee Jones)
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
Copyright © 2014 by Eden Bradley.
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eBook ISBN: 978-0-425-26962-6
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bradley, Eden.
Dangerously Bound / Eden Bradley.
pages cm. – (A dangerous romance ; 1)
ISBN 978-0-425-26962-6 (paperback)
1. Sadomasochism—Fiction. 2. Bondage (Sexual behavior)—Fiction. 3. Erotic fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.R34266D34 2014
813'.6—dc23 2013051060
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / April 2014
Cover photo of Rope by Phil Cawley/Alamy; Wrought Iron by Purestock/Getty.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Dawn, for being the most amazing beta reader ever, and brainstorming this story with me!
To Sidney Bristol, for cheerfully getting down on the floor to demonstrate the viability of a certain hog-tie. The first dungeon scene in this book only happened the way it did because you were such a willing coconspirator!
And always, to R. G. Alexander, for being my unending support; for being the person I can take any crazy idea to and talk it out as many times as I need to; for helping me to build depth into my characters and cleverness into my dialogue—but most of all, for being my friend.
A note to those of you who know rope: Thank you to the many people who have been directly or indirectly involved in my research, through hands-on experience as well as observation. My intention here was to present rope bondage in a way readers who may never have seen it could understand, so I have left out the more technical terms for the beautiful knots, materials and suspensions.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER One
THERE WAS SOMETHING about New Orleans—something about the air itself—a certain sultriness found nowhere else, that silky touch of humidity on skin, like fingertips dragged slowly over your flesh. Or maybe it was only that this was Mick’s town. Every side street and café thick with memories of him, each corner she turned leaving her breathless with the possibility of running into him, seeing him again.
She couldn’t come back without thinking of him. Without the hard yearning that had never gone away, running like honey in her veins.
Mick . . .
Damn it.
But it was her town, too—her hometown. Allie had been gone for the better part of the last twelve years, away at college in San Francisco, then at culinary school in Europe, then back to San Francisco to practice her pastry arts. She’d returned to New Orleans on occasion to visit family and friends, but Mick had always managed to avoid her. Except for that one summer when she was twenty years old. The summer Mick had finally—finally!—come to his senses and had her.
One night. One night that had left her shattered. And more unable to forget him than ever.
She stepped off the running board of the trolley car that ran the length of Chartres Street and moved toward the small French café that was her destination. Patrons sat at white-clothed tables in front of the old brick structure. Like so many in New Orleans it was a little decayed by the tropical moisture, the bricks literally crumbling at the corners. Yet it was covered in the yellow and pink lantana that lent a spicy perfume to the air all over the old city.
She paused, catching her reflection in a shop window, and ran a hand through her long, dark hair.
He’d always loved her hair.
She could see his face in her mind, the face she’d known since those very first moments when her body had awakened to desire and come to know what it was to be female.
He had hard features, but he was beautiful in the most masculine way. So tall, towering over her. She loved that about him—that he could intimidate with his height, with that well-earned air of bad boy. She loved the way his black hair fell into his face. And those soft gray eyes that always melted her . . .
A woman bumped into her, apologizing, and the noise of the passing cars and the crowds on the sidewalk came to her as she shook her head, shook herself out of the memories that tried to come flooding back. If she was going to be in New Orleans, live here again, she’d better get a hold of herself. It wasn’t as if she’d come back specifically for Mick, although he was definitely on her radar.
Which was why she was meeting Jamie for lunch today, only a few days after she’d returned to the city. He was one of her oldest friends—and Mick’s best friend. Not that she didn’t want to see Jamie—she did, of course. She’d missed him. But the struggle she fought against every day, between the part of her that wanted to forget Mick and the part that yearned to know every detail of his life, was impossible in New Orleans. Their town, where everything had happened. She couldn’t resist asking Jamie about him. And if Mick was still available—and since her best friend was married to Mick’s brother she had some insider information that told her he was—well, she had a plan. Jamie was the one person who could help her execute it.
Feeling like she was involved in some espionage plot, and a little silly, as well, she settled her purse on her shoulder and squeezed between the outdoor tables and into the cozy bistro where they were having lunch.
She spotted Jamie at a table by the window, all six feet of his long legs sprawled out in front of him, but he rose as soon as he saw her, a wide grin on his gorgeous face.
“Allie.”
He pulled her into a long hug, and she stood on her toes to wrap her arms around him. It felt lovely, familiar, and she realized with a sudden pang how much she’d missed New Orleans and all the people in it. But she was done missing everyone. She may have let Mick Reid chase her away all those years ago, but she was back. And she was determined that everything would be different this time.
Pulling back, she took a good look at Jamie. “You’ve shaved your hair almost completely off!” She ran a hand over the brown buzz cut. “Ooh—it’s soft. And it suits you. I like the eyebrow piercing, too.”
He laughed and pulled out a chair for her, held it while she settled into it before seating himself across the small table from her. “I’m glad you approve. You can give me all the style advice you want. I’m just glad you’re back.”
“I am, too. It’s so good to see you. What have you been up to?”
“The usual. Working on cars. Trying to stay out of trouble.”
“How’s the shop doing?” she asked. Jamie’s business was restoring vintage muscle cars, work he’d loved since high school.
“It’s doing great. We’re finally recovering, along with the rest of the city. Business is good. In fact, my cousin Duff is coming in from Scotland in a few months. We’ll be expanding the shop to include his specialty—he restores vintage motorcycles. We just gutted the space next door and are about to start the build-out. What about you? Are you settling into the house?”
“The house” was a small cottage in the Garden District left to her by her great-aunt Joséphine, her father’s aunt—the reason she’d initially decided to return to the city and make it her home once more.
“The house is a bit of a mess, actually. The kitchen needs to be completely redone, and it needs to be painted—a few other things. I wanted to ask if your brother Allister is available to take on the job.”
“Of course. He runs several crews these days. I’ll talk to him, have him give you a call.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him over her menu.
The waitress brought water to the table, and they ordered.
“So . . .” Allie started, wanting and not wanting to ask about Mick.
Jamie raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“So . . . I ran into Summer yesterday.”
“Summer Grace?”
“Yes. It was nice to see her. We ended up sitting down and talking over coffee. You know she still has the hots for you.”
He groaned. “Jesus, do people still say ‘has the hots’?”
Allie couldn’t help but grin at his discomfort. Summer Grace Rae—Brandon’s sister—had been after Jamie since they were all kids. “She’s a total sex kitten, that girl. You could do worse.”
“Worse than hitting on my best friend’s little sister? The one who he asked me on his deathbed to look after?”
“That could be one way of doing it,” she teased.
He blew out a breath, his hand rubbing the stubble on his head. “Why do I have the feeling you’re using this to avoid the conversation you came here to have with me?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Yes,” he answered simply.
She bit her lip, her fingers tightening around the white cotton napkin she held. What the hell—she was going to ask sooner or later.
“Okay. So, I was wondering . . . How’s Mick? Is he in town?”
“Mick’s fine. And yeah, he’s here in town. What’s the rest of the question?”
Allie tried to laugh, but it came out short and sharp. “You know me too well.”
“I know you both too well.”
“Just tell me, Jamie. What’s going on with him? Is he . . . is he single? And God, did I really just ask you that?”
Jamie laughed. “You did, sweetheart. And it’s Mick. Of course he’s still single.”
Allie folded her napkin, laid it carefully across her lap, avoiding her friend’s gaze.
“Is he still playing at the club? The Bastille?”
“We both are.” He narrowed his gaze at her. “What do you know about The Bastille?”
She looked up then, met his gaze. “Everything. I know about your kink, about Mick’s. Maybe it’s time we talked about mine.”
He raised his brows. “Yours? Your kink? What are you saying, Allie?”
She took a deep breath. “I should have told you sooner. I don’t know why I didn’t, especially since I’ve always known you would never judge me.” She paused. “I learned a lot while I was away. In Berlin. Amsterdam. I went to my first club when I went to culinary school in Paris. It was . . . eye-opening. Life changing, really. I belong to two of the top clubs in San Francisco—I’m sure you know their names. Sanctuary. The Ring. Everywhere I went to learn pastry, I went to the clubs. I’ve probably had as much experience with kink as you. Maybe more.”
“More, huh?” He nodded thoughtfully, and she could see he was trying to absorb everything she’d just revealed to him. “I do know of those places in San Francisco. Good clubs. Solid reputations.”
“I joined The Bastille a few months ago when I knew I was coming back here. I’ve seen your online profile. And Mick’s. You’ve admitted to some of this stuff over the years so it was no surprise. And Mick . . . well, I’ve known about him for a long time. And I understand that’s why he never thought he could be with me.”
“You know that’s only part of it, Allie. You know Mick. All that lone-wolf bullshit.”
She caught his gaze. “Exactly. It’s bullshit.”
Jamie let out a long breath. “I imagine you’ll be coming to The Bastille, then, now that you’re living here. That could be . . . awkward, where Mick is concerned.”
“Are you saying you don’t think I should come?”
He held up his hands. “Of course not. You know me well enough to know I’d never say that.”
“I do know. And I get it. I’d really rather it weren’t awkward.” She leaned across the table, grabbed one of his hands. “Jamie, will you help me?”
“Help you? With what?”
“With Mick. With this whole . . . situation. It’s more than awkward. It could be untenable. I’ve been thinking about this, and I only see one solution. I want you to help me see him. Not just see him. I want you to negotiate a scene at the club—one between Mick and me.”
“Allie, you’re crazy if you think he’ll agree to that. You know how he feels. He still sees you as you were at sixteen.”
“What if I told him—if you helped me tell him—about where I’ve been, the things I’ve done? That I’m an experienced bottom.”
“He’d always doubt it. He’d doubt himself.”
She sighed. “Why? I don’t get it. I’m almost thirty years old. This is ridiculous. Are you saying you think he doesn’t want me?”
“We all know damn well he does. Always has. Always will. That’s the problem. You’re the one he wants. The one he can’t allow himself to have.”
“Jamie, please. I need you to do this for me.” She knew he was her only chance. “Mick will refuse to see me if I just ask him myself, won’t he?”
“Jesus, Allie,” he groaned, pulling his hand back.
“Don’t let me leave here today not knowing how things are going to be when I walk into that club and see him there. This is the only way. You have to get him to sit down with me and talk this out. All you have to do is set it up.”
He blew out another long breath. “If I set it up—and I am not promising anything—then I sit through the detailed negotiations between you two. Not just the initial conversation in which I get him—maybe—to agree to do this. It’ll be my responsibility as the Dominant introducing the negotiations, despite your history together. It’s proper protocol. No arguing about it.”
She nodded. “Of course. I understand that.” She paused, bit her lip. “Not sure if Mick will understand,” she muttered.
He scrubbed a hand over his head. “Two minutes back in town and already causing trouble. What am I going to do with you, girl?”
She smiled at him. “You’re going to help me give Mick Reid what we’ve both always wanted. Each other.”
* * *
ALLIE PUSHED OPEN the screen door and stepped onto her porch. The old wood boards creaked under her bare feet—she’d have Allister look at that.
It was an unseasonably warm and humid night for May, and she hadn’t had time yet to replace the old cottage’s air-conditioning. It was cooler out there, with a small breeze picking up the damp tendrils of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. She pressed her glass of iced tea against her hot neck—not the traditional New Orleans sweet tea—she’d broken herself of that habit in her years living in Europe.
She moved to the edge of the screened-in porch, searching the sky for the moon. It was a small crescent in the inky sky, the stars glimmering from between the clouds. Hard to believe Mick shared this same sky with her somewhere in the city. That he was that close.
It always came back to him. Especially now. Especially here, with the warm, sultry air soft on her skin, making her remember.
He wasn’t the first boy she’d kissed, but kissing him had changed everything. It was a mad rush of heat and need. Startling at first. Then something she looked forward to, craved.
They’d made out like crazy in high school. Mick would pull her aside every chance he got in the hall at school, into a dark doorway when they were walking down the street. His kisses were demanding, even in those days.
A small, soft breath escaped her lips as she remembered, as she closed her eyes and imagined the warm press of his mouth against hers. Desire was a low, steady hum in her system, heat blossoming between her thighs.
Oh, yes, Mick Reid could kiss like the devil himself.
He was every bit as wicked. She’d known it then. Loved it. Wanted more than he’d ever been willing to give her. But things were different now. She was all grown up. She knew how to get what she wanted. And she would find a way.
But back to the kissing . . .
She sat down in one of the wicker chairs on the porch, set her tea on the floor next to her, leaned back, and closed her eyes once more.
There had been those moments when he looked at her—watched her—and she knew he was about to kiss her. He’d pause, making her wait. Make her breathe in her desire, and his. Pure torture, but she’d loved it. Then he’d pull her in hard and crush her body to his, his lips to hers, and oh . . .
She pressed down on her aching sex through the thin cotton of her dress.
His tongue would push into her mouth, sweet and silky and full of need. She’d loved the way he needed her, as if he’d die if he couldn’t touch her, kiss her.
She was dying right now.
She opened her eyes for a moment. The porch was dark—she hadn’t turned on the lights. The street was quiet, empty. She closed her eyes and pictured his face once more, those lovely moments of anticipation before he took her mouth.
She slid her hand beneath the hem of her dress, slipped her fingers under the lacy edge of her panties and found her sex slick with need. She took in a breath, let her fingers slide through her damp heat, over the already-swollen folds.
God, the first time he’d gone down on her she thought she would die of pleasure. It was the one thing he’d given in on—he refused to take her virginity. But that plush, clever mouth kissing her there, licking, sucking . . .
“Oh . . .”
She pressed a finger into her body, moaned quietly. Added another.
He’d push his tongue inside her, then draw it out, pause endlessly, making her wait before he dove in once more, all wet tongue and soft lips, then he’d push his fingers into her.
She pumped her fingers a few times, need swarming her, her hips arching. Then she slid her fingers out to rub at her hard clitoris.
Mick . . .
God, she needed him. Needed to feel him again. Needed him to spank her, like he had that one night. His big hand coming down on her flesh, making her sore. Making her wet. Making her pant with need. Until, his fingers buried inside her, she’d come. Come apart. Screamed his name.
“Yes . . .”
She pressed into her needy sex once more, the heel of her hand pressing onto her mound. She shivered, remembered the sting of his palm on her flesh, his fingers working her mercilessly, milking her climax from her as she shivered in his arms.
“Oh!”
She came, hard, her body jerking, her sex tightening over and over around her plunging fingers.
“Mick . . .”
She gasped his name over and over until, finally, her body calmed, and she moved her hand from beneath her dress.
All around her was the sound of cicadas, a car driving by. She felt enveloped by the dark sky. By the pleasure still simmering in her system.
She needed to do it again, properly this time, with her vibrator, her legs spread.
Desire rose once more, her nipples pulling tight.
Yes, she needed it. Needed to come again and again tonight. Probably every night until she saw him. Until he touched her. And then Mick would make her come.
She groaned, got up and went into the house, letting the screen slam shut behind her, her glass of tea forgotten. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was this driving need.
She moved through the dark living room, past the old furniture and the boxes of her belongings, and into the bedroom. She pulled her toy bag from beneath the high four-poster bed and yanked on the zipper. It was dark in the room, the moon casting a pale silver light, but it only took her a few moments to find what she was looking for.
Impatiently, she stripped her sundress off over her head and flung it onto the floor. She climbed up on the bed and lay down next to the items she’d lined up on the white cotton coverlet: her big vibrator and a smaller one, a string of anal beads, a bottle of lube, some clamps, their metal chain glinting in the sliver of moon and starlight that hit the bed.
She got on her hands and knees and grabbed the big, phallus-shaped vibrator, switched it on and touched it to her clit. It was almost too much, she was so hot already. She bit her lip, rode it out, shivering all over, then spread her knees wider and plunged it inside her.
“Oh, God.”
She surged back onto the big vibrator, loving the way it filled her. The way Mick had filled her with his big, lovely cock.
His cock was thick and long, a heavy shaft of velvet-covered iron. She’d gotten to touch it, to wrap her hand, her mouth around it, to get him off. But he’d never been willing to fuck her until that night . . .
He’d held himself over her, heat coming off his big, finely muscled body in waves. She’d been writhing beneath him, waiting for him. He’d made her wait, as he always did, until she’d sobbed his name. Begged for him.
“Please, Mick,” she whispered, pressing the vibrating phallus deeper.
It wasn’t enough.
She sat up on her heels, the vibe still deep in her sex, and picked up the clamps. She felt the weight of them in her hands for a moment, the cool metal chain running between them, pressed it to her aching breasts.
“For you, Mick,” she whispered as she drew one nipple between her fingers, pinched it tight.
She pulled in a breath, loving the spark of pain. She slipped her fingers over the hardened tip, caressing, then tugging, drawing the sensitive flesh out, did it again before closing one of the metal clamps around it.
She gasped at the sharp pinch, breathed it in, rode the pain out as she’d been taught to do.
She let the weight of the chain hang for a moment while she prepared her other nipple, caressing, pinching, pulling, then attaching the other clamp.
She drew in a hissing breath, let it out, let the pain carry her away for a moment, smiling as pleasure washed over her. Picking up the bottle of lube and the beads, she coated them, leaned forward, spread her thighs wider. She contracted her sex to keep the big vibrator inside her as she pressed the tip of the beads to her ass, took in a breath and slowly blew it out as she pushed the first bead in.
There was the familiar burning sensation as it reached the first ring of muscle. She forced her body to relax past the burn, past the keen pleasure shimmering through her from the vibrator and the clamps. She pushed it in a little more, adding the second, larger bead. Again there was the slight burn as it moved past the muscle, but pleasure surged just as deep inside her.
Her breath hitched as she pushed it in farther, and she had to bite back her orgasm. She needed to come. But she wanted it all. Wanted him.
Mick . . .
He’d never taken her ass. She’d wanted him to. Wanted it to be his big, beautiful cock pressing into her from behind. He’d wrap an arm around her waist, holding her tight. Making her feel owned.
She pushed another bead in, moved her hand to pull the big vibe from her sex, pushed it back in hard.
“Ah! Yes, Mick, please.”
She started pumping, the motion causing her breasts to sway, the heavy chain of the clamps pulling on her nipples. Pain and pleasure danced through her, from between her thighs, deep inside her. The sensations merged, began to blur, and she stabbed into her body over and over, the big vibrator pressing against her G-spot.
Her whole body was pulsing with the need to come. But she knew he’d want her to hold it back.
“For you, Mick.”
She went down, her shoulders supporting her body, her ass high in the air, her breasts pressed into the soft coverlet. She gasped when her clamped nipples came into contact with the bed, pain a sharp, lancing spark making everything more intense. She had to stop the motion of her hand, let the vibrator rest inside her. Had to take in a breath.
He would want more from her.
She reached back, imaging it was his big hands pulling the beads out of her, pushing them back in, using the motion to rub against the vibe, touching off shivers of sensation in the core of her body.
It was too much. She panted, then keened her pleasure as her climax ripped through her, making her shake all over, blinding her. Making her sob his name.
“Mick!”
When it was over she collapsed on the bed, drew the beads out and laid them on the small towel she’d spread next to her, withdrew the vibrator and turned it off, laid it beside the beads. Finally she turned onto her back and slowly released one clamp. She hissed as the blood rushed back into her deprived flesh, bringing a fresh surge of pain, a fresh surge of pleasure. She took a moment before she did the same to the other.
Groaning, she pushed her hair from her face. Her skin, her hair, was damp with sweat. It was several long minutes before she caught her breath.
Goddamn Mick. It was him every time. It had been for years. No matter the wonderful lovers she’d had in Paris, in Copenhagen. The Dominants she’d played with in Berlin, Amsterdam, San Francisco. It was always him she fantasized about. It was always his face, his hands, his body in her mind when she was coming.
This was why she had to see him. Had to have that one last chance to make him see her for who she was. For it to either work out, or finally be over. Because this had to stop—this obsession with a man who wouldn’t admit that he wanted her, needed her.
Now was the time. She would either get Mick to admit they belonged together or finally say good-bye. Forever.
* * *
MICK PACED THE living room floor of his French Quarter flat, the wood warm beneath his bare feet. His fingers flexed. He shook them out.
What the fuck was with him? Just because he’d heard Allie was back in town . . . Hell, she’d been in New Orleans at least a dozen times over the years, visiting her family in the summers or during holidays. He’d always tried his best to be gone when she was in the city, scheduling work gigs whenever he could. He hated to admit that he fucking hid from her, but he couldn’t lie to himself.
He couldn’t hide now.
He flopped down on the big brown leather sofa, grabbed the TV remote, rubbed his thumb over the buttons.
She was back to stay. Or so Jamie had told him. Inherited some old house in the lower Garden District.
If only he didn’t have such an efficient staff, he could use work as a reason to get away for a while.
An excuse.
Jesus Christ.
He tossed the remote down onto the table he’d built himself years ago from old reclaimed barn wood, and got up to pace some more, ending up in front of the windows that overlooked the street below. A couple moved under the streetlamp at the corner, stopped to wrap their arms around each other. He watched as they kissed, as the kiss went on. As they made out like teenagers. Maybe they were—he couldn’t tell.
He’d made out like that with Allie when they were teenagers. Kissed her until he almost had enough of her. But it was never enough. Not even that one night they’d spent together three years after the breakup, when he’d finally done with her a few of the things he’d always wanted to. Needed to. That had been nothing more than the most excruciating taste of something he’d never have again.
His mind wandered back, as it had so many times over the years, to the night when he’d had to tell her—had to—that they couldn’t be together. Fucking excruciating to see her cry.
“I don’t understand, Mick.”
She rubbed at her damp cheeks. His hands ached with the need to wipe her tears. To take her in his arms and tell her it was a mistake, that he was taking it all back. But he knew what he had to do before he ruined her.
“I’m leaving for college in Baton Rouge—”
