It tore at him to see the expression on her face. He didn’t know how they could resolve things tonight. They were both too raw. And he needed some time to understand what had happened to him.

“All right. Let me get your dress. But Allie . . . I’m sorry for a lot of things. You should know that.”

She just shook her head mutely, and he handed the dress to her. She slipped it over her head, let the blanket fall. When he tried to help her into her shoes, she waved him away and did it herself, then sat in silence while he packed up his bag. She remained just as silent as they went back through the club to the front and got their coats. He was grateful that Pixie gauged their mood and kept quiet as they left.

He helped Allie step up into the truck, a hand on her elbow, but she was shut off to him. He went to the driver’s side and got in, started the engine.

“Are you not talking to me at all?” he asked her.

“I just can’t, Mick. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say, and if I say anything more, I’m only going to make it worse.”

“You need to stop apologizing.”

“Because I’m completely blameless? Come on, Mick. We both know that’s not true.”

He scrubbed at his goatee with one hand, the other firmly on the wheel, when all he wanted was to stop the damn truck and take her in his arms again.

He knew she was right. He had felt manipulated the other day, but he’d accepted the situation as inevitable. But tonight everything had shifted once he had her in his ropes, under his hands. It wasn’t the sight of her bare flesh, although that was pretty damn spectacular. It was her. Stronger than she used to be. Braver. What had it taken for her to get him to do this?

“I didn’t think you’d be able to argue with that,” she said quietly.

“No. I mean, I was thinking.”

“It’s better if we don’t think, Mick.”

He glanced at her profile, her high cheekbones, the tips of her long lashes gilded by the streetlights. So damn beautiful. Stubborn as ever. And closed to him.

And not a damn thing he could do about it.

*   *   *

IT HURT HER heart to shut him out, but she had to do it. The guilt was eating her up inside.

She’d come so close tonight to living out her wildest dreams, only to have them come crashing down around her. She’d handled this horribly.

She bit back the tears as the truck moved through the dark streets, and soon they reached her house. Mick came around to let her out, but when she would have moved past him, he grabbed her arm.

“I’m walking you to the front door like the Southern gentleman I’m supposed to be. Like the responsible Dom, damn it.”

Oh, he was mad. She didn’t blame him.

She turned and together they moved up the front stairs.

“Hand me your keys.”

“Mick, I—”

“Just do it, Allie. Stop arguing with me.”

She exhaled on a sigh as she pulled the keys from her purse and handed them to him. His large fingers wrapped around her hand for a long moment, and she looked up to find his gaze on hers, dark and glittering in the pale light of the porch.

“Mick . . .”

“Shh.”

“We’re not in scene anymore.”

“No. We’re not. We’re just two people saying good night. And this we’re going to do right.”

He leaned in, and even though she knew what was coming, she couldn’t pull away. Her body wouldn’t let her. She breathed in his scent mixed with the cool night air, which only made him seem darker, sexier.

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. She tilted her chin, blinked hard as he lowered his face toward hers until his breath was warm on her lips.

He moved in closer and the breath just went out of her, her body melting in anticipation. His hand gripped her waist, his fingers digging in. She closed her eyes. Waited.

He gave her one more squeeze before he pulled away.

“You know, everything that happened when we were younger . . . I remember what it was like between us. Don’t think I’ve ever forgotten. Tonight kind of brought it back to me, made it fresh again. Real.”

Her chest pulled into a tight, complicated knot. “What are you saying, Mick?”

He shook his head, his eyes shadowed. “I don’t know.” He paused, repeated, “I don’t know. And I don’t know exactly what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I felt like I needed to say something.”

“And . . . ?”

He shrugged. “That’s it.” He was silent for several moments, then he reached out, drew one finger across her cheek, his gaze on her face. He whispered, “Good night, Allie.”

“Oh . . .”

His brows drew together and she thought he might say something more, but he only stepped back, let his hand fall from her side. He stuck it in the pocket of his jeans.

Her pulse was fluttering, hot and thready.

“Good night, Mick,” she managed to get out.

“I want you to call me tomorrow.” His voice was rough and low. “We don’t have to talk. Just check in, let me know if you’re okay. And call Marie Dawn tonight. Call Jamie. Someone. No arguing.”

“I will.”

“Promise me you’ll do it.”

“I promise.”

He stood watching her for a moment. Her heart thundered in her chest. Finally he took another step back.

“Okay. Good night, Allie.”

“Good night, Mick.”

She waited but he didn’t budge.

“I’m not leaving until you’re safely inside.”

“Oh. Oh.”

She made a useless fluttering motion with her hand, realized what she was doing and turned away from him, went into the house and shut the door behind her. She leaned her back against it, her gaze on the plaster ceiling as she let out a long, sighing breath.

Jesus, this man! How could he have come so close and then not kissed her? Pure torture, and not even the kinky kind, she felt certain. But it was all her own damn fault. Her body was buzzing with need, but her mind was buzzing even harder. With doubt. Guilt. Questions.

She would do as she’d promised—for herself as well as for him. She moved from the entry hall into the living room and emptied her small purse onto the low coffee table, found her cell phone and dialed Marie Dawn.

“Allie? What’s up, chérie?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Never a problem, honey. Talk to me.”

“We went to the club, Mick and I. And at first everything was just flowing. It was too perfect being there with him. Knowing it was finally happening. But Marie Dawn, I fucked up.” Her breath caught, and she curled her free hand into a fist, letting the nails bite into her palm. “I shouldn’t have tried to con him into this.”

“Well, there may have been other ways to go about it, but we both know Mick Reid is one of the most stubborn human beings on the planet, so really, this may have been the only way.”

“That was my thought, too. That was how I justified it.” She paused, swallowed the tears that burned in her throat. “He was so damn nice about it, apologetic, but the scene was ruined.”

“Allie, you can’t blame yourself for this. He started it years ago—you’re just trying to repair the damage. So, the scene went wrong. So what? That doesn’t mean you two never talk again, or maybe even try the club again. Does it?” Marie Dawn asked.

“No. I mean, there’s nothing in the kink handbook that says we can’t try again, if we want. But . . . this whole thing obviously messed with his head, and I don’t think he’ll want to.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I don’t know.” She moved to the lace curtains at the window, let the streetlights outside blur into a wash of pale amber against the tears pooling in her eyes. “He told me that being there with me tonight brought up how he used to feel, and I think he was talking about our relationship, back when things were good between us. I think. I just don’t know.”

“Are you okay? Do you need me to come over? Because I can come right now. You just say the word.”