She caught his hand in hers and twined her fingers through his.

“Mick.”

“Yeah?”

“This is . . . we’re just beginning, aren’t we? To see if we can figure this out?” she asked.

“What, baby? Yes, sure. That’s what we talked about. That’s exactly what we’re doing here. It wouldn’t have been more than play at the club otherwise. Is that what you’re asking me?”

“I . . . yes, I guess it is.”

He was quiet for several moments. She wished he’d turn her over to face him, let her look into his eyes so she would know. But maybe neither of them really knew yet, as badly as she wanted to. Maybe that wasn’t possible.

“We need to start somewhere,” he said. “That’s the whole point. We can’t go back to where we used to be. That isn’t where we want to be anyway, is it?”

“No. Of course not.”

“So . . . we start here. And see where it goes.”

“Okay. Okay. I know you’re right. I’m just . . . we’ve played and . . .”

“Hey. I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere right now.”

He kissed her hair, and it made her heart squeeze. She brought their twined fingers to her lips and kissed his.

“See? It’s all good,” he said.

But was it? She wanted things between them to be good—what was happening now, what might happen down the road. She needed it to be, which wasn’t the smartest thing, perhaps, given the way Mick had run from her in the past. Maybe the “need” part was because they’d just played. Maybe she was bottoming out a bit. But whatever the reason, she couldn’t help herself. Logic and emotion didn’t always play well together. She just hoped she could get the logical part to even have a place in the game.

CHAPTER Eight

MICK WALKED INTO Flynn McCool’s, a favorite pub of his friends and brothers. They’d all been glad the bar managed to reopen after Katrina.

His bootheels scuffed on the weathered hardwood floor as he moved through the place and found Jamie at the bar. He settled onto a stool next to his friend.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Jamie answered with a lift of his chin toward the bartender. “A Guinness for the gentleman.”

“Yeah, I’m hardly that.”

“True enough.”

He could tell Jamie had already finished one beer and started another, even though it was only noon—his deeply buried Scottish accent only came out when he drank, or on those rare occasions when he was really pissed off. He was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to piss Jamie off lately. At least, not this week.

The bartender filled a tall mug and passed it to Mick.

“Thanks.” He turned to Jamie. “So, what’s up?”

“Just checking in with you about last night,” Jamie said. “I’ve already talked to Allie and she’s pretty closemouthed. Tell me what’s up with you two.”

“You know what I really hate, aside from your tendency to have your nose up everyone’s ass?”

“That’s not one of my particular fetishes, but go on.”

“I hate that I can’t fucking tell you to go to hell because you’re our damn negotiator.”

“And your friend,” Jamie reminded him.

“Yeah.” Mick paused to take a swig of the dark ale. “So you’re doing the responsible thing, is that it?”

“Nice to see you, too, buddy. Want to tell me why you’re in such a foul mood?” Jamie asked.

“Me? I’m fine. You’re the one drowning your sorrows. What’s up? Something at the shop?”

Jamie wrapped a hand around his mug, lifted it and took a long gulp. “May twentieth.”

“Yeah? And?”

His friend cast him a sideways glance and Mick remembered—the anniversary of his brother’s death. Was he a selfish bastard thinking of himself after all Jamie had lost? He already knew the answer.

“Shit, Jamie. Sorry, man. How many years is it?”

“Twenty-three. I can’t even believe it’s been that long since I’ve seen Ian. Although I guess he would look just like me, wouldn’t he?”

“I’m sorry,” Mick repeated, not sure what else to say.

“Trying not to be too morose. Especially after all these years. But there’s that twin thing you hear about, you know? It’s true, what people say.”

Mick clapped Jamie on the back. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Just need a few drinks today. And I will again in a couple of months when it’s the anniversary of Brandon’s accident. But by tomorrow I’ll be back on track. Everyone’s allowed a black day now and then, right?”

“Right. Sure.” Mick grimaced, wondering if people were allowed black decades.

“So, distract me with the scandal that is whatever’s going on between you and Allie.”

“Said like a true reality TV whore.”

“Ice Road Truckers does not a whore make, my friend,” Jamie protested.

“I’m sure there are a few along that road.”

“Probably. Quit stalling and spill.”

Mick hesitated. “What did Allie tell you?”

“That as your best friend I’d better talk to you first.”

He grinned. “Good girl.”

Jamie set his beer down with a thud. “Jesus, Mick, just tell me what the hell went on so I can get on with my drinking.”

“Okay, fine.” He paused to sip his beer. “We went to the club and had some good play. Great, actually. Then we went back to her place. I left this morning only after making sure she wasn’t in subdrop. She was fine. She promised me she was fine.”

Jamie frowned. “Now tell me what’s in between the lines.”

He had to blow out a breath. “We’re . . . talking about being together. Just trying it out, seeing where we’re both at.”

“Can you expand on that?”

“I’d rather not.”

“No kidding. Do it anyway,” Jamie demanded. “Because I need to know if Allie really is all right.”

“Do you think I’d be here if she wasn’t?” Mick exploded, then reined himself in. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“Buddy, you are bent way the hell out of shape.”

“It was your idea to bring us back together.” Mick knew he was being childish, and he sighed, reaching for his beer. “And yeah, maybe I am bent. I don’t know what the hell is going to happen. I’m not sure what I want to happen. I’m just going with it for now.”

“That is such crap.”

“Fuck you, Jamie,” Mick muttered into his beer mug before he took a long gulp.

Jamie only shook his head at him.

“Okay, fine. I don’t know where my head is at when it comes to her. It’s too damn soon to tell. I don’t intend to hurt her if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“It is.”

“I get that. But what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Back off and never see her again because I don’t know where we’ll end up? Would that be any better?”

“I don’t know. Would it?” Jamie asked.

Mick scrubbed at his chin. “I’m trying to figure it out, okay? Don’t ride me about this, Jamie,” he warned. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“You still have feelings for her,” Jamie stated.

“And you still have an uncanny gift for stating the obvious.”

Despite all the years of his attempts at denial, he knew he’d never been able to hide how he felt about Allie from his best friend. Hell, he hadn’t done a good job of hiding it from himself.

Jamie lowered his voice. “Mick, just don’t drag this on too long if you can’t carry through. That’s all I’m asking. Don’t hurt her any more than you have to.”

He nodded. “I feel like a bastard already for even being with her. I’d feel like a bastard if I refused her. There’s no good way out of this.”

Except that despite all his bluster he wasn’t sure he wanted out. Being with her felt too damn good to stop. Being with her, playing her, having her submit to him.

He understood his own limitations. He knew he’d had his walls up last night, this morning. He’d had to. Was it fair to her that challenging his limits was a sort of experiment for him? That he really didn’t have any idea how it would turn out?