He smiled, leaned down to kiss her. When she tried to curl her hands behind his neck, he gently pried them away, held her wrists as he lowered her arms to the bed and laid her down once more. He lowered his body over hers, and it was only when he brushed up against her stomach that she realized he was hard again.

“You’re such a nymphomaniac,” she murmured, her body heavy and languid with endorphins and an aching renewed desire.

“Men can’t be nymphomaniacs,” he argued as he took his rigid shaft in his hand to guide it to her. “And it’s only with you, Allie. Only you.” He paused, the tip of his cock resting just inside her. “Tell me again.”

“I’ll tell you everything. Anything. I love you, Mick. I’m yours. Always.”

“Always,” he said, slipping inside her.

She was so wet she took him all in one smooth thrust, gasping as sensation trembled through her.

“Mmm . . .”

He kissed her lips, took her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled, pulled back and bent to kiss her breasts.

She reached for him, holding on to his strong forearms, loving the corded muscle there. And as he arched into her, taking his time, kissing her neck, her shoulders, she explored his hard frame with her hands. She slid her palms over his sides, pausing to touch the scar on his ribs before slipping her hand between their bodies to stroke the rock-hard surface of his abdomen. She smoothed her fingers over every ridge, loving the contraction of muscle as he arched his hips, pressing his cock deep inside her.

Pleasure was a slowly building blaze. Scorching her, lighting her up inside. He moved faster and she held on to him, her arms around his waist, her hands spread wide over his back.

Desire rose, spiraled, her sex impossibly wet, clasping his rigid flesh inside her.

“You feel so good, baby. So good,” he murmured. “Love you, my baby.”

“Love you, Mick. Oh . . .”

“Yeah, that’s it. I can feel you . . . come with me, my girl.”

“Oh!”

Their bodies rose at the same moment, arms winding tightly around each other. They shook together, burned together, cried out. Her mind spun, light flashing behind her eyes as if all the stars in heaven were reeling past.

“Mick!”

“Love you, my baby,” he whispered into her hair. “Love you . . .”

The night was quiet around them. She couldn’t even hear the cicadas that sang all over the city of New Orleans. All she heard was his steady breathing. The sound of her heart beating in time with his.

Together.

This was everything she’d ever wanted.

She loved him.

He loved her.

She was scared to death.

She buried her face in his muscled shoulder and let the tears come.

CHAPTER Thirteen

“HEY.” HE ROLLED onto his side, taking her with him. “What’s this?”

She sniffed. “It’s nothing.”

“Transparency, baby.”

“Sorry. You’re right. It’s just that . . . I’m scared, Mick. Aren’t you?”

“Hell, yes. But I’m trying not to run anymore.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest, taking comfort in the solidity of his big body. “That makes me feel a little better.”

He laughed. “That I’m not running or that I’m still scared?”

“Not that you’re scared. I mean, yes, that you’re scared, but not because I want you to be.” She wiped the final traces of tears away. It just makes me feel a little more . . . normal.”

“Baby girl, there is nothing normal about us.”

“No, I guess not,” she agreed, smiling. “A pastry chef with no bakery who likes to be beaten, and a security expert who gets into illegal fights and likes to hurt pretty girls. Pretty fucked up, huh?”

“I only want to hurt you, from now on. In the good way. And yeah, pretty fucked up. Anyway, about the bakery . . .”

She pulled away and looked up at him. “I’m going to start my own business doing bakery catering. I’ll rent kitchen space somewhere. I don’t want to work for anyone else anymore.”

“You should keep at it with your family—you can get through to them eventually, get them to see your ideas are the best possible plan for Dolcetti. That’s where you’re meant to be. Where you’ve always belonged. Like you do with me. Like you do in New Orleans.”

“They’re never going to listen, and I’m done banging my head against that particular wall. I need to redraw my business plan with this other course of action in mind. I can’t wait on them forever. And Mick? Can we argue about this another time?”

“We’re not arguing. I just want the best for you. You know that, right?”

“I do. But right now I need to just be here with you. I don’t want to have any serious discussions for a while. Is that okay?”

“Anything you want.”

He pulled her in close, and she sighed as she breathed in his familiar scent. Smiled when her sex went wet all over again. But she didn’t need sex right now. His arms around her, their bodies pressed close, knowing he loved her, was enough.

“Don’t fuck it up, Mick,” she murmured, smiling to herself.

“You are one sassy little wench, girl.”

“You love that about me.”

“Yeah, I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t owe you one hell of a spanking later, though. With a small club.”

She closed her eyes, burrowed in closer. “You would never spank me with a club.”

“I’m beginning to consider it.”

He bent and kissed the top of her head, pushed her hair back and kissed her cheek, her lips. He pulled back and she looked up to see him shaking his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Who would have believed this? After all this time.”

“Marie Dawn did. Jamie sort of did or he wouldn’t have helped me.”

“Remind me to take that club to his ass, too.”

She giggled. “Like that’ll ever happen.”

His face grew sober. “This happened. I feel like it’s a miracle, Allie.”

So did she. No matter how much she’d wanted to believe they could be together again, she’d always harbored doubts. A screaming fear she couldn’t quite put voice to—it was too painful to really consider. But here they were. Together. Happy.

“You’re right. It is a small miracle. It’s what I wanted for so long. Thank God I was stubborn enough to get it.”

“Thank you,” he whispered as his arms tightened around her.

*   *   *

THEY SPENT THE next several weeks, in between Mick’s work gigs, visiting all their favorite old haunts, like the Court of Two Sisters, where they feasted on peppery shrimp wrapped in bacon and cold beer over long conversations about politics, their families, their high school days. Art and movies and kink. Friends and books and travel. They stopped at Café Du Monde sometimes twice in a day to drink the chicory-laced coffee and eat the sweet, scalding-hot beignets, or sometimes just to see how much powdered sugar was on the sidewalk surrounding the canopied patio before wandering across the street to hang out in Jackson Square, making out on the benches like they had when they were teenagers.

They discovered new common interests, things they’d never done together before. They both loved the old architecture of the city, and they visited the famous homes that were part of the official Historic New Orleans Collection. They both particularly loved the Perrilliat House, with its spiral wooden staircase.

They had dinner with Neal and Marie Dawn, and Allie realized how much she’d missed seeing Mick with his family, the two men joking with each other in the rough way brothers often did. And it felt right somehow, everyone being together as couples. Of course, she’d told her best friend that she and Mick were together, but neither Marie Dawn or Neal questioned them too closely. Everyone had simply accepted their being together, almost as if it were expected. Perhaps it was.