“Well, isn’t that a mighty fine thank you,” he speaks in a husky whisper.
Heat rushes to my face and I bury it into Mickey’s chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” I lie with the practiced ease of a girl who grew up fighting for everything she wanted.
“You’re doing a disservice apologizing to me, Brianna Declan,” the way Mickey says my name makes me warm in all the right places. If I sunk my hand down my panties, I’m sure I’d be just as wet as warm. “It’s all in a night’s work, ain’t it?”
Mickey’s grip moves to secure me by the hips. “Are you going to fall over if I let go?”
I shake my head and pray my legs don’t betray me. I’m not sure I can hold my promise with how weak and wobbly they feel. He takes a step back, his grasp on my hips the last to go, and I immediately miss his body against mine. It’s like we were made for one another, and we are whole as one. Without him, I’m hollow and empty.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Mickey’s head tilts up and down the street, inspecting our surroundings for any more assailants. “It’s an unsavory place for a pretty little thing like you.”
“Some nights are worse than others.” I inch closer to him as if it might kick us off into another wild kiss.
“I might not be here to save you on the next of the worst,” he says.
Which makes me wonder why he’s even here at all. Mickey’s never come to these parts before, not to have a drink with his friends, anyway. I’ve only ever seen him around here on a Sunday night, and then it’s to chase down money. Could it be that he came here for me? Saw me while he was busy with dad and couldn’t manage to turn away?
“I’ve gotta ask, what trouble have you found yourself in if the Italian mafia is banging on your door?” Mickey asks, distracting me from my thoughts. His question carries malice that makes me think my imagination is running wild. He’s not here for me but for the gangbanger’s who frequent the Moonshine Saloon.
Did he say Italian mafia? Oh, no, dad, what have you gotten us involved in?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
I don’t get any closer to Mickey, hoping he’ll be the one to make the next move. He doesn’t break his stoic stance, but damn, he looks good.
He’s nearly double my height, with the starting of a thick beard scattered across his face. His massive physique blocks the street lamp behind him and shrouds me in the darkness of his shadow. Mickey runs a thumb over the fist he used to deliver a thunderous blow to the . . . Italian mafia guy.
“I’d love to think it was a coincidence, but I don’t,” Mickey says without elaborating on the point. “
“I’m lucky you were here to save me, then,” I say. I wonder what he’d do if I threw myself into him again. Where he stands with the prim and proper attitude of a knight in gilded armor, his green eyes tell a different story. They’re drinking me in, from head to toe, while he fights the urge to take me.
“A few more minutes, and I’d have been gone.” Would he, though? He was sent out of the bar long before we’d finished cleaning and tallying the night’s score. What’s he been up to if not waiting for me?
I’m being silly, projecting my wild fantasies onto Mickey. He knew the two guys who jumped me, so he was probably around for them. I’ll enjoy savoring my silent avenger saving the day when I’m alone.
“I should get home,” I say when the thought of being tucked beneath my sheets with sprawling fantasies of Mickey becomes unbearable. If he doesn’t take me, my imagination will have to play the part.
“You should.” Mickey glides his rough fingers down my arm until they touch mine. He intertwines our digits, taking the first step toward my apartment building. “And I’ll walk you. These streets aren’t safe for a pretty little thing like you to be alone.”
What the hell is going on? He’s giving me mixed signals. Telling me I’m naughty but flirting with me in the same sentence. I feel like I’m losing my mind, but I love the feeling of our hands being locked.
“Maybe I need a protector.” I want to gauge his response and see where it leads. This man has consumed me whole for six months, and if he’s willing to take the role, I’d never deny it.
Mickey cranes his neck and raises a brow while we plod along the sidewalk. “A protector?”
“Someone big and strong, who isn’t afraid to kick ass for me. Someone like you.” No, notsomeonelike him. I want Mickey.
“You don’t know the world of chaos you’d be bringing if you asked for that,” Mickey chuckles.
But I do. I know him better than he thinks. All those silent Sundays studying him from my window have taught me a lot. If I hadn’t spent hours pondering this monster, it would’ve still been clear. There have been rumbles and whispers of an Irish mafia resurgence since Mickey Byrne entered America. I’d have to be blind to miss it.
“What if I said I didn’t care?” My voice is soft and meek.
A fierce grumble tears through Mickey’s core.
“Then maybe it’s not chaos you’re after, but a fucking thrill ride.”
He winks and it melts me to the core.