Page 88 of Grand Escape

His expression hard, the man approached, wedging himself between James and me without even bothering to say excuse me.

Breathless, I met his eyes. “Mick.”

Nodding at me, he said, “Margaret.”

I wilted a little when he didn’t use the nickname he’d given me, and so did my heart. Hearing my given name rumbling from him now, I noticed it held a mix of tension and relief.

Silently cursing at myself, I wished I hadn’t used his nickname just then. I wasn’t supposed to call him that anymore.

“Pardon me,” James said snidely, obviously not appreciating another man pushing his way between us.

“Pardon yourself,” Mick spat out as he gave me his back and stared down James. “You in the business of picking up women who are taken?”

Of course, at six foot three, Mick had a few inches on the poor guy, and I was surprised James didn’t wilt under Mick’s glare. Most people did. Instead, James tossed his credit card on the bar, making desperate eye contact with the bartender and gesturing for his tab.

“Dude, she said she was separated,” he said matter-of-factly to Mick.

“First off, don’t fucking dude me,” Mick said. “Second, I’m not her sorry excuse of a husband. Either way, if I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

I wished James would just do as Mick said, but instead he leaned around Mick and asked me, “You okay? Want me to drop you somewhere?”

For a second, I wondered if he had his BMW Seven Series, and then shook my head against the idea. There was nothing humorous about this current scenario, or my life, for that matter.

Mick glowered at James. “She’s more than fine. I’m here, so she doesn’t need you to drop her anywhere. Now go.”

As James stepped back, Mick turned to take me in. Cupping my cheeks with his warm hands, he not only saw me but looked deep inside me. His dark eyes singed me as they took me in, seeing all my emotions play out on my face.

“What did he do?” Mick simply asked, and we both knew he didn’t mean James.

Shrugging, I reached for my drink, but he pushed my hand away from the half-filled glass.

“No, Margo, first tell me what happened, then I’ll get you a new drink that stuffy piece of shit didn’t buy you. After that, I’ll take you back to my place and make you forget both of them, if that’s what you need. Do you need a reminder of how we work?”

I glanced behind me, noticing that James had slunk away quietly.

“Mick, please,” I said with a sigh, not wanting to get into it with him.

In a short time, Mick had gathered enough ammunition on my husband to start a world war, which was why I came to the Oak instead of calling him. I was trying to break the cycle. Although, I didn’t want to examine why I picked our place to escape to.

“No.” Mick’s response was firm, and his determined gaze continued to burn through me. “Talk.”

“Same as usual,” I whispered, knowing his imagination gave him a pretty good idea of what the usual was. “How did you know I was here?”

“Fucker,” Mick muttered under his breath.

It didn’t escape my notice that he’d ignored my question.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s go take care of it,” he said matter-of-factly, knowing there would be something for him to put back together. “You need to push forward and get out like you said you would. If not for me, then—”

His words were interrupted by the shrill ring of my phone. I pulled it from my purse without looking at caller ID, already knowing who must be calling.

“Is everything okay?” I said in a panic.

“Yes, everything’s under control, but we’re at the emergency room. Priscilla—”

“Where?” I asked, hardly able to breathe.

My own injuries would have to wait. These were more important. Awkwardly holding my phone to my ear, I was shrugging on my jacket as I heard where they were with my daughter.

Without asking any questions, Mick tossed cash on the bar, then took my hand.

I wasn’t sure how he did what he was doing. How he could sense what I was going through, the emotions tumbling around inside me, but his gentle grasp on my fingers told me he did. Without asking, he led me outside toward the valet, and of course, his car was sitting right out front.

As the valet tossed him the keys, I told Mick, “Mass General. Now.”

With a nod, he opened my passenger door and then hurried around the front of the car. Once he’d dropped into the driver’s seat, he blew out a long breath while tapping at the GPS, searching for the quickest way to our destination without saying a word. As he pulled the car out into traffic, he finally spoke.

“You bought yourself a day or two, Margo, but this has to end.”

I wasn’t sure which he meant—us, or my other relationship, or both—but I didn’t ask. I simply sat twisting my hands, worried desperately about my daughter while at the same time wondering how I’d ended up in this nightmare of twisted feelings and bad choices.

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