Page 36 of Accepted Precedent
Thank you. I love you, baby.
I love you too.
“There’s a lot to unpack here,” I mutter, rereading the messages.
Mickey steps behind me, brushing my hair to the side to kiss my neck. “You told him you’re not busy.”
“I-I’m not,” I whimper, closing my eyes as he slips his hand under my shirt. His fingers splay on my stomach, pulling me closer. A moan slips past my lips as he grazes his teeth on the side of my neck. “Why are you betting my husband that you won’t sleep with me?”
“Because you insisted we wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t have you begging for it.”
I turn in his arms. “What about Andy? Have you two been—you know—all this time?”
“No, angel. I haven’t touched either of you since your wedding.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, pain etched in his eyes. “I haven’t been with anyone.”
“Mick…”
“How could I? The fate of our nation is on my brother’s and my shoulders. He gave up your friend. I gave up you and Andrew. The day I took you to get your ring…” He brings my knuckles to his lips, then presses a soft kiss to the diamond. “I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you and Andrew.”
“Andy doesn’t want to be married to me or anyone else. My sister is the same way. He’s focused on his career and doesn't want a family.”
“I know,” he sighs and rests his forehead on mine. “And you do. I’d give anything to be that man for you, Evie. I can’t tell you how many times I asked Finn if I could fake my death so I could steal you away. He talked me out of it every time, reminding me of how much more you’d give up.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I pull back, and stuff down my disappointment, teasing, “Hiding out in a small, coastal town in Ireland sounds pretty great.”
Mickey wraps his arms around me tighter, and I slide my hands up his chest, linking them behind his neck. “Don’t tempt me, love.” Pulling my arms down, he kisses both of my palms. “Come on. Your food is getting cold.”
He takes my hand and guides me to the opposite side of the counter, pulling out the stool, then rounds the island to retrieve the plated sandwich. My heart hurts for this beautiful man who has done so much for others, wanting nothing in return. He’s been lonely—we both have. He slides the plate over to me, and I take a bite of the perfectly golden-brown grilled cheese, unable to stop a moan from escaping me.
“Fuck, Mick, this is incredible. Thank you.”
Pouring tonic into the lowball of gin and ice, he cocks an eyebrow. “Let me be perfectly clear: I don’t care if you’re naked or not, but in your house and mine, you know I’m not Mick or Mickey.”
I cover my mouth as I finish chewing. He squeezes two lime wedges into my drink and I correct, “Thank you for making a late dinner for me,Daddy.” There’s no harm in indulging him—it doesn’t turn me off or on if he wants me to call him that.
He reaches across the counter to hand me the drink, then pours two fingers of bourbon into another glass. I lift mine in a toast before taking a large gulp. It’s stronger than I make mine, and I sputter a cough.
“Slow down, darlin’. It isn’t a race.”
“No shit,” I laugh through my coughing fit. Once I collect myself, I take another sip. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
“I already ate.” He winks, and I roll my eyes. “Roll your eyes at me again and you’ll be tied to your bed for the rest of the night… and I’ll be out five hundred dollars.”
“Oh no, that sounds awful,” I deadpan. “Need me to run to the ATM for you?”
“Fuckin’ brat,” he chuckles into his glass.
I pat the stool next to me. “Come sit with me.”
“That’s not a good idea.” His eyes darken. “I’m still hungry.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile. No man has ever looked at me the way Mick does, and certainly never talked to me like this. It’s been years since I’ve dated, and I don’t remember the last time I felt so beautiful or appreciated. Andrew loves me, but it’s a different kind of love. This? My soul is drawn to his.
Thunder booms outside, startling both of us. I think back to that woman I spoke to on the phone: “The answer is always right in front of you,” I muse, then take a large bite of my sandwich. When I finish chewing, I dare to ask, “In a world with no consequences, what would your perfect life look like?”
Mick sips his whiskey and hums. “The perfect life is when I’m able to rest.”
“Care to elaborate, old man?” I tease, poking the lime deeper into my gin and tonic.
