Unforgivable Read online

  “There’s one for the fridge.” It was what she’d always said about something she meant to keep.

  “Send it to me,” Mick said.

  Alice paused. “I don’t have your number.”

  “I’ll give it to you.”

  “Mick, Alice, we’re ready to go again,” Paul called out. “Get over here!”

  Taking his time, Mick recited his number to Alice so she could put it in her contacts. A moment later, his phone buzzed with an incoming text including the picture. “Gotcha.”

  “Do you?” Alice said with a lift of her brow and a toss of her head that set her dangling plastic mustache swinging.

  Later, after the last of the wine had finally been drunk and the games disintegrated into laughter, when the kitchen mess had been tidied enough to make room for the breakfast cooking Bernie would be doing in a few hours, when everyone else had made their good-nights and headed for bed . . . when the house was quiet and still, Mick found her.

  She was in the swing, as he knew she’d be. Big enough for two, hung from the branches of an enormous tree near the bottom of the yard and overlooking the chuckling stream that wound through Bernie and Cookie’s property. Down past the garden, it was a favorite spot, much coveted and fought over by everyone who came to stay. Tonight, it was all theirs.

  “Hi.” He handed her a bottle of water and settled next to her without asking permission.

  Alice moved over enough to give him space, but not so much that they weren’t still touching hip to hip. Her shoulder brushed his as she cracked the top off the bottle and took a long drink. “Thanks.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Every so often Mick pushed at the ground to get the swing gently rocking. The creek burbled and splashed, and somewhere, not so far away, an owl hooted softly. The wind sighed through the trees, bringing him the scent of her perfume.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said finally.

  Mick put an arm along the back of the swing to settle on her shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you’d think that.”

  “Me neither, to be honest. Not until I did see you, and I realized it was going to be okay.”

  He turned a little toward her. “More than okay, I hope.”

  Alice said nothing. She didn’t move away from him, but she didn’t move closer, either. Her fingers toyed with the plastic bottle, tapping the sides.

  His fingers brushed the back of her neck, beneath her hair.

  She shivered.

  Her lips parted, though if she actually spoke she did it so softly that the night breeze and rushing water ate her words. Mick let his finger trace a circle on her skin. Then a heart. When her back arched a little and she shifted, he stopped to let his hand gently cup the back of her neck.

  “Mick . . .”

  “I want to kiss you, Alice. Again.”

  She twisted to look at him. Her eyes glinted in a shaft of moonlight. “So kiss me, then.”

  Alice to Mick

  Our first public kiss was an accident. During one of Bernie and Cookie’s games, you and I were partners in some convoluted game of charades. Our word was love. I mimed a bride walking down the aisle; you drew hearts in the air with your fingers. But nobody could guess what we were trying to show, not until you took me in your arms and dipped me. You kissed me in an exaggerated, silent-movie kind of way, lots of wiggling around but no tongue. Somehow along the way, my arms went around you and I opened for you. Somehow, that kiss became real, right there in front of our friends, who were all screaming out guesses and none of them were right.

  We lost the round, but I always thought we won.

  —Alice to Mick

  Chapter 5

  The kiss in the hallway had been furtive and desperate. Lunging. Fierce.

  This time, Mick kissed her gently and slow, urging her mouth to open with the subtle motion of his lips on hers. At the stroke of his tongue, Alice shivered and broke it. There wasn’t much room on the swing for her to pull away. Instead, she put her face to the side of his neck and her arms around him. She let the scent of his skin envelop her, as much of an embrace as his arms.

  There had been times when missing him had felt like someone had reached inside her and pulled out the part of her that remembered how to breathe. And times when she’d barely given the memories of him a second’s worth of her time. Touching him now, having him touch her . . . a river of fire rushed all through her. And there was that pesky, pain-in-the-ass thing about fire. It burned. You could touch a hot stove a hundred times to make sure it would still burn you, and it always would.

  Well, Alice thought. So would this.

  “Mick . . .”

  He kissed her again. Harder. One hand on the back of her neck, the other going to her hip, then her ribs just below her breast. She couldn’t stop herself from arching a bit into that touch, doing her own urging with her body. It worked. Mick slid his hand up to cup her breast through the thin material of her dress. Her nipple went instantly erect when his thumb passed over it. She moaned.

  “There’s my girl,” Mick whispered against her mouth.

  His foot pushed against the ground to get the swing rocking again. The hand on her breast moved down between her legs, pushing her thighs apart slow, slow, slow, so that she had time to tell him to stop. And she thought about it, knowing this path they were taking was probably going to end up causing trouble, but in that moment no longer able to care.

  Match to gasoline, that’s what Mick had always been to her. Should, would, could—there were a hundred thousand heartbeats between now and the last time they’d kissed, but it didn’t matter. She was touching that hot stove again with fingertips already scarred from the blisters.

  He didn’t have to move. The motion of the swing pressed his knuckles to her again and again, just enough pressure each time to build up the pleasure before easing off. When she gasped, he laughed against her lips before kissing her again.

  It went on and on, every sensation weaving together. The breeze and far-off cries of night birds. The water splashing on the rocks. The creak of the chains against the tree’s branch. Mick’s low moan when she unbuckled his belt to free him. His sharp gasp when she slipped a hand inside to stroke his erection. The sound of his desire added a fresh layer to her own.

  It had always been like this with him. Knowing how to move. Where to touch. How hard, how soft, how fast or slow. She was on the edge within minutes and stayed on it for an hour, as every so often he’d push the swing again to keep them going.

  You’re a fool, her mind said. Idiot. Resist, her heart urged. You’re only going to regret it! Head and heart for once were in agreement, but it was another part of her anatomy altogether that kept her going. At last, unable to keep herself from it, Alice pulled her mouth from Mick’s and bent to take his cock instead. The angle was awkward, the swing not the most comfortable seat, but just as Mick had used the rocking to arouse her, now Alice was able to do the same. All she had to do was take him inside her mouth while the swing moved him in and out.

  He muttered her name. One hand fisted into her hair. The other stayed between her legs though he’d managed now to slide a finger underneath the edge of her panties—plain cotton. If she’d known this was going to happen, she’d have worn silk or lace. She should’ve known. She was so wet that one finger slipped inside her without friction.

  Mick pushed. The swing rocked. His finger moved in and out of her in the same rhythm that her mouth moved on his cock. They were completely in sync.

  He said her name again, like a warning this time. With another smile she bent back to him again as her climax rippled through her. Her body clutched at his fingers as she took him in deep. Not letting go. The sound of Mick’s hoarse shout as he came sent another wave of orgasm washing over her.

  Body aching from being contorted into positions that hadn’t been painful when she’d been distracted by pleasure, Alice sat up. The taste of him lingered; she leaned to kiss him and he sucked gently on her tongue before pulling away t