Don’t Deny Me: Part Three

by Megan Hart

  Don’t Deny Me: Part Three

  Megan Hart

  St. Martin’s Griffin

  New York

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Begin Reading

  Also by Megan Hart

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Don’t you believe in second chances?

  —Mick to Alice

  * * *

  Time had passed, but could anyone really ever change? That was the question that came to Alice’s mind in the darkness of her room with Mick breathing soft and steady in the bed beside her. His declaration had led to an embrace, which led to a kiss, which had taken them to her bed. Toe bone connected to the shinbone, Alice thought and rolled to face him. Her fingertips drifted down the line of his bare shoulder and arm to rest for a moment on his hip before she rolled onto her back again. Mick hadn’t stirred.

  He’d always slept hard and deep. She was the one who tossed and turned and woke in the night to go to the bathroom. Now, though she really could’ve waited until morning, Alice got up and used the toilet. She rinsed her mouth at the sink, then looked at her own reflection, turning her face from side to side as though she’d find some answers in the slope of her cheekbones or the shadows under her eyes.

  What in holy hell was she doing?

  “I want you,” Mick had said. “Let me prove it to you.”

  If orgasms were proof of desire, he’d done as promised. Her cheeks heated. Time had passed, indeed, but Mick still knew her body better than any man ever had. Maybe ever would, she had to admit. She’d had a few boyfriends since breaking up with Mick, but none who’d turned her inside out and many who’d never even turned her on.

  In bed, she turned so he could spoon her. Eventually, she slipped into dreams. Fractured images of crashing waves and fields of flowers. She woke again to the first hint of light in the sky and listened to the steady in-out of Mick’s breathing, wondering how on earth she was ever going to give this up all over again.

  Now that she’d had him again, how could she go back to living without her Mick?

  “Are you awake?” he whispered against the back of her neck.

  She almost didn’t answer, not wanting to wipe away the brilliance of the night with the mundane morning. She wriggled against him after a moment, her ass pressed to Mick’s very impressive waking erection. She hadn’t meant anything by it, not really. More a silent acknowledgment of her wakefulness than a come-on … but that didn’t matter when his hand slid over her belly and between her legs.

  His fingers found her clit with unerring precision. Smooth circles, perfect pace. He had her on the edge in a minute or so, then eased off to tease her while his teeth found the back of her neck and the slope of her shoulder. They moved together, shifting until he was inside her. As always, in that first moment when he filled her, Alice made a low noise.

  Leisurely, they moved. Dreamlike. Her orgasm rolled through her; she cried out, wordless and breathless and gasping. Mick thrust once, twice more, and shuddered against her.

  They slept.

  Alice woke to the scent of coffee and frying bacon and toast—did she even have bacon in the house? Bleary-eyed and tousled, she threw on a robe and went to the kitchen to find a feast spread out on the table waiting for her. Cream and sugar had been set out by her mug, which Mick filled for her as soon as she appeared in the doorway. He kissed her when he pressed her mug into her hand. He wore jeans but no shirt. Bare feet, too. Clearly, he was trying to kill her with the sexy.

  “Wow,” she said. “You are really going all out.”

  “Got hungry. Took a run to the market. Figured I could treat you to breakfast. And lunch, if you’ll let me. Dinner, too.” He grinned and kissed her again.

  Alice held the mug of hot coffee away from her body so it didn’t slop. In the light of mid-morning—God, how late had she slept?—Mick looked even better than he had last night. She, on the other hand …

  “You’re so gorgeous, you know that?”

  Alice burst into guffaws. “Oh, shut up! Oh, my God.”

  “It’s true.” Mick looked serious. “First thing in the morning like this? Right out of bed? I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”

  She sipped coffee for a second before putting the mug on the table and her hands on her hips. “Look. Let’s just get something straight.”

  “Anything.” He looked expectant before turning to the stove to shut off the burners and slide the bacon onto a plate, which he put on the table before focusing on her again. “What is it?”

  She’d watched this domesticity with a raised brow. No denying that a man who cooked for her was sexy. Still, she had some things to say. “Just because I went to bed with you last night does not mean we can just pick up where we left off.”

  “Where we left off was pretty bad,” Mick said. “I was kind of hoping we’d start off in a different place. I meant what I said last night, Alice.”

  He’d said he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman. What that meant beyond the physical, Alice wasn’t sure. She focused on her own bare toes for a moment before looking up at him, her fists clenched until she forced herself to open them. “Why did you go to Bernie and Cookie’s party?”

  “Because they invited me, and it was a big deal. It didn’t seem right to miss it.”

  That had ostensibly been her reason, too, and she wasn’t about to tell him any different.

  “And I thought we’d be able to … you know. Catch up.”

  Alice’s eyebrows rose. “What, like we were old high school pals who hadn’t seen each other in a few years? Like maybe we’d worked together at summer camp? After everything, Mick, you thought we’d just … catch up?”

  “I wanted to see you again,” he told her. “And yeah. Catch up. Find out how you’d been. I know you think I didn’t care—”

  “I didn’t say that.” Though she’d thought it, more than once, as the years had passed without a word from him.

  Mick gave her a steady look. “Don’t you believe in second chances, Alice? Remember once how you told me that you were willing to make the effort? That what we had was worth it?”

  Like she could’ve forgotten it. Some parts of her relationship with Mick had gone fuzzy over the years, blurred around the edges like a vignette. That conversation was not one of them.

  “I love you,” he’d told her. “On some level.”

  Oh, the anger had dimmed, after a time. But never the sting of those words. They still burned and bit her in her tender places, remembering.

  He took her hand. The one with the scar. It had faded to white over the years. Only someone who knew it was there would even notice it. Mick stroked it now. Then kissed it, sending shivers all through her. He pulled her close, their fingers curled, and put her hand on his heart.

  “It’s worth trying,” Mick said. “Isn’t it?”

  Their relationship had been over the night of her accident, though they had limped along for a month or so after that before it finally ended. Fighting, mostly. Making up and making love, but the damage had been done, and they’d never really recovered from it. It had been the best and worst month of her life—the sex had been fierce and sometimes brutal. The words they’d thrown at each other, both in person and in letters harsh and ultimately, unforgivable. But the passion? That had been undeniabl
e.

  She supposed everything about the two of them together had always been undeniable.

  Alice went to the small, built-in desk in the corner of her kitchen and opened the drawer. Inside was a tightly bound packet of letters she’d shoved there some time ago because she’d been unable to convince herself to burn them, but hadn’t wanted to be reminded of them all the time. She held them out to Mick.

  “I kept these,” she said. “I haven’t read them in a long time. But I used to read them all the time. I’ve read them so often I memorized most of them. They all hurt me.”

  Mick winced, but Alice kept going.

  “The angry letters were meant to hurt me, I guess, but the love letters always hurt me, too, because I could remember, so much, how it felt when we were together. I would read them and cry, torturing myself, because … because they were all I had left of you. All I thought I would ever have of you, and I could never bring myself to let them go. Ten years is a long time to hold on to something, Mick. It’s a really long time not to let go.”

  He crossed to her. Pulled her close. She buried her face against his chest, breathing in the clean, warm scent of Mick’s skin. It hadn’t changed, not in all these years.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I kept yours, too.”

  * * *

  Last night I dreamed of a long hallway lined with doors of black and white, all but the one at the end. That one was red. I walked toward it, not bothering even to knock at any of the others. I didn’t care what was behind them. I only wanted to get to the red door, because somehow I knew already what was behind it. The more I tried to get there, the longer the hallway got. Total cliché. Even in the dream, I knew it, and suddenly I knew it was a dream, and that I could control it, so I yelled out, “I want to get to the red door!”

  Everything stopped.

  I stood in front of the red door.

  And there you were.

  —Alice to Mick, unsent

  * * *

  It had been a long time since Mick had put pen to paper this way. Not merely a scribbled to-do list or a signed birthday card, but an actual letter. The last time that he could remember writing something like this, in fact, had been to Alice. A long time ago.

  It felt right, though. The scratch of the nib against the creamy thickness of the paper. The way the lines flowed, one into the other, making words. Handwriting was so different than typing on a computer or on a phone screen. He had to be very certain of what he wanted to say before he wrote it down. No backspace. No erasing.

  It felt very fitting.

  It had only been two weeks since he’d shown up at Alice’s door. They’d agreed to take things slow. It was easier, in a way, than it had been back then. Now they both had smartphones, social media, unlimited texting. Maturity, he thought with a snort as he twirled the heavy fountain pen in his fingers and thought about what to write next.

  The letters had been his suggestion. They’d written to each other a lot the first time around. Funny cards or little notes. During the breakup, they’d sent even more letters. It had been easier to write what they felt instead of saying it aloud, at least for him. During that last horrific month when they’d both been clinging to each other and trying to tear each other apart, writing those letters had been like lancing a boil. The sight of an envelope in his mailbox, addressed in Alice’s familiar hand, had always simultaneously lifted him and cast him down. And after it had ended for good, that last final letter from her that had told him never to contact her again, Mick had still kept writing letters he never sent.

  There’d been girls before Alice and a few after, but he’d never done that for any of them. Held on that way. He didn’t pull those unsent letters out to read them now, but he remembered all too well the words in them. He’d been angry. Pleading. Contrite. Sarcastic. Despondent. Vengeful, too.

  This time around was going to be different.

  In high school, his teacher had been adamant about making a rough draft before the final copy. There was something to be said for that, but in letter writing, Mick had found the first words were the best words. Okay, so maybe he spelled some things wrongs, or scratched them out, or repeated things. He wasn’t an author, just a guy trying to get his girl back.

  First words, he thought. Best ones.

  Dear Alice, he wrote. I wish you were here.

  * * *

  Today I was onsite and stopped at a little deli for lunch. I got an egg salad sandwich because the last time I was at your place, you were boiling eggs to make some. I didn’t get to try any of your extra-special egg salad, and I’m pretty sure this deli’s didn’t even come close, but it was a pretty good sandwich, anyway. By the time you get this letter the weekend will probably have come and gone, and I’ll already have been able to say this to your face, but in case something weird has happened and the zombie apocalypse came or something like that (which is the only thing that would prevent me from seeing you) I wanted to send you this letter and tell you this … I ate egg salad today because it made me think of you.

  —Mick to Alice

  * * *

  There were good days, and there were bad days. This was one of the bad ones. Wendy had called Alice at work, asking her to come over to help out with the kids for a few hours until her husband Raj could make it back from an unexpected business meeting.

  Alice didn’t usually mind helping out with her niece and nephew. They were the light of her life, those two punkins, but Alice didn’t envy her sister’s domestic bliss. Alice had known for a long time she probably never wanted children of her own. She loved Benjamin and Mallory, but pregnancy, childbirth, diapers, toddlers … all of that was much better experienced vicariously and from afar. And the husband thing seemed great, except of course when it didn’t.

  “Go take a shower,” she told Benjamin, and gave Mallory a significant look. “You’re next.”

  The twins, age six, were pretty good about the bedtime ritual, even on the exciting days when Auntie came over. Tonight they’d already finished up their dinner and watched a movie. Alice was willing to let them stay up an hour later to read in their rooms, a treat they giggled over like it was a conspiracy. They didn’t know their mom was on board with it.

  When both kids had bathed and been tucked into their beds, and Raj not yet home, Alice went into her sister’s bedroom. Wendy was in bed, a damp cloth over her eyes preventing her from watching the TV, which was muttering in the corner. She shifted when Alice came in, but Alice shushed her.

  “Don’t get up. How’s the head?”

  Wendy waved a languid hand. “Hurts. Meds help.”

  Alice sat on the edge of her sister’s bed. “No kidding. How about you share some of that good stuff with your favorite sister?”

  The comment earned a laugh, weak but genuine. Getting hit by a truck had left Wendy prone to migraines, what the doctors often called cluster headaches. They hit her without warning, not set off by normal triggers, and left her basically unable to function normally until they faded. Alice had been left with scars, but her sister had suffered worse long-term effects.

  “The kids in bed?”

  “Yeah. Reading. Can I get you anything?” Alice yawned, thinking about heading home. Thinking about staying. The distance from here to work was the same as from home, and she’d brought an overnight bag as always, just in case she didn’t feel like making the drive.

  Wendy tugged the cloth up a little bit to peek out. “A new brain?”

  “Girl, you’ve needed one of those since you were born.”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” Wendy protested weakly but laughed anyway. Some color came back into her cheeks. That was good.

  “What time’s Raj supposed to get home?”

  Wendy sighed. “I don’t know. They have him on this huge project, and he wasn’t supposed to need to be at any of these meetings, but … you see how that worked out.”

  “No worries. I can stay, if you want. I don’t have anything going on at home.” Alice paused, th
inking of Mick.

  They’d talked last night, as they’d done every night for the past two weeks. They’d returned to at least one old habit, their daily “good nights,” though these days they were often made via video chat or text instead of instant message. They’d spent the past weekend together, too, some of it in bed, but most of it actually doing things that were not clothing optional.

  She wasn’t sure what she thought about all of it. Not yet. Too early.

  She had a letter from him in her bag. It had been waiting for her when she got home from seeing him, and she hadn’t read it yet. In the times of almost instant digital communication, the old-fashioned letters were special. A treat. The anticipation of it was like knowing she had a piece of gourmet chocolate waiting for her. She wanted to savor it.

  She hadn’t yet told Wendy she and Mick were making another go of things.

  “You don’t have to. You can if you want to.” Wendy yawned. “I’m going to sleep, soon. I hope.”

  Alice stood. “Want me to turn off the TV?”

  “No. Hey. Sit a minute.” Wendy patted the bed next to her. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Huh? Nothing.” Alice sat.

  Wendy smiled. “Don’t lie to me. I can hear it in your voice. You’re bursting to tell me something. What is it? Spill!”

  “God, it’s like you got Spidey senses or something going on in there,” Alice said. “Maybe your head hurts so often because you’re having, like, psychic waves.”

  Wendy laughed again, harder this time. “I wish.”

  Alice thought for a moment about what to say. Wendy had been with her through the breakup, but then her sister had been with her through all her breakups. Alice shouldn’t be embarrassed to tell her she’d been hooking up with Mick again.

  “Mick,” she said suddenly, and couldn’t bring herself to say anything else.

  Wendy waited, but when Alice didn’t say anything, she took the cloth off her eyes. “What about him?”

  “He was at Bernie and Cookie’s the last time I went.”

  Wendy’s brows rose. “Did you know he was going to be there?”