Page 11 of Accepted Precedent (Love & Politics #3)
“I especially protect the people I care about. But also Andrew is a good man. I would never hurt him.” Mick glances over, and his eyes are molten.
“Or you.” He returns his attention to the traffic ahead of us, and the remainder of the drive is spent in stifling silence.
I appreciate him sharing the truth with me, but he’s dangerous—a murderer.
Even with him claiming he would never deliberately sabotage my life’s work, one wrong move and he could accidentally derail all of the progress I’ve made in funding birth control, Pap smears, and mammograms the moment I step away from my job.
We pull up to a small pub with a chalk sign for valet parking.
The attendant opens my door, and Mick is already jogging to my side.
I beat him to it, not wanting to indulge in his chivalry.
He doesn’t let me get far solo, guiding me inside by the small of my back.
After a single night—or technically morning—he has my whole body lighting up under his touch, and I hate myself for it.
The hostess seats us quickly in a U-shaped booth toward the back. I slide in on the left side, and Mick does the same on the right, but doesn’t stop until he’s next to me. “Am I allowed to have personal space?”
He leans in and grips my thigh, whispering, “Not today.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I tease, rolling my eyes. But as that little word leaves my lips, his deep growl startles me. I quickly correct, “I’m left-handed, so I’ll bump your elbow.” I make a show of playfully nudging him.
“I’m ambidextrous, so I’ll just eat with my left. No elbows will be harmed today, love.”
The server approaches and she greets, “Mickey! Long time, no see. How’ve you been?” Unfounded jealousy pools in my stomach, and I straighten my posture, stuffing down the ridiculous feeling.
“Grand.” He doesn’t ask how she’s doing, or even thank her for inquiring. While he’s known for being short and a little aloof with people, something is off. Sliding his hand between my thighs, he asks her, “May we have a few minutes?”
“Of course,” she coos, and scurries off.
“Mick?” It comes out breathless and a little squeaky. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t look now, but there’s a man at the square table to the right. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we walked in.”
I don’t listen and glance over to the table in question.
The man quickly looks away and my eyes widen and I suck in a breath.
Joseph Smith—the man who disappeared after we dated for months—is dining with a blonde woman who appears to be his wife, and two younger children.
I lean in to whisper, “That’s just one of my exes. He probably just recognized me.”
“Then he knows what you taste like, which means?—”
“Oh my God, Mick,” I groan. “You are not going to murder Joe.”
His hearty laugh draws the attention of several patrons. He presses a soft kiss to my cheek and murmurs, “I wasn’t going to kill him. I’m merely sending him the message that you’re not his anymore—you’re mine.”
“I’m supposed to marry Andrew. Don’t you think this is a little risky? What if he tells people he saw me at a restaurant with your hand on my thigh?”
He moves it an inch higher and purrs beside my ear, “I’ll destroy anyone who tries to tarnish your name…
But you’re right. As much fun as it would be to touch you here, he doesn’t deserve to watch you come undone.
” Finally pulling his hand back, he peruses the menu for a few seconds, then sets it down. “I’ll probably have my usual.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fried eggs with bacon and sausage.”
“That’s so… boring.” I scrunch my nose. “Why not try something adventurous?” I open my menu, scanning for anything that could beat what I can make at home.
“Never mind. The most exciting thing is eggs bennie.” I continue looking for something that sounds good, coming up short. “Damn, there’s a lot of meat here.”
“Order whatever you want, even if it’s not on the menu.”
“You’re not on the menu,” I grumble, then clear my throat. “Do they have anything vegetarian?”
“Aye, miss,” our server replies, and I nearly jump out of my skin, unsure how long she’s been standing there. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. We can make an omelet with whatever vegetables you’d like, and we have vegan sausage. We keep it on hand for a few of our regulars.”
Before I can respond, Mickey orders for us, “She’ll have an egg white omelet with onions, peppers, and avocado—if it’s not underripe—with a side of sourdough toast. I’ll have two fried eggs with sausage and bacon, and I’d love wheat toast with black currant jam.”
“And to drink?”
“Two coffees and water.” He hands her the menus, and she nods before rushing away to the back room.
His order for me is exactly what I would’ve picked; I can’t pretend it isn’t. “I would’ve loved a mimosa,” I huff. “But… whatever.”
“And have your cunt tasting like sweet oranges? Absolutely not, angel.”
“That implies you’ll be finding out for yourself,” I counter.
Lifting my hand to get the attention of our server, he tugs it down.
“I want a mimosa, Mick. Or do I need to call you something else to order something stronger than coffee?” He releases my wrist with a grunt.
“That’s what I thought.” I raise it again, and our server is back faster than any waitstaff I’ve ever encountered.
“Hi”—I check the name tag—“Clara. Could you also bring us a bottle of sparkling wine and a carafe of orange juice?”
“No sparkling wine,” Mick insists. “Please bring a bottle of Champagne. Brut.” I pin him with a scowl. “Thank you, Clara.” As she walks away, he quietly tells me, “I don’t drink cheap wine.”
No matter how much confidence I attempt, I still feel small when he challenges me. “It doesn’t matter to me. I would’ve finished a bottle by myself.”
“Not a chance, love. When I fuck you in a fitting room later, I don’t want you explaining it away as being drunk.”
“You’re not going to fuck me in a changing room,” I laugh, rolling my eyes at the suggestion. He doesn’t react, other than a rare smile threatening to make an appearance at the corner of his lips. “Right?”