Mica Read Online Free Page B

Fourth would be perfect, and make sure she gets the tiramisu.”
    She and Mica were outside. The shop door slammed and the curtains were drawn, and Sophie was left on the sidewalk with the man who, last night, called her fuckable .
    Mica tilted his head. “Shall we get lasagna or stuffed shells?”
     
     
    He ordered wine for her as soon as they were seated. It wasn’t that he wanted her drunk – hell no, he wanted her completely aware, because if he had his way, little Miss Sophie was going to be panting under him tonight, and since he wouldn’t touch her if she was incapacitated, she needed to be sober.
    So no, not drunk, but he did want to take the edge from her. He wanted the woman she was when she wasn’t letting those demons in her head tell her how she should feel. He wanted the woman who was standing in front of him earlier, the one who was unaware of the pure sensuality she radiated as she challenged him.
    And if I’d rather you did things improper?
    If the other woman hadn’t been in the store, he would have done as he’d said, been on his knees to worship her. Right now, she could be coming because of his lips, the pure taste of his mate alive on his tongue as she wriggled and pushed her pussy into his mouth, chasing her pleasure and using him as was her right.
    The plan seemed to be working. She was relaxed and happy, smiles and low-key flirtations. She was perfect, biting into her ravioli, her tongue slipping out every so often to swipe along her lower lip. Elegant and sensual.
    “My grandma was the baker in our family,” she was saying, in response to his question about why she opened a tea shop. “Many of my recipes are from her, though I’ve done plenty of experimenting myself.”
    She spoke a lot about her grandmother, but no mention was made of any other family, and their deliberate absence spoke of a rift. He didn’t want to probe at that wound, not tonight. “The ones I like, are they yours or hers? And don’t tell me you don’t know what I like. I noticed how you’ve switched away from anything sweet.”
    Sophie ducked her head, a pleased little expression on her face. “About half and half, I’d say. More of the sweet ones are hers.”
    “You’ve got a gift.”
    Another sip of her wine, and he followed the line of her throat as she swallowed, the movement mesmerizing him. “It’s a joy. I get to do something I love and share it with people. Most people who come into my shop either are already happy, or want to become happy. I get to share in that, and contribute to it. And I get to drink my tea.”
    He raised his own glass in salute. “Which is important.”
    “Absolutely,” she said, placing her hand over heart in mock seriousness. “You do not want to get between me and my daily cup of tea.”
    “And just how many types of tea are there?”
    “I don’t know how many there are, but I know I carry one-hundred and twenty-five varieties.”
    Mica snorted, putting down his pint of beer. “I think that’s enough to satisfy all the little old ladies.”
    “Not quite. I don’t have a liquor license, so I have to look away quick anytime I see a hint of a flask being passed around.”
    She was adorable, all lit up and smiling as she told stories about her customers. He knew for a fact it wasn’t tea, or even an unspoken agreement, that kept people returning to her shop. It was the unadorned adoration that shone from her face. It was obvious she loved her business. “So a tea shop is really what you want to do?”
    “It’s been my dream since I was a little girl. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
    The waitress appeared beside, a conventionally pretty blonde. Sophie had tensed a little at the beginning of the night, but when the waitress was nothing except friendly professional, she’d relaxed in the girl’s presence. “Can I get anything else for you?”
    “Tiramisu,” Mica said, before Sophie could answer in the negative like she was about to. “Two forks since