No Perfect Princess (15 page)

“Hmmm. That so?”

“Yeah.” Without skipping a beat he turned me, guiding me backward until my knees hit the side of the bed. “That
is
so. Sooner you learn who leads and follows around here, the sooner we’ll get to the fun parts.”

I hummed again. Longer. Silkier. “Oh, I like the fun parts.” Now this was familiar ground. Or as it were, mattress. No matter what the surface, I could do this—and I did. Like a self-sure cat, I crawled across the bed, swaying my barely covered ass, feeling the lusty weight of his stare on every inch of my movements.

When I finally got to the center, I kneeled as he instructed, though not without a slinky stare over my shoulder.

“Having fun yet, Mr. P?”

He paced to the foot of the bed, steps even, eyes hooded. “Wow. You really
can
play nice.”

“When I’m rewarded.” My gaze dipped to the swell in his briefs.
Holy shit
. “And it looks like I’m going to be
very
well rewarded.”

So there I was in my full Agent Provocateur glory, in the middle of the bed, in the hottest stare-down of my life, with Mr. July himself. His ink. Those muscles. That bulge. And his eyes, brilliant and feral, taking me in like I was his next meal. Ohhh, the planets were
finally
aligning, and I was going to enjoy every last drop of their spectral kindness.

I wriggled a little, unable to help myself. Things were
so
good up in this girl’s panties. I went with the flow, deciding to try crooking a finger at him, already missing his huge, hard heat pressed up against me. But dammit if Michael wasn’t onto my game. He slipped around the bed, graceful as the demon-god he was, shaking his head at me with every perfect, smooth step.

“Patience, sugar. Let’s make this right. If get near you now, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

“Responsibility is really overrated.” I chuckled as he did, arching, then bowing my back, damn near clawing the comforter in my growing need.

He didn’t budge. Instead, said, “I love it when you laugh. When you
really
laugh. It always makes me harder.”

“Always? You mean it’s happened before?”

“All the damn time.” He had the nerve to stand there and stroke himself through the Ralph Laurens. I let my knees drop and sat up, licking my lips, yearning that they could join his fingers. He must’ve activated his special mind meld thing, because his cock surged against the fabric in direct response to my thoughts. “But if I started listing everything about you that makes me hard, we’d be here until dawn.”

I slid my gaze up to his face. “And I have
other
ideas about what we can do until dawn.” Major understatement, given how he stole my breath again with his shirtless glory, his eyes piercing deeply into me. I’d never bought the hooey about being able to see another’s soul, but now admitted to a mental overhaul on that one—especially when he reflected something back that scared the shit out of me. Something so raw…and real…

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He finally hiked one knee up on the bed, his thigh sliding a few inches outside mine. I vacillated between scooting closer to get more of his addicting heat, or diving for the ravine of self-consciousness his compliments always opened inside me. It was even more intense now. Every syllable penetrated even more deeply, rendering my usual crutches of snark and cynicism utterly useless. Worse, I felt him watching me again, keenly interested in every move I made.

Without thinking, I started twirling the delicate gold ring that never left my right pinkie. The habit only reared when I was nervous, and even then, only when I trusted someone. Except for Mother. She didn’t just know about the pattern, but every painful incentive behind it.

Pain that strangely lessened at once, as Michael wrapped his hands around both of mine. He stilled my fingers by intertwining his with them.

“Tell me about this,” he prompted, caressing the ring himself.

I shook my head. I’d signed on tonight for mind-numbing sex, not heart-ripping psychotherapy. “It’s…just a thing. Just jewelry. Good luck charm, maybe.”

“No kidding. You never take it off.” He kissed my little finger, followed by each one in turn while I watched, mesmerized by his lips on my skin.

His adoration…his patience…they wrenched at me. Clawed my chest open.

Unspooled me.

Exactly what I’d asked for.

Dammit
.

“It—it was a gift when I was a little girl,” I croaked out. “That’s why it only fits on my pinkie now.”

“From who?”

He rubbed his cheek from my knuckles to my wrist, still clasped together with his. Every rasp from his beard shot lightning bolts up my arms, through my breasts, even along the sensitive ends of my nipples. I knew my core would feel the effect next, and it wouldn’t be so subtle. How could his prying questions be turning me on so deeply?

You
know
why.

Because he hadn’t automatically assumed the ring was from Andrea. Because he knows you that well. Because it feels damn good to have someone know you that well.

But it was damn terrifying, too.

“Why are we going into this now?” I grimaced and tried to pull away. No-go on that front, with Michael enforcing uber talon grip with the hold. Okay, different tack. I leaned forward a little, weighing down my gaze with lust. “Can’t we just kiss some more? That was some good shit, Michael.”

“Couldn’t agree more. But it’s also good shit to know more things about you. And now that I know there’s a real story behind this ring, I’ll guess that whoever gave it to you must be very special.”

“She was.” And just like that, he opened the tap on my tears. And all the memories, good and bad and joyous and sad, behind them. Damn alcohol. My desire dissolved beneath a flood of feelings I hadn’t visited in a long, long time…and the beautiful woman’s face that always accompanied them. “Yeah…she was.”

The bed trembled as he climbed fully on. His chest pressed to my forehead as he disentangled our hands then wrapped his arms completely around me. “Hey, hey…I didn’t mean to upset you.” His biceps flexed as he hauled me right into his lap. My first reflexes urged me to struggle away—shit this good could never be trusted—but I decided to give him a second. Then maybe another.

This was…really good. Warm. Secure.

Sort of what I’d imagined home should always feel like.

Danger zone. Danger zone.

I had too many fronts exposed. Too much of my “real thing” busting out at the seams. But I let the alarms peal on, surrendering to an embrace so full and protective, “fight or flight” became nothing more than funny words. I sank against him, sniffling like a child while he rocked gently, stroked my hair, and ordered my sadness away with the power in his soft shushes.

“Tell me,” he finally prodded. “Please.”

Panic heaved up again. I couldn’t even consider the request.
No, no, no
. What had Mother always exhorted into me?
Tears for the past are tears for the mud. Wasted weakness, darling. Wasted weakness.

And look where trusting her had gotten me. Alone. Afraid. Hated by most. Feared by everyone.

Not everyone.

Not this man, who’d been courageous enough to see through it all. To believe in someone different. To call her the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen…

I didn’t dare believe that it would last. But as long as Michael was offering, maybe it would be nice to cave in. To buy into the fantasy for a while longer.

“When I was a little girl, I had a full-time nanny.” I began it tentatively. This “sharing myself” shit was so new…and kind of weird. “Her name was Caroline. She—we—did everything together. She was the one who took care of all the little stuff, you know?” I smiled a little. “Potty training. ABC’s. Tying my shoes…”

“
You
wear shoes that tie?”

I whapped him before going on. “We were pretty inseparable. I loved her dearly. And she loved me. I always felt like she loved me more than my own mother did. I know that probably sounds horrible, but it’s true.”

Michael cupped my cheek. “Not horrible. I know your mother just a little, remember?”

I gave him a watery laugh. It was irreverent and probably wrong, but was I really picking now to feel crappy about that? Because he was wonderful that way, Michael laughed with me—until my mirth gave way to a shiver. Shit. My emotions were tearing down my buzz faster than I wanted, bringing on a pirate boot kick of a headache, along with a few crazy sweeps of the spins.

Without a word, Michael pulled the comforter up around us both. Urged me to lie down, cushioned by his arm and a couple of the pillows, with him spooning perfectly into me. His linens smelled divine, like they’d been washed in a concoction of cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves. I was officially surrounded by him on all sides, and it was heaven.

“Tell me the rest,” he encouraged then.

Despite everything, tension snuck back in. I sniffled again. Good
God
, what was wrong with me? I hadn’t lost it like this since—well, since the last time I’d been able to bawl in Caroline’s arms. Definitely nothing wrong with the waterworks tonight. It was getting to be embarrassing. Freaking champagne. I bet if I checked the MyPeriod app,
that
would be right around the corner too.

“So you were saying?” he urged. “About loving Caroline?”

“Sheez. You’re like a dog with a bone, Pearson. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Once or twice.” There was a smile in his tone. “Was the ring from her?” He wrapped his arm around me and rubbed a thumb over the jewelry again.

“Yes. It was my birthday gift. I think I was nine. We saw it together in a boutique in Paris when Mother dragged our asses over there for Fashion Week. When Caroline gave it to me, I didn’t just see the ring. I realized how much work she’d put in to calling the boutique after our trip, ensuring it was the exact ring I’d liked in the window that day, and then having it shipped to San Diego. She did all that despite the grueling schedule Andrea kept her to. The thought and heart she put in…it meant more than what the ring cost, or whatever extravagance Mother came up with that year…” I trailed into a timid snort. “God. That probably all sounds so stupid.”

“No. Not at all. Stop interrupting your own story.”

The man had a point. While I told him the story, he kept soothing my hair and back, lulling me into a calmer place. I was so relaxed now. The tears stopped. I felt myself drifting closer to sleep.

“One day, I came home from school…and Caroline was gone.”

“Huh?”

I nodded. “All of her things were gone from her bedroom, her bathroom. Her car wasn’t in the garage.” I swallowed hard, burrowing deeper into the softness of the blanket and the firmness of his embrace, gaining strength to face memories I hadn’t visited in years. “I went to ask Mother about it, of course. She—she responded in a horrible, cold voice…nearly as awful as her silences, but not quite.”

I felt Michael force down a hard gulp, too. “What did she say?” he whispered.

“That she had gotten rid of Caroline. Fired her. She told me she refused to keep someone around who possessed more of my heart than
she
did.” I wouldn’t forget the day as long as I lived. For the first time in my life, I’d known full, awful, grief. “She told me I’d get beaten if I cried. That if I shed one tear for Caroline, she’d take away ‘the trashy ring’, too.” My fingers returned to the ring, twisting it quickly. “I held it to protect it. Probably, in some weird way, to guard my heart, too. Ever since then, when the shit goes down, I go to the ring for my center.”

“Okay.” He murmured it with respect. I think I heard a little admiration. But no pity or fawning sympathy. Just the continued warmth and support of his arms, his body, his presence. “That makes sense.”

“Sense?” I retorted. “I’m sure a therapist—and his field day—would beg to differ.”

“Why? I don’t think it would take a therapist to understand why it means so much to you.”

I sighed. “All right. Maybe not.”

My voice sounded so far away now. Vaguely, I realized it was due to almost being asleep. Being here with Michael…his warmth, his assurance, his acceptance…I felt safer than I had in a very long time. On so many levels.

Insanely enough, all thoughts of naughty sex were now trampled by the sleep sheep. I was absolutely positive I’d fleece a few of them in the morning in retaliation, but for the moment, I was so relaxed, a seven on the Richter wouldn’t budge me.

*

Jesus Christ!

What was that noise?

Was I dreaming?

If so, it was actually a nightmare—about that disaster of a client meeting at the Rainforest Café. They were VIP guests of SGC and insisted on going, and since it was right up the street from the El Cortez, I’d thought it would be fun, too—until I was seated next to a mechanical toucan who make the squawkers in the Tiki Room seem like social outcasts.

I had to pee. So dammit, I was definitely awake. No culinary torture trip. But I still heard birds. What the hell?