No Perfect Princess (18 page)

“Can’t what?” I murmured.

“Talk about the bridges?” She gave me two seconds of a nervous glance. “I—I just can’t, Michael. Not here, not now. Please.”

She winced on the last word. Wasn’t like she never used it; the circumstances were usually just vastly different than this. “Please” became a different word when designer makeup, crystal-crusted heels, and rock goddess hair were part of the picture. But that arsenal was bare. Her only missile left was sincerity.

Not the only thing.

The allure of my clothes swaddled around her incredible little body…yeah, there
was
that…

Not that she needed to know it. Especially now. She’d strung me across a damn barrel. This wasn’t some work issue I was happy to let her have “space” with. But I had no illusions about the risk of pushing her for communication, either. She might have resurrected the tower, but its foundation was rickety at best. Storming it without toppling it—and crushing her beneath—was going to take more than just my Dom game from last night. Boldness won battles, but patience won wars.

She shifted a little, uncomfortable with my silence. “I just feel weird about everything right now. Is that okay?”

“Weirder than usual?” My smirk loosened one from her, too. I seized the opportunity to try another gentle prod, asking a question I could practically predict the answer to. “Is it because I got bossy with you?” I slid my hand forward, slipping fingers around her shoulder, thankful for the baggy fit of my shirt on her. “And asked you to kneel on my bed, waiting for me?”

Her face changed to are-you-fucking-kidding-me mode. “Dork,” she muttered, slapping my hand—but then leaving her fingers on top of mine. “You really think
that’s
what I’m stressing about?”

“Not a mind reader,” I countered, “remember? That’s why I wanted to talk.”

She bent her head toward our hands, using the angle to gaze over the yard again. And again, I held back from fantasizing about her and that look against the backdrop of my sheets and pillows. “You like to talk too much, Captain America.”

“You’re the one who turned down the bath, blondie.”

“Hmmm. Point to Pearson on that one.” She sighed but pushed it out with determination. I had trouble decoding the move until she slipped her eyes closed, now looking like a woman about to get up and make her way to the executioner’s block. “Shit,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I spewed all that about Caroline. Damn good way to slaughter your beautifully nasty start to things, stud.”

I couldn’t help chuckling. She popped her eyes back open, looking a little surprised, which only widened my stupid grin.
Stud
. It was certainly something new, though a perfect weave of the camaraderie we’d had in the old days, too. In the end, the blend felt…nice. And really right.

Was she actually meeting me halfway down the tower?

Didn’t look like she wanted me considering the answer to that. She tensed, constricting back in on herself again.
Uh-uh. No way
. Without a second thought other than that, I wrapped both hands around her thighs. Yanked hard until I slid the hold around her ass. Kept pulling until I’d parted her legs to wrap them around mine, forcing her to straddle me in my chair, instead.

When her mouth popped open to protest, I acted on instinct—lunging mine to silence her.

It wasn’t a kiss for the movies; not a shred of Tatum or Dornan or any of the Hemsworths—but I wasn’t about to stop for ratings cards. If sloppy, graceless, hard, and urgent were what it took to get her attention, then the world could color me the new Pigpen. I wouldn’t mind one damn bit, if it meant I could spend even another minute savoring her…tasting her.

Because damn, she tasted…amazing. Lingering champagne, fresh toothpaste, the ambrosia that was solely her sweet, hot mouth…screw the coffee, I could wake up and rev through every day on this elixir alone. The wild rush of her heartbeat, now slammed over mine, confirmed I wasn’t the only one here reaching the conclusion.

We finally dragged apart, sucking air past the mingled thickness of our breaths. When she dropped her forehead to mine, everything around us spun out of focus, only to seem amplified at the same time. I closed my eyes, hoping to regroup, but that only increased how perfect she felt, how good she smelled, how right this seemed.

Beautiful heaven. Exquisite hell. And everything in between.

Why the
fuck
had I spent six months running from this?

Instead of searching for the impossible answer to that, I forced in enough air to form words. “Does this…feel like…you wrecked anything?” I would’ve punctuated by sliding the bulge in my sweats against the sweet cleft in hers but nature was already taking care of the task nicely, thank you very much.

Unexpected twist? The little cry that emanated from Margaux. It was pitchy and high but
not
aroused. More like…tormented. I pulled back a little more, needing to question it with a direct lock of gazes, but her eyes were squeezed shut again.

“Not a thing, huh?” she finally rasped. “So why do I still feel like throwing up?”

“Because you’re vulnerable. And that’s scary.” I wrapped my hands around to her back. Ran them up and down her spine in assuring strokes. “What you told me last night…who else knows all that, besides your mother?”

The second I referred to Andrea, grooves of sadness etched into her face. No…deeper than that. It was sorrow, palpable gobs of the stuff. “Nobody,” she finally answered.

I’d expected as much. But the grief that lingered on her face, in her eyes…it plowed into me, then enraged me. And confused me. All the heel clacking, snark talking, and bitch maneuvering this woman had made her name on was a grand illusion to hide
this
dark heartache, of that I was sure—but understanding the scope of it, even the complete reasoning for it, was like sanding down a layer of paint on a rare piece of art, only to learn eight more existed beneath.

Tearing someone’s throat out sounded really good right now, but I had no damn idea where to focus the shit—so I dealt in the best way I could. Pulled in a lot of calming air and tightened my hold on her even more.

“It’s safe with me, Margaux.” I raised a hand to her nape, compressing fingers in just enough that she felt my resolve. “Okay?
You’re
safe with me. I won’t ever let you fall, sugar.”

She quietly took that in. Actually, was too quiet. Dammit. If past experience bore out accurately on this, it’d only be a matter of seconds before she—

“
Psssshhh
.”

Rolled her eyes and said exactly that.

“I
was
still conscious when you said it the first time, buddy.”

She batted at my chest. I didn’t match the playful groove. “I’m more than aware of that. But sometimes, you need to have things spanked into you a few times.”

And then, sometimes life brought shit a guy
didn’t
expect. Out of his own mouth. As I debated whether to go for a retraction or pray she let it go, the beauty in my arms went for Door Number Three: breaking into a shit-eating grin at my expense.

“Well, okay then. You offering that reinforcement
now
, stud?”

Stud
. Why the hell did I like that so much when she drawled it? With every inch of my fucking body?

Breathe it down before it punches a hole through your pants, man
.

“No,” I finally got out. And, shock of shocks, sounded halfway sane about it, too. “No reinforcements today, sugar.”

She pouted. And hell’s goddamn bells, must have practiced that shit in the mirror. Nobody did adorably put-out like Margaux Asher. “But why? Because I made a hasty decision about the bath thing? Which I might be persuaded to reconsider, under the right circumstances…”

“No.” I repeated it while bringing hands back in to stop hers, skimming down my abdomen with saucy determination. Once I’d captured her wrists in my grip, I held them halfway between my body and hers, securing a lock on her stare again because of it. “Not because of what you decided about the bath thing…which was actually a good call.” I added in a mutter, “I may hack off my own balls later in retaliation for that, but for now, it’s worth sticking to.”

She scowled. “Why?”

“Because,”—I smiled into my exhalation—“this is good, Margaux.
We’re
good, together. I think we both realized it a while ago, but fear got in our way. And now, we’re probably both still picking our way through that a little. Only now, we can do that together. I mean, I’d like to—if you would—”

She cut me off with a hard kiss. “You’re
such
a dork.”

“I like stud better.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Because that’s
your
job?”

I yanked her hands around my neck and sealed our lips back together. This time, I gave no quarter to any inch of her delectable mouth. I swept her, claimed her, consumed her, devoured her, vowing that when she took her next breath, she’d also inhale the knowledge that I meant business here. That I wanted her—but that meant
all
of her. That I’d ask things from her—in a bunch of uncomfortable ways.

“Wow,” she breathed. Not a note of discomfort yet—but double-checking that fact wasn’t a chore I turned down. Holy hell, she was beautiful, with the sun glinting in her eyes and her lips stung by our passion to the shade of ripe cherries. I felt a small smile curling at my own, as I indulged a round of internal chest thumping. The thought of anyone else making her look like this…

Wasn’t even going there. Not a fucking chance.

“There’s a lot more of that coming, sugar.”

She grinned until her dimples were deep and adorable. “Okay.”

“But it comes with conditions.”

The dimples disappeared. “Oh, here we go.”

“Yeah.” I grabbed the side of her face, curling fingers into her hairline. “Here we go. And sugar, it’s going to be good,
damn
good. But you have to show up for this. For
us
. I can’t do this if you’re going to check nothing but your body in for the flight.”

She undulated a little, making me clench back a groan. “But my body can be fun. Seems
your
body agrees, mister.”

“Not arguing that point—but it’s not
the
point here. Not right now.” I braced my hands again at her hips, purposely setting her back a little. Did I really think that’d ease the pressure throbbing between my legs?
Idiot
. I pushed on, “No more dancing, no more evasions, no more hiding…not from me, Margaux. Last night…everything you gave me, including your confession about Caroline—hell,
especially
that…it was all the best gift you’ve ever given me.” I jerked on her again, hard enough to make her look back into my eyes. “It was one of the best gifts
anyone’s
ever given me.”

She tilted her head, activating that intense ESP I loved and hated about her, before prompting, “But…?”

No use fighting it. Not that I wanted to. “But I want more,” I stated. “A lot more. And…I think you do, too.” Pulling her close for another soft kiss was another lesson in masochism. Tasting her…it always felt like a sip of the season’s first cider press. I instantly craved another. And another. “Say you’ll try. Say you want to try.”

She twisted fingertips into the hairs along my nape. Her eyes were the Marianas Trench of uncertainty. “I’m still scared.”

“I know,” I assured. “
I know
.” I slipped my hand up to her head, gently smoothing over her hair. “But you’re going to let me worry about the falling part right now, okay?”

Because God knows, I’m halfway there already.

She surrendered a tentative nod but little else beyond that, including any indication that she comprehended the extra layer of my declaration. Still, from the way she curled her clutch on me a little tighter, lowered her head a little closer, and stared into me with unrelenting intensity, I guessed the ESP might still be twinging, and now prodded her to double-check the facts.

Check away, princess. I could sit here and stare back at you all day—and find a thousand new things to adore about your face
.

A car’s horn stabbed into the morning’s peace. Birds burst from the trees. The neighbor’s dog woofed. And the woman on my lap hissed a sharp “Shit!”

I cocked a brow, pretty certain I hit the right combo of casual and piqued. I was tempted to go for a blasé smirk—before a head of dark, well-groomed hair appeared over the back gate, attached to linebacker-sized shoulders. “Uhhh, blondie? Why is Andre in my back alley?” A troubling thought pierced. “Has he been there all night?”

Margaux smacked my shoulder. “Even I’m not
that
big of a bitch. I texted him twenty minutes ago to help with the getaway.”

“You meant the
thwarted
getaway.”
Now
I smirked. She countered with an eye roll, though her hand, still on my shoulder, bunched into my shirt to assist her new descent against me. After capturing my lips beneath her kittenish pout, she lifted the hand to tangle in my hair. Fuck, it felt good. And right. So right.

“Yes, officer,” she purred, “you busted me, fair and square. So…is it time to take me to the slammer yet?”

She added nothing to the words but a little sigh against my neck, but my cock didn’t know the difference. Everything from my sack to my crown swelled as if she’d reached down and gripped it all. I managed to growl past my moan, “Do you really have to go to work?”

She winced and rose up a little. “Dammit. Yeah, I do.”

“Then let’s bookmark this for tonight.”

She wetted her lips and smiled. “Mmmm. I like your idea of bookmarks.”

“Pick you up around seven?”

“Seven’s good. But no ‘picking up’.” At my deepened growl—I tolerated the car-and-driver act for business only and she knew it—she drew out a teasing giggle. “I meant…why don’t we just make it a sleepover?”

Well, that did it for any prayer of subduing the pressure between my thighs. Accepting the torment made it a little easier to beam her a wicked grin. “Now
that
I like the sound of.” As her hair fell and curtained our faces in, I whispered, “You going to wear footsie pajamas and tell me scary stories?”