No Perfect Princess (22 page)

I couldn’t settle for coma anymore. I wanted to be her wake-up climax. Her goodnight one, too. And a lot of the good stuff in between…as much of it as I could seize…

Only now, she didn’t even look like she wanted me in front of her.

Wait. Assumptions again—and their dangers. That wasn’t it at all. It was the conclusion she
wanted
me to grab—before she was forced to give in to my persistent stance, finally returning my stare—

And showing me the lights of her real thoughts, brilliant and beautiful in her eyes.

Awareness sliced through me—just as it had when I’d first seen those glints, reflecting the morning sun on my patio. Tonight, their green was joined by the kaleidoscope of the city lights, all twinkling to life below…different hues, but the exact same magic. The precise same truth.

That she was just as confused now as she had been that morning.

“Damn,” I rasped. Pledges I’d made during the elevator ride up, about being patient and taking this slow, were as insignificant as the headlights on the cars below. This was either really good or really bad. My body didn’t stop to discern the difference. Every inch of my dick leaped again, straining at my jeans like the prisoner it had been for too long.

Until I realized my growl had actually made her jump. Not in a good-shivers way, either. More like a cat springing at its own shadow.

“What?” she demanded, voice climbing again. “What
is
it, Michael?”

“Whoa,” I countered. Lifted hands to her shoulders, starting soothing rolls with my thumbs. “Whoa, princess. Sshhh.”

“
Don’t
call me that.” She jerked away, wrapping arms as if rubbing off my touch.

My touch—or whatever trigger I’d hit with my
words
?

The glance I’d gotten in before she turned, betraying her unguarded alarm, shoved me toward the latter.

“Why?” I punched the insistence into the stomps I took to follow her toward the terrace. Her hunched posture galvanized my own apprehension.
Shit
. Had I interpreted things all wrong? Had I thought desire when she meant fear? If so, of what?
Me
? Then why had she even buzzed me up? Invited me in? Tossed vegetable dip at me?

“Margaux, what’s going on?”

No answer. She unlocked the door, shoved it open and rushed out to the Spanish tiles outside.

What the hell
was
going on?

I had zilch right now. With nothing but a load of vague texts, the cagey tone of her voice mail, and
that
email to go on—

Wait.

That email.

My life is…complicated…

Instincts detonated inside. The explosion was so huge, I stopped. When it faded, I kept my feet locked. If I lunged for her now, stopping wouldn’t be an option. A fifteen-story freefall wouldn’t be fun.

Complicated
.

I’d thought she meant shit at work. Or issues with her mom. Or dammit, even problems with the invisible guy I kept imagining her with while I was being a dumb fuck in Julian.

No. You’d thought it was a lie, was what you’d thought
.
An excuse in place of having to face you, to tell you she’d had a chance to “think”, and the “relationship thing” just wasn’t going to work…

Words I didn’t read in her now. In
any
form. The only thing I observed was a girl wavering between flippant and fearful, unable to decide on which. Not surprising, since she was clearly preoccupied with peering into every corner like it was about to sprout Krueger, Pinhead, and Jason at the same time.

Assumptions. And their agonizing consequences.

What the hell was really going on? And what words were going to unlock the answer from her?

“Margaux.” I stepped onto the terrace, too. The air was definitely different up here, a crisp breeze of sea salt and summer flowers, romance novel perfection to accompany the sunset forming over the bay waters in the distance. Not that I’d be paying attention to it. “
Margaux
.”

She whipped an unseeing stare at me. I almost jumped back myself. I liked disorienting the woman by seducing her, not scaring her.

“Margaux?”

“Huh?” A wave of a hand, a shake of her head, and suddenly, the lost princess had been dismissed. The PR princess took over again with a camera-ready pose, hand on her hip, practiced grin on her lips. “Hey! Sorry, babe.” She tapped at her head. “With Claire still out, there’s a party going on in here all the time these days.”

I jogged up a brow.

Babe
?

Why did I suddenly crave a shower? And why from that one and not
stud
?

Because she meant it about as much as a red carpet air kiss?

“Okay, what’s really going on?” I approached her again, though her cheeky mien remained unchanged. So I stepped closer, getting near enough that I could smell her—expensive soap and subtle perfume—and observe the subtle trembles she was hiding so well beneath that attempt at a polished façade. “Margaux,” I lifted a hand, gliding it over the one she still gripped to her hip, “
Sugar
. It’s me.” I meshed my fingers between hers. “It’s
me
.”

She wet her lips again—just as she tried to yank free, hiding the deeper shivers beneath those few inches of skin pressed against mine. “Nothing’s going on.” It was better than
babe
, despite the toothpaste commercial mask she threw down yet again. “Nothing that’s any of your business, Michael.”

“You know I believe you like I’d believe Trey Stone in rehab, right?”

The commercial grin suddenly took on a shit-ton of plaque—with enough to spare for the newest crap turn of her composure. “Why the hell are you mentioning
him
?”

“Why the hell are you reacting like I just told you to wear white after Labor Day?”

“Cut the jokes.”

“Then cut the entertainment show cheese.”

Her eyes narrowed, perhaps a lame attempt to make me think PR Princess was about to wield her scepter of doom on my ass. But I was onto her game now and we both knew it, a recognition that swirled like thick incense between us before she snapped it in half, whirling and marching back inside. During the trip, she dashed out a retort that was classic, acidic
her
.

“Say what you came to say, big boy, then get the hell out.”

Shit. Why hadn’t I let her pour me a drink when I had the chance? “I didn’t come to say anything
to
you.” I skirted around the couch to stake a position at the foot of the stairs to her second floor—obeying my instinct that she was ready to bolt any second. “I came to talk
with
you.”

“Said the executioner to the convict?”

I shook my head. And let a soft laugh spill out. Should’ve seen that one coming, but didn’t—just like every other page of this chapter of my life with this woman’s name on it. I’d been perfectly content in a world where my only deep wounds bore the name Laci, and the sole source of fun at work was a scapegoat named Princess-zilla. But this astounding, confounding, bewildering, bewitching person had changed it all—and now I didn’t want the chapter to end. Ever.

One minor hitch to that plan.

We’d written ourselves into a corner. An impasse overlooking a daunting blank page. Stood staring each other down in an ivory tower above a sea of lights, with walls of silence closing in on us more by the minute. Walls fortified by four fucking weeks of the same stuff.

But what were walls made of? Bricks.

And what did serfs at the base of the tower know how to do better than anything?

Lay bricks.

Which meant they could tear them down, too.

I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t. Not if it meant clawing out the mortar of this fucker with my bare hands.

Or taking advantage of the fact that she rushed back over to shut the door to the terrace—making it damn easy to pin her against the thing. She yipped as I flattened my hands on either side of her head—and refused to budge.

“Michael, this isn’t—”

“Talk to me.”

Her nostrils flared. “I’m not trashed tonight, Pearson. The Neanderthal thing isn’t going to—”

“
Talk to me
. Dammit Margaux, I think I deserve an explanation.”

She raised her hands, almost pressing them to my chest—
hell yeah; go there, sugar, please
—but then whimpered as if ordering herself away from a chocolate bar, dropping them. “I sent you an email. I know you read it. Can’t you just accept that and—”

“I ‘accept’ job offers,
babe.
I ‘accept’ global warming. I ‘accept’ cash back at the grocery store. I do
not
accept ‘complicated’. What the
fuck
is ‘complicated’?” I didn’t grant her any mercy, tracking her head’s slow back-and-forth with equal arcs of my own. “And if you wet your lips like that one more time, I swear I’m just going to kiss the answer out of you.”

As if loaded on springs, her hands did fly to my chest—

And shoved.

Wasn’t caught with my pants down though I was damn certain my cock would’ve preferred it that way, swelling into a distraction so significant, I stumbled back without a fight. Inside three seconds, I stood gaping at the smears I’d left behind on the glass—

And her new sprint across the room, as far away as she could get.

“I can’t do this, Michael. Not now!” She got to the stairs, raced halfway up then whirled on the landing, reaching for the rail with a hand that visibly shook. “Things just—are what they are, okay? I let you come up because I figured you needed this—”

“I needed this? Needed
what
?”

“—so let’s get it all said like the grown-ups we supposedly are. I do realize that getting closure can be important—”

“Closure?” Disbelief choked me from voicing anything original. Outrage prevented me from
doing
anything but advancing at those stairs like a SEAL tracking Bin Laden. Though she watched every step I took, she still started when I pounded a foot on the bottom step.

“Don’t get surly,” she snipped. “I’m attempting to be nice.”

“
Nice
?”

“I
can
do that from time to time. And…well…”

“Well
what
?”

“You’re—you’re important to me.”

Well, shit.

One little whisper and she’d led my SEAL to an empty cave. Then ordered him to sit and chew on his nails just like she did now. With her feet on the next step down, she curled in both arms, baffling the crap out of me. Did I stand down against the insecure girl she evoked with the pose or surge up toward the minx who now had to steal glances at me through those thick, gorgeous lashes?

I snuck a foot onto the next step. Let out a resigned sigh. “And you’re important to me.”

She sat a little straighter but left her hands curled in, posture still guarded. “I know that, too. But if you need to…move on…and stuff, I understand, okay? I
do
.”

“Is that what you want?”

My growl made her jump.
Good.

I enjoyed that glory for two seconds before hating the fuck out of myself for it. Dammit, this was a mess, but I was
not
giving up. My new creed sent an invisible grappling hook into the rail behind her head, pulling me up the five stairs remaining between us. I knelt on the step below her feet, stare still locked, resolve still firm. “I don’t think it’s what you want, Margaux.”

Another averted gaze. She was really entranced with her kneecaps tonight. Like she needed an excuse. To me,
every
inch of her was entrancing on
any
night, but the woman was on a mission of her own: to keep her reactions hidden from me, in any way she could. Her rickety reply bore that truth out. “What I want doesn’t matter right now, Michael. Not that it ever did.” She twisted her fingers together. “My mistake was thinking it would ever be any different.”

Hell. My body was perched on a step, but my mind stood at a crossroads. It had been the MO since I got here, hadn’t it? She’d really let me come up with the purpose of cutting me free—even when that option was torturing the crap out of
both
of us, and even when she had no damn intention of explaining why. “Complicated”
didn’t
qualify as explanation—not on this planet or any other.

But unlike all the other intersections she’d parked me at tonight, I had a very different outlook on this one. And smiled.

Because I already knew what direction I was headed for next.

Because she was coming with me.

The ju-ju from my grin finally altered the air between us. It tugged Margaux’s head up. She jolted—again. In the years I’d known her, the woman had never done the scared kitty twitch as many times as tonight. The observation lent new strength to my decision.

“Pearson? What are you—”

I cut her off by yanking her to her feet. Without pause, kissed her. Though my body screamed for more, I kept it to a commanding smack. “No more questions,” I decreed. “Not mine, not yours.”

Her face crunched ten different ways. She was goddamn adorable when struggling to figure something out—or maybe I just thought so because the expression was rare. “So we’re done?” Her voice pitched up then down, a mixture of relief then sorrow, the convict finally being given an execution date—still totally clueless she was about to be sprung from prison altogether.

“Not by a longshot, beautiful.” I let myself laugh it. I cupped a hand around her nape, pulling down so her gaze was compelled back up. Our kiss had ignited new emerald specks in her eyes, splitting my grin even wider.

“I don’t understand,” she finally uttered.

“Of course you don’t.” I wound my fingers deeper into her hair. “Because you can’t see past the demons you keep seeking in every corner of this place.” Which was pretty funny, once I thought about it. Between the spotless white walls and the polished concrete floors, I doubted the tiniest dust bunny could successfully hide here.

One thing I
didn’t
doubt: somehow, I’d sliced open a nerve. “Michael,” she snapped, “cut the games.”