No Perfect Princess (26 page)

He snapped me back like a stone on a rubber band, letting me slam back into his body at full speed. Not that I minded the impact with all that muscle at all. Damn. It was like colliding with a wall—that had much better biceps, triceps, obliques, and quads.

He emitted something between a growl and a hum before dipping his mouth to my ear. “You aren’t going anywhere, blondie. I have you for the next four days, remember?”

I imitated his sexy little sound. “Then you’d better make the best of it, stud.”

Heellllo
. That certainly got his attention, if the hiss off his lips and the flexes of his muscles were any indication.

“Watch yourself, young lady.”

“Oh?”

“Your mouth is writing checks your delectable body hasn’t been willing to cash.”

I pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, now darkened to the shade of hot mulled cider. “Well…up to this point.”

“Touché,” he murmured. “Up to this point.” When he cupped both hands to my face, lifting me for the full force of his stare, his touch matched his eyes: warm, full, strong. I swallowed hard. He pressed in tighter. “So what’s changed?”

“Michael! Party of two!”

Saved by the old-fashioned PA. This was one conversation I didn’t want to be having anywhere, let alone on the red, white and blue-swaddled stairs of Buffalo Bill’s. I knew in my heart, and other places south of my navel, that when “the time” was right for Michael and me, it was just going to be right. I sure as hell wasn’t on board with mapping it out first. My idea of bedroom talk had nothing to do with feelings and warm fuzzies.

“Lead the way, stud—using the
big
head, please.” Never hurt to enforce the point. I finished it with my playful smile, earning me a swift swat on the ass. I flashed a glower but Michael was all mountain boy charm once more, leading me by the small of my back toward the restaurant’s entrance. As we followed the hostess to our table, I murmured for his ears only, “You know that may cost you.”

“Really?” he grated back. “Then I can’t wait to pay up.”

Suddenly, his business mixer grip-and-grin smile snapped into place. I wondered about the switch-up until our hostess turned back to indicate we’d arrived at our spot—and she launched herself at him with a semi-squee’ed version of his name.

Hey, big surprise! He knew
her,
too!

Her name was Darla, and she was about our age—though I didn’t know what that equated to in octopus years. “Touchy feely” didn’t begin to describe the woman’s grabby-grabs as she and Michael went over the same niceties he’d just exchanged with the blue hairs out front, without the knee and hip chit-chat.

Darla’s eyes never left Michael. I could’ve turned into a burning bush for all she cared, but I would’ve ended up a pile of ash because she only had eyes for one person in our party. Exaggeration? My theory was proven when she returned to the table with silverware and a placemat—yes,
one
placemat—and laid it all out before Michael like a fucking harem girl offering the best cut of meat to her sultan. Not until she’d walked away, leaving him to confront my glare at the bare space in front of me, did he stammer out shit about oversights and easy mistakes, trying to get octo-stess’s attention again.

I sat still for entirely way too long. What the hell? I usually thrived on situations like this but fish out of water aren’t at their full swim speed so I cut myself some slack, deciding against the urge to excuse myself to the ladies room and make a break for it. How disgusting would that be, anyway?

Plan B was the better play.

I made a great show of standing up, stretching so my tank top caught at all the right places, then sitting back down—on
Michael’s
side of the booth, with my back against the wall and my feet up in his lap, exactly like we’d been under that tree on the way here. He was as shocked as Darla by the next time she walked by, but it was worth it to see the look on her backwoods face when he borrowed from my inspiration and hauled me practically into his lap, hand wrapped just beneath my breasts, his breath warm on my throat while he began telling me about all the great things on the menu.

Point to Asher.

After Michael ate enough food for a small village, we walked back to the truck, then headed to his mom’s to pick up the pies she’d made for the mayor’s hospitality social after the parade. The farm was a lot busier now. Several crew members were loading up the petting zoo animals to take to the park for the kids to enjoy. In the same neighborhood—what
wasn’t
in the same neighborhood in town?—was the Women’s Club building, home of the annual quilting competition. During our first drive in, Di had confessed she had an entry this year, but was nervous about her chances. She hadn’t said that in so many words, but my ability to read people like a book had come in handy, yet again. I’d grabbed her hand and told her I already knew hers was the best quilt in the contest. Her grateful smile was worth every drop of sunshine in the sky.

If she’d already crawled into my heart like this, I couldn’t imagine the scope of Michael’s love for the woman. Maybe I’d already sensed it last night, which had led me to ask about her face. I felt horrible for upsetting him but would’ve never forgiven myself for remaining silent, either. Kind of crazy, all the things I unequivocally knew about this guy-who-wasn’t-my-boyfriend. At the top of the list: his fierce protectiveness of the people he cared deeply about. Whoever had hurt his mother needed to be watching their six damn closely right now—because I sure as hell wasn’t standing in the way of Hurricane Michael.

Just like that, Trey’s snarling face flashed in my mind. I froze in the middle of changing my clothes for the parade. Epiphany time. As violent as Michael had been about shielding his mom from another attack was how
I
was about thwarting Trey from ever touching him. Put in that context, I was reassured about my vow to keep everything between us—passions, feelings, connections—held to the confines of this weekend alone.

It was simply the way things had to be.

I took a few minutes to freshen up, apply some sunscreen, and change into a little sundress, pale pink and delicate, that I often wore to functions down by the beach. Given the way the day was rapidly heating up, it seemed like an excellent choice. I combed through my hair and braided it off to the side, finishing up with a little pink lip gloss. Nothing was worse than a melting face of full make up, so the natural look was it. I wondered what Michael would think about my freckles, which would certainly be coaxed out in force by the sun. It would probably be another thing for him to rib me about, which had lately been followed by a lot of kissing, so…win-win for everyone! I slipped into my perfect final touch: a great pair of worn-look, low-cut cowboy boots—not bad at all.

Michael’s voice drifted up the stairs as I came down. He was in the kitchen, giving final instructions to the staff members who’d be handling the petting zoo in town for the day—or at least he was until I cleared the bottom of the stairwell. As soon as I stepped off, his voice trailed, his jaw dropped, and he stood, staring. I quickly looked down, making sure my dress wasn’t tucked into my panties or something just as mortifying. My attention snapped back up at the distinct spurts of stifled snickers. All three of the farm hands were now gawking at Michael, then at me. Back to Michael. Back to me.

I certainly wasn’t going to turn down
this
opportunity.
Preen.

“Mr. Pearson, you are busted.”

“Indeed I am, sugar.”

We both chuckled softly, though his sounded more like an opossum being strangled and mine had returned to the land of giggly tween. The moment wasn’t really that funny, but right now, everything was amplified, more vibrant. Funnier. Better.

“So is this okay?” I looked down at what I was wearing, suddenly feeling overdressed. “I brought other things.”

“I
know
.” He flashed a grin, but when it didn’t budge my scowl, he leaned in and kissed me for several long minutes. Hell. Even without tongue, his kisses were matches on the panties. After he pulled away, keeping one hand on my face, he murmured, “You look stunning, as always—and quite perfect.”

“You always tell me I’m perfect,” I groused.

“Because you always are.”

Oh, Michael…if you knew only half of it…

“Come on,” he tugged on my hand. “You might need something warmer for tonight, but we can always hop back over and you can change again. Sound good?”

I grinned and popped up to give him another kiss. The animal guys had left as soon as we started bantering so right now, it was just us. “Sounds perfect.”

Outside was the quietest I had seen the farm since arriving. With all the animals gone, a hush had fallen over the entire place. Except for a few chickens in the pen across the lot and Carlo’s basset hound sleeping under the pepper tree, everyone had migrated to town for the day’s celebrations.

It was almost show time!

*

The next three
hours were more fun than I had during three-
week
vacations in Bali, Belize, and the south of France. The parade was an hour-long promenade of people passionate about their kids, their businesses, and their Wild West roots, complete with town members participating in a mock bank robbery, before the sheriff rode in and “rustled ‘em up”. I laughed until my stomach hurt at the purposeful overacting, followed by a gun fight and stunt show that was pretty damn good.

“They should hit up Hollywood!” I whispered as two of the “bad guys” tumbled into a hay wagon from the roof of the old bank building.

“Nah,” he murmured back. “Their mamas usually encourage them to take up more noble professions.” A smirk tempted his lips. “Like law.”

That prompted my fast double take. “Wait. What?
You
—”

“Was ‘Scoundrel Number Three’. When I was in high school.”

I punched his shoulder. “You were
not
.” The dork was making the whole thing up to impress me. If he only knew how thoroughly impressed I already was…

But then he started reciting the last lines of the play along with the performers. I held back from my eager applause, damn glad I did, because the entire audience joined the actors for the
very
last line, apparently a huge tradition of the play. After their recitation, everyone instantly stood and joined the cast for a flag salute and rousing rendition of the national anthem. There was no curtain call or ovation for the actors themselves. Michael explained that there never was. The flag always got first billing.

Well, dammit. The people of this silly little town were really starting to get to me. One of them just a wee bit more than the others…

Michael pulled me up from the shaded grass where we’d been watching the parade, and we walked hand-in-hand to see the exhibits in the park. Finally, we got to the Women’s Center, where Di’s quilt hung proudly with the others. If I could’ve paid someone to ensure she won, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. Hers really was the most beautiful entry. I wanted her to have that victory more than anything, and I told her so. I could tell the ribbon meant a lot to her, perhaps because of whatever had been going down behind the scenes with mysterious-restraining-order-man. But none of it was my business, though it all sat disgustingly heavy in my heart.

Whoa.
Back up the damn apple cart.

Did I just reference my heart in a sentence?

Christ. Maybe I’d been taking all the esoteric bullshit a little too seriously. “Escaping”? “Capturing memories”? Ohhh, no no no. These fucking hicks would
not
worm their way into my subconscious after one damn day. I couldn’t let them do it. I couldn’t let
anyone
do it.

Panic prowled up my throat, so hard and fast that I stopped. Michael didn’t miss a second of it. He roped an arm around me, instantly steering me beneath a tree. “Easy, princess.”

“
Don’t
call me princess.”

He shook his head, blowing me off. “What’s the problem? Talk to me. Is it the heat? You’re pale as a ghost all of a sudden.”

“The heat,” I echoed. “Yeah, that’s—that’s good.”

“That’s
good
?”

“I mean that’s
it
.” I forced out a smile, the one I knew would make him forget his own name let alone my little slip. “I don’t think I’ve had enough water. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

He cocked his head like I was speaking another language. I should’ve known better than to use those words with this one.

“Come on. I’m taking you back to the house. We can cool you down in the a/c.”

“I’ll be
fine
, Michael. I don’t want to spoil your day.”

“Blondie, if you pass out in the heat, I guarantee you my day will be spoiled.”

I whacked his chest. “Dork.”

“You want to know something else? I’ve done this every Fourth of July since the day I could walk. It hasn’t changed a bit. I’m not missing anything.”

He leaned over so we were eye-to-eye. God and all his angels, the man was gorgeous in me-Tarzan-you-Jane mode. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let him think the heat had affected me instead of a freaking panic attack about discovering that some of my emotions had gotten shifted in flight.