No Perfect Princess (36 page)

“Will you take me to Mr. Pearson’s, please?”

His brows bounced up but quickly resumed position again. Wasn’t often he got a sincere version of the
p
word from me. “Yes, ma’am.”

He put his blinker on and merged into the fast lane, apparently wanting to get there before I changed my mind. Smart man.

“I’ll have Sorrelle return your handkerchief after he does the laundry.”

“No rush, ma’am.” Thank God his snarky side had taken the night off. After getting exposed to the nuclear reactor core of peace, love, and adoration at Kil and Claire’s, I was a bundle of raw emotions. Not only did Andre have a straight link to all those feelings, he seemed to know what I needed now, in the shaky aftermath. Before I could even think to ask for it, soft music filled the car’s back seat. Mozart. My favorite. And very few people knew that, Andre being one of them.

I rested my head back and listened to the music, absorbing every lush note, willing their beauty to center me like a tight embrace. But I never got there. Remembering Kil and Claire and all the love they’d found with each other just magnified the emptiness of what I couldn’t seem to feel…of what I’d never have.

By the time Andre drove into the La Jolla neighborhood where Michael rented, my teeth were clenched, my heart was racing, and my throat constricted, fighting the temptation to order that the car be turned around.

I trembled through several breaths, fighting for the courage to get out. What the hell was I even doing here? I hadn’t called. I hadn’t texted. For all I knew, I’d get to the door and he’d slam it in my face. This wasn’t how I did things. I always ran my game clean and clear. Seeing the destination first always meant it was reached. Anticipating the victory always meant it was achieved.

The door opened and Andre appeared. “Do you want me to see if he’s in?”

I forced as much of a smile as I could. The gentle giant had as deep a protective streak as Michael. Maybe that was why they dug each other. “No,” I finally replied. “I have to do this one on my own. I made a big mess of things in Julian. It’s time for me to pay the piper. If I’m lucky, I won’t need a ride home. If I don’t come back out in thirty minutes or so, go ahead and call it a night. He can take me downtown if I don’t stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

His concern was so sincere, but after the mush-fest in Rancho Santa Fe, I was reaching my saturation point. “Yes,’ I snapped. “Just do as I ask, okay?”

“Yes, Miss Asher.”

We traded glares as I exited the car. He knew I was over that fucking name months ago, and when he was
trying
to piss me off, he used it.

He slammed the door. The
whump
made me jump a little—but shot my ass into gear up Michael’s walkway.

After I rang his old man doorbell, I pulled back a maniacal need to laugh.
Ding Dong, the witch is dead.
Maybe not literally, but close enough. That was certainly the gig I’d just signed up for. Pangs of sympathy sickness for Claire pierced my stomach—and their only cure was the person about to answer this door. For a moment, I allowed myself a blissful vision. Me, ensconced in those huge arms and pressed against the tattooed planes of his chest, letting the world fall away…

He could do that. Oh
God
, could he do that. I’d been there, done that, worn the T-shirt. The thing fit so fucking well, there were moments I never wanted to take it off—not even for washings.

You are so damn pathetic.

Finally, the light came to life above my head. At the same time, the door was pulled open. This was it.
Do or die. Sink or swim. Visualize the victory
.

“Hey.” Well, that was fucking original.
Nice play, Miss Asher. Stone. Whatever
.

“Hey.”

“Mind if I come in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I asked the damn question, didn’t I?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” An exhalation flared his nostrils. “You just don’t like the answering part.”

I matched his harsh breath. “
Michael
…”

“What?”

“I’m trying here.”

He finally pulled back to move aside, opening the entrance for me. I battled not to stare as I passed. Thank God he wasn’t just wearing boxers this time, although his black workout pants weren’t much better. Apparently, the guy didn’t believe in shirts unless he was leaving the house.
Hallelujah
.

“Not
Ice Road Truckers
again.” I couldn’t help but tease him. It was familiar ground for us, and it felt good. He smiled a little—but I could see he was still pissed. His whole body was tight as a spring—not that it was a bad look for him.
At all.

Since he wasn’t playing host tonight, I took my own jacket off and laid it over the back of the sofa. Before he could close the door and walk back to my spot, I sucked up my courage and dove right in. “I know you might want to tell me to go fuck myself right now. I wouldn’t blame you. But I just—” Dammit. I hadn’t rehearsed anything past this point, expecting he’d cut in and help steer by now. “Well, I just—it’s just…”

“It’s just
what
?” All right; it was official. His fury made him hotter.
Much
hotter. As he approached, his gait commanding and sure, his sweats rode a little lower on his hips. His wonder
V
came out to play in full glory, every ridge toned, every line perfect. I let my stare wander all the way down, then back up to confront the deep fires in his eyes.

I swallowed. Then again. “I—I needed to see you. It’s just been a confusing, terrible day, and—well—confusing overall lately—”

“You don’t say.” The mirth disappeared from his lips.

“Don’t be that way.”

He stopped, hanging back on the other side of the couch. “Don’t be—” He laughed, but the sound wasn’t pleasant. “This is good,” he muttered. “So good.”

“
Michael
.”

He fanned his arms and gave me a mock bow. “Right. Okay. Where
are
my manners? You have something to say. Please proceed.”

His mocking tone was grating—but hell if I was going to let him triumph with
that
. He knew it, too. The bastard smirked, knowing he could push. He had the upper hand here, and relished it. Trouble was, he knew it secretly turned me on, too.

I shook my head to try and clear it. He stepped a little closer. Near but still too far. But I could smell him now, his skin so rich with pine and wind and soap. Memories instantly flooded because of it. Kisses in the water. Caresses in the barn. Feasting on our picnic…

“I just—needed to see you.” Okay, this was good. A complete sentence, even if it was in parts. “I had—to tell you—that what I meant—Jesus, I can’t even think straight—”

He just stared at me, expecting me to say more.
Shit.
This wasn’t good, after all. I’d gone inside out at just the sight of him again. I ached, needing to feel his arms around me, his body against me.
I ached…

“Since—since the day I left Julian—”

Why didn’t he move? At
all
? Couldn’t he see how I was struggling here?

“It was a shitty thing to do, but I had no choice. And ever since then, I—well, I’ve thought about you. A lot. And—I—”

Couldn’t he just have mercy on me? Take me in his arms, make it all better? His eyes softened; the breath he pulled in was resigned, perhaps forgiving.

“Everything we shared was—well, it was good,
damn
good, and—”

What the fuck was he waiting for?

The moment the question blazed, so did its answer.

He needed me to ask for it.

To prove to him that I still wanted it.

Wanted
him.

No games, no ploys. Straight-up feelings, out on the table.

Okay. I could do that.

Maybe.

“I—I need you.” I croaked out the words while desperately inspecting my pedi.

“Pardon me?” He seemed baffled. Did I read this wrong, too?

“I need you, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” I snapped my head up. Lurched toward him on legs that wobbled thanks to nerves that raced. Keeping my hands off of him was like being tied down to a rock and being forced to gaze at Icarus in all his beautiful, burning fire. “I need you, Michael. I’m unraveling, and only you can help…can make me feel safe again, like you did in the mountains. I need it again. I—I need you again.”

I closed the rest of the space between us, sliding my hands up the ripples of his bare chest. He didn’t rear back, thank God, but he did go still as a statue. A golden, flawless one.

He finally spoke again. An uneasy grate. “Margaux…”

“Please don’t say no.”

And please don’t try to look through me or decipher me, because what you see won’t be beautiful. And right now, I need beautiful.

“Please.” The word wasn’t easy for me but I was sure I’d never meant it more. “I can’t be alone tonight. I need you.
Please
.” It ceased being a plea, moving into the realm of pure need, basic instinct. The fire of Icarus burned through me now too, leading my lips to little kisses up his neck, toward his ear. Michael still didn’t move—either direction. I refused to take that as a bad sign.

“Put your hands on me.” I was nearly whispering, my voice husky and pleading. “Touch me as only you can, Michael. Revive me. Reveal me. Arouse me…”

“
Margaux.
”

His head fell back. A moan ripped out of him. The sound ripped at me, drawing spiritual blood. He ached, really ached, and
I’d
done it to him. I hated what that felt like, an agony as strange as it was new, but I wasn’t giving up. Somehow, I couldn’t.

“I can’t keep playing these games with you.” The words vibrated up his throat. “I can’t…”

“No games. I swear. This is my reality, okay? Things are complicated for me.” I grimaced. “They’re…ugly. But
you…
you’re my beauty. My safety.” I took one of his hands in mine. When he actually allowed the contact, I reached for the other one. His eyes glittered like a copper alloy tinged with brilliant green, beckoning my gaze to his face. I met his stare with the full brutality he gave me and whispered, “Take me to your bed, Michael. Take me
in
your bed. No more hay lofts or showers or meadows. I want to go to bed with you. Explore you, taste you, worship you…lose track of time with you.”

Silence screamed between us.

As the man seemed to take my words literally. His stare shackled me forever…for a second? For eons…or just minutes? The answers didn’t matter. All my fucked-up feelings didn’t matter.
He
was all that mattered. The moment of him. The now of him. The wonder of him.

And then the power of him—

As he swooped me off my feet and against his strength.

Was this real? And once more, did I care? I didn’t want to dissect it. Only wanted to grasp the magic of it. This was happening—to me. For once, I was being carried like a treasure. Taken to the bed of the one and only man who’d ever truly mattered to me.

A lump rose in my throat but I smashed it down by grabbing his head and kissing the hell out of him. There was no way I was going to let emotions fuck up the most amazing night of my life.

Michael

W
hat the
hell
are you doing
?

It was stuck on repeat in my mind, which obviously hoped something else in my body would get the message. A dim corner of my consciousness fist-pumped in agreement. Christ. What the hell
was
I doing? This was the behavior of a desperate pussy, not a man who’d gone balls out—literally—for a woman, then left with same balls swinging in the wind—literally—because of a phone call more cryptic than a summons from Tony fucking Soprano.

Even crazier thing? I’d actually added a mafia plot to the list of possibilities about Margaux’s trip to the cryptic. A
mafia plot
. What else was my imagination supposed to do but go there, when the woman gave me nothing but one-eighty behavior, lame excuses, and a getaway so fast, it was like a movie spliced on fast edits.

Even then, I’d actually expected her to call and apologize. Or explain. Or even yell at me about “abducting” her off to the mountain to begin with. She’d dealt a blow even worse. Had pounded down the giant mute button between us again.

This time, I hadn’t bothered with the calls to banter with Sorrelle. Or the stalker boy visit to her condo. I’d been in pure existence mode, one foot in front of the other, pausing every few days between work-sleep-food to let Keir beat the crap out of me on the beach again. I’d avoided any extended trips to my head or heart, terrified of what I’d find there.

Petrified of finding out what I knew the second she stood again in my doorway.

Somehow, in some crazy, idiotic, beyond-logical way, I’d tumbled far over the cliff of crazy for Margaux Asher.

A fact
not
helping the current lose-lose I faced.

Ease her ache, though I had no idea what I was easing—or cut this shit short right now and mitigate the pain while I could?

The answer came as soon as I swept her into the bedroom, then lowered us both to the bed—and our stares twined deep as rainforest vines again.

“Mitigate” the pain? Who the hell was I kidding? If I let her walk out now, two hours, or
twelve
hours from now, it would hurt. Like a motherfucker. So what was the difference—except that getting her naked again might,
might
, be the right key to unlocking her at last. Yeah, I
know
, stupid desperation at its finest—but never had I seen her so shaky and unsure, almost as if she
wanted
me to find that portal and blast it open now.

There was a damn good chance I’d be miserable after this.

Like I’d been Buddy the fucking joy-joy elf before?

Some rides were worth the terror of the first drop.

I slanted my lips over hers, closed my eyes…and let the zero gravity take over.