No Magic Moment Read online

  “Michael!” I grabbed at his arm. My fingers smacked each other as he wrenched away. “This has to stop!”

  Doug slung his leather satchel over his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m going to go.” Dipped his head a little toward me. “Will you be all right?”

  “Great idea, Dougie.” Michael squared off, shoulders tense and fists curled. “She’ll be fine here—with me.”

  I stepped around Michael, shaking my head. “I’ll see you out, Doug.” As I passed, I flashed a backward glower that conveyed a two-pronged message. Michael had some explaining to do—and a mega-sized apology to issue.

  While leaving with Doug, I grabbed my key off the hook in the foyer in order to get back into the condo. As I walked Doug to the elevator, color rushed my cheeks. Words seemed a hopeless concept.

  Luckily, they did come. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m mortified.”

  “It’s okay,” Doug murmured. “He’s under a lot of stress.”

  “It’s not okay,” I seethed. “We’re all under a lot of stress!”

  “Stop,” Doug protested. “Get back to him. Have a drink together. Maybe ten.”

  I battled for a smile. Wasn’t happening. “I’m not sure what’s going on in his head, but I promise this is the last time he’ll treat you that way. I’ll make sure of it.”

  The elevator arrived. Doug gave me a quick, friendly hug. I really wasn’t comfortable with that, either, but given the bomb Michael had just dropped in the condo, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I didn’t even remember my steps back inside.

  When I got there, Michael was pacing the living room like a caged animal. If I had carpet, I’d be concerned for the pile. I watched him make three laps before I finally spoke.

  “What the fuck was that all about?”

  “What?”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “If you’re referring to my frustration about being gawked at like I’m making up pretend bad guys, then—”

  “Frustration? Is that what you’re calling it? That wasn’t frustration. That was being an immature ass. For God’s sake, Michael. You’re a professional attorney. Instead, you’re acting like a child!” I stormed across the room, making my way to the mantel. I had to grip something other than his neck. “I’d expected more. Much more.”

  “Well.” In the reflection created by the window, he’d slammed his hands to his hips. “Sorry I let you down, sweetheart—again. Guess there’s a lot of that going on around here lately, huh?”

  I whirled, the action causing my hand to catch a piece of blown-glass art that looked like a constipated seagull. It crashed to the floor and I didn’t care. “Is that what this is about? Is this some weird martyr bullshit, Michael? Some ‘poor you for picking a loser like me’ bit? That bullshit goes nowhere with me faster than anything I can think of.” I crunched through the glass, sweeping out my arms. “Are you forgetting who you’re dealing with? Compassion is an emotion I barely comprehend, let alone am in touch with, buddy.”

  He spread his arms wide, almost to plead with me. “Damn. You’re right. How could I possibly forget who I’m dealing with? In case you haven’t noticed, it’s everywhere I fucking look!”

  Rise in San Diego, a local tabloid, was lying on the coffee table. The two of us were splashed across the cover beneath the disgusting headline Trouble in Paradise? I’d meant to throw the rag out when Sorrelle brought it into the house after a trip to the grocery store. Now, I scooped up the piece of shit then winged it at him. It bounced off his chest and landed face up on the floor. Fucker didn’t even try to defend himself.

  “You. Prideful. Prick. Who’s the one carrying us into the public mud bath? Look at the picture, damn it. It’s you! You, making a fool of yourself in public, again. Don’t stand there making insinuations that I’m the media whore who’s enjoying this!”

  I was suffocated by a furious fog as I stormed over to the stairs. Doug was right. I needed a drink—but first a long, hot, rage-melting bath in the master bathtub. Alone.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I stopped in my tracks. First, his tone. Second, the question itself.

  I cocked my head to the side, still facing the stairs. “What did you just say?”

  His steps were hard and measured. I kept one foot frozen on the second step.

  “Where. Are. You. Going?” He growled it at my ramrod-straight back. “We’re not done talking, damn it.”

  “We weren’t talking. We were yelling.” I let out an exhausted sigh. “And, yes. I’m most definitely done.”

  I lifted my other foot. He reached out for me, wrapping arms around my waist then pressing his cheek to my…cheeks.

  His face, hot from our argument, felt wonderful against my ass, even through my jeans. It felt good to have his arms around me, but nothing else. No, nothing else. I wasn’t ready to make up by a longshot.

  “Margaux.”

  “Don’t. Michael…don’t.”

  “I need you.”

  “And I need you. But not like this. I can’t do—this.” I pulled out of his grip and ascended the rest of the stairs. When I was safe behind our bedroom door, I flopped down on the bed, not sure what I wanted next. To scream? To cry? To hit something?

  No.

  Someone.

  Damn it.

  I dragged myself into the bathroom and started the tub. A big pile of bubbles was in order tonight, so I added an extra scoop of bath salts and cranked the handle all the way over to the etched H on the modern steel fixture. I locked the door, stripped and sank into the tub up to my eyeballs.

  Perfection.

  At least the bath was.

  I enjoyed the respite while I could. Eventually, my mind started churning again. I swallowed hard and forced myself to steam rather than cry.

  Why did this feel like our first fight? God knew, it wasn’t. Sometimes our relationship seemed built on one giant battle—which was sad and scary in its own right. But for some reason, this felt different. Because we lived together now? Implied meaningful commitment along with the dual toothbrush holder and his weights set on the patio?

  No. The answer was right in front of me. I was just too terrified to confront it.

  I’d never loved someone more than this. Michael Pearson was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. My heart and brain were on the same page on that one.

  He had to stop acting like a jealous teenager.

  The conversation I’d had with Claire three weeks ago replayed in my mind—as it had several times since. I’d been fighting to heed her wisdom. How would I feel in his shoes, if all this were turned around? I wouldn’t like it, but I sure as hell hoped I wouldn’t behave how he had, either.

  There was a soft tap on the door.

  “Go away,” I called out.

  Michael’s pause spoke a volume. He was struggling with this, too. “Just…wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been in there a long time.”

  “I’m fine. I simply want to be left alone.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Damn it. Why was he being so sweet now? Ohhhh, right. Because he’d fucked up and recognized the big penance coming his way.

  “Just—please—stop.” I couldn’t grant him any slack. Not now. Maybe not for a long time.

  “I don’t want to stop. I want to fix this. Fuck…princess…I hate it when we fight.”

  “Then why do you keep acting like an ass?”

  “Good question.”

  “Let me know when you have a good answer.”

  I took my time getting out of the tub, rinsing under the shower to clean off the bubbles before washing my hair. I was also deliberate about combing through the conditioner, giving myself time for each step of the routine. No more confrontations tonight. I couldn’t handle them. Every minute brought a greater need to just collapse into bed and let sleep claim me.

  When lingering in the bathroom was no longer viable, I quietly opened the door, shuffled i
nto my dressing room and slipped into some pajamas. I hated wearing the damn things but needed the physical shield tonight, adding as many walls as possible in literal and figurative form.

  Just as quietly, I climbed into our empty bed. Normally, I’d search for Michael and we would climb in together. Not tonight.

  I pulled the covers around my ears and drifted off to sleep quicker than I thought possible. The bath had done its job. I didn’t fight the relaxation. The morning would bring the talk we both needed, when we were both strong enough for it.

  This problem wasn’t going to go away on its own.

  There was no way I’d get that lucky.

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael

  Once again, I slept on the couch.

  Sure, Margaux was out cold when I went back upstairs to check on her, but getting into bed and stretching out next to her would’ve been as comfortable as sleeping next to a wall. Correction, a wall with the sexiest fucking curves in the universe, who was barely acknowledging my presence at the moment.

  The old axiom needed an overhaul. Don’t go to bed angry—or when you’ve got a pounding erection for your woman.

  Funny how that particular thought stuck like glue—yeah, the same stuff that coated every inch of my cock, keeping it stiff and sensitive all night. The shit received a refresh just before I opened my eyes, helped by a pair of my favorite smells—fresh coffee and Margaux’s eucalyptus body lotion. Even for a hard-up guy in the doghouse, it wasn’t a bad way start to the day.

  Cautiously, I opened my eyes.

  Tallied another slash in the good day column.

  She wasn’t standing over me with a box cutter, or even the we-need-to-talk glower. I’d almost hoped for the latter. At least that’d mean she wanted to talk. Instead, she stood in front of the window, where she watched the burgeoning dawn in silence.

  I rolled to my side as quietly as I could, relishing the chance to gaze at her. She only moved to sip her coffee, as serene as the golden fingers of light caressing their way over her, sifting through the sexy mess of her hair. The sky’s deeper tones, some grays still hiding in the haze over the bay, were like the shadows that lingered in her eyes…and gripped my chest. Her robe hung open, exposing a new pair of pajamas. The black shorts and matching tank top, with a little gold crown embroidered over her left breast, covered enough but not enough at the same time—dunking my dick in more of that magic hard-on glue.

  I tightened my grip on a couch pillow. This battle, craving her but fighting it, wasn’t one I’d had to wage in months. So much had changed since those days when I’d pined for her from the corner of Andrea’s office—though I certainly remembered similar expressions on her face as she’d stared out the window of that glamorous environment. I’d indulged long, selfish stares at her back then, wondering what thoughts had brought that dark blue-green to her eyes. We’d come so far since then. The answer to that dilemma wasn’t hazy for me anymore.

  It sure as hell wasn’t right now.

  The shadows across her face were because of me.

  I released a hard breath. It meant the end of spying on her, but I also hoped it would relieve the claws of self-disgust tearing across my chest. No change. The fuckers were as tenacious as feral cats.

  Margaux pivoted. Her face didn’t change, but her stare lingered, trailing over the blanket slung over my hips. Thank God for that, too. Nothing like greeting the woman who was barely speaking to you with the woody that had been your best friend all night.

  “Hey,” she finally said.

  “Hey.”

  “I started coffee.”

  “It smells great. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  So far, so good. We were at friendly coffee house chatter—better than last night’s closed bathroom door and her demand that I go away. Baby steps.

  “Looks like it’ll be a nice day.”

  “Mmm hmm.” A step forward or back? Her tone was pleasant, but tension still bracketed her face. “Won’t be out much to enjoy it,” she murmured. “The team’s up to our eyeballs in the beauty line’s pre-marketing shit. I’ll probably just eat at my desk, though that’ll be taking my life into my own hands. HR can’t find a single temp who can listen to simple directions. The other day, my office smelled like mayonnaise all afternoon because—”

  I silenced her with a wet, tender kiss on her neck. The moment she’d started the rant, I’d seized the chance to rescue her from it. With the blanket wrapped around my hips, I’d moved behind her before she could recognize the move. Worst case? I’d get slapped for trying. Best case?

  Was this.

  Her body pressing back against me. Her head falling back, fitting into my shoulder. Her determined ditch of the coffee cup, nestling it in the potted fern near the door before wrapping her hands around my arm.

  When she exhaled, too, the sound long and high, I needed no other inspiration. My head dropped, my jaw notching above her collarbone, my breath fanning her luscious cleavage—though remarkably, at this instant, I didn’t give a shit about her cleavage. I yearned more to reclaim the heart inside her chest…the soul inside her sighs.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, holding her tighter to me. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  As she turned in my arms, she slipped a hand around my neck. It was torture to let her stare at me, especially because the shadows were still so tenacious in her eyes, but I didn’t glance off. This was part of the deal. The opening up she’d been imploring me so much for. Doing more of this likely wouldn’t have stopped me from confronting Declan at the Del—but we would’ve been better equipped to handle the aftermath.

  “None of this is easy for you.” She stroked up the back of my head, pulling my hair gently. “I do know that, Michael. You’ve done so much for yourself for so long that accepting help is hell, especially in this form.”

  A smile grabbed my lips and didn’t let go. It was just as rough for her to give the empathy as it was for me to trust Doug—but her gift was like a boulder of gold. “Thank you.” I tugged her closer. “You really do get it.”

  “Because I get you.” She lifted her other hand, scraping through my stubble. “We came from different kingdoms, but our walls were cut from the same stones, built by the same kinds of fears. Tearing them down means we can see the sky, but neither of us knows how to fly…and it’s scary sometimes.” She kissed me softly. “It’s scary a lot of times.”

  I nodded my way into repeating the kiss. Kept my mouth sealed to hers longer now, melding her to me with desperate, passionate need. “And sometimes, I can’t even do the flying thing.” I grimaced. “The cave is all I’m capable of, sugar.”

  “I know,” she soothed. “And last night, Doug strutted into your cave.”

  “You mean took over the whole fucking cave?”

  “He visited the cave.”

  “Well, I didn’t like it.”

  “Well, you need to get over it.” She stepped back, twisting her lips, clawing back her hair. “He believes you, damn it, even about Menger and the goons—and he’s trying to help.”

  “All right, all right.” I spread my hands as if trying to smooth ripples from water. Easing her ire was as just as unfeasible. The blanket slid an inch lower on my hips and I didn’t care. “And I believe you, so I’ll try harder.”

  As she nodded, her features relaxed. “You know, maybe Declan will drop the charges altogether, once he realizes you’re not backing down. Doug’s team will unearth something about these Principals, whoever the hell they are. Wouldn’t exposing them be worse for his position than owing them money?”

  I braced my ass against the dining room table. “Logic might say so.”

  She cocked her head. “But…?”

  “But what would be his next step be?” I pushed it out between tight teeth—and lungs that pumped with the frost of fear.

  “Next step?”

  I laughed without humor. “Oh, there’d be a next step, sweetheart, have no doubt. You want to ta
lk about eminent domain? The man’s adopted it as a personal credo. Dec has no trouble hurting people to get what he wants. Maybe worse.”

  Margaux began rolling her eyes but stopped when I grabbed my own shoulders, actually shivering. “Hey…hey.” She marched back over and squirmed until I opened my embrace, letting her push all the way against me. “You’re getting dramatic again, Caveman Joe.”

  I clutched her tighter. “Because I’m terrified, princess.”

  She angled back, grabbing my face with both hands. “I know. But you’re also not fighting T-Rex on your own anymore.”

  I ran my hands along her back, letting the satin slide around, teasing at the exposed parts of her skin. “No, I’m not.”

  She pumped an arm up, looking every inch a golden blonde cheerleader fantasy—if one ever existed in a short little robe and sexy satin pajamas. “Hurray! Progress!”

  I chuckled but sobered into a pout. “Does that mean I have to retire the caveman club now?”

  She lowered her hand, only to go straight for my blanket. With a saucy little jerk, she released the whole thing. The cotton fell away, exposing my bare waist, hips, and thighs—and everything between—to her freshly heated gaze.

  “Oh, Joe…don’t you dare put away that club.”

  She moved in with a sexy sigh, gazing at me as she stroked a hand down, down, down, until—

  Fuck.

  She wrapped her fingers around my crown first, teasing the bulging flesh until I gritted out a groan. That didn’t mean I had mercy. She focused on my whole shaft next, testing the limits of my cock with every long, knowing caress.

  “I can think of some damn good uses for this…club.” Her breath warmed the base of my throat but fanned from there, spreading across my chest as her fingers stretched around my cock. My hips, compelled by the magic of her touch, rolled with more urgent rhythm, craving the friction of our flesh.

  “Caveman Joe approves of that message,” I grated.

  “See? Caveman Joe’s a smart guy.”

  “Not that smart.” I deliberately tugged back when she rose up for another kiss. “If Caveman Joe was really smart, Jungle Jane would be naked by now.”