No Perfect Princess Read online

  Didn’t stop me from giggling at Claire as she watched him stride up. Poor, pathetic woman. She went to pieces every time she laid eyes on him, and this one was no different. She lasted two seconds before leaping out of the Audi, launching herself at Kil then sealing him in the most obscene lip lock I could ever gag about.

  “As soon as you’re finished extracting each other’s tonsils,” I finally drawled, “you’d better be ready for some fast talking, Kil. A minute ago, your bride was comparing you to large rodents.” As he flashed a put-out glare, I rolled my eyes. “Still not selling it, brother.”

  “Because I’m barely trying.” He buried his nose and lips against the skin beneath Claire’s ear. “I can be very convincing when I need to be. Right, baby?”

  Claire broke out in a crimson blush accompanied by a heavy sigh. My gag didn’t stop her—nor Killian. “I suppose ‘get a room’ wouldn’t be a reasonable demand of you two right now?”

  To my shock, Killian actually pulled back. Slid another grin at me. Shit. If he added a muah-ha-ha to it, wicked glee would have its new poster boy. “Fascinating comment.”

  “What?” Claire interjected. “Why?”

  “For God’s sake, just spill it, Stone.” I rolled my eyes again, though there was real ire behind it now. “And spare the bullshit about your ‘car being broken’. Where is your scrap metal, anyhow?”

  I almost joined in Claire’s laughter as he straightened, firming his face into a glare that had withered moguls, millionaires, and even royalty. I loved inciting it in him—because it scared me as much as a dust mite did a cat.

  “Did you just call my Aston Martin…a piece of scrap metal?”

  I preened. “Kudos, brother. At least you didn’t name the damn thing.” My last word was swallowed by Claire’s laugh. “Ohhh, hell. You did name it.”

  “Her,” Killian muttered. “I did name her.”

  “Lulu?” I volleyed. “Betty Sue? Velma?”

  “You know those are fightin’ words, right, Mare Bear?”

  “Save the bear endearments for doe eyes.” I didn’t hide my clenched teeth as I pointed at Claire with my chin. She giggled again, keeping the mood tolerably playful, but I flashed a look at my brother that spoke one message only. Thin ice, bro. More and more lately, he’d started slipping various forms of Mary into our exchanges—and getting away with it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, or if it would even matter. A year ago, Killian Stone might have been living out of a cardboard box at the beach but now, he was back to getting away with a lot of things most people couldn’t.

  Like the determined way he grabbed Claire’s hand and began towing her up the flagstone driveway. And the grand way he swept a hand toward the castle-like Italianate home that peeked into view at the top. And the expectant stare he didn’t yank from Claire’s face. Not for one damn second.

  I almost smacked her for the blank look she kept up in return. She wasn’t getting this? Yet?

  Killian finally stopped and scooped his other hand around hers. “Well?” he asked her softly.

  Claire peered at him, a hopeless case of clueless still stamped across her face. “Well…what?”

  “What do you think, Fairy Queen?”

  “Think of what?”

  “Of this place?”

  Claire shrugged. Shrugged.

  That was it. I went ahead and growled. “Shit, Claire. Really?”

  Killian pointed a finger at me. “Enough.”

  “Ohhhh, no,” I snapped. “You did not—”

  “I don’t know, Kil.” Like always, our bickering flowed right past the woman. I loved her and hated her for it. “It’s beautiful, of course. You know I love the Mediterranean look.”

  “Yeah…I do.” His features softened. Yay, Claire. Nothing like a good case of pussy-whipped to get a guy over the pissies with his sister.

  “I still don’t understand,” Claire went on. “Why are we here? Who does this belong to? Does one of your friends live here? What’s going on?”

  He sucked in a deep breath. Oh, my God. This was a first. If I wasn’t mistaken, my brother was…nervous. And I was actually a little nervous for him. It was sort of fun.

  “Well…ummm…”

  “Killian. Spit it out!”

  He shifted a little. Cupped her hands tighter. Attempted a smile. “Actually…we live here.”

  Claire choked. Not a help-me-I-ate-too-many-fries choke. More like a help-me-I’m-going-into-shock choke.

  “Claire?” he finally prompted.

  “Yeah?”

  “It looks like the ones you keep telling me you love.”

  “Y-yes. It does…but—”

  “So…happy wedding. A little early. I wanted to surprise you.”

  She laughed—like someone who’d just been admitted to the psych ward by accident. “Oh, I’m surprised.”

  “The realtor will be showing up any minute. She was supposed to be here already, but you got here faster than I thought you would.”

  “We caught good traffic.” Her voice still floated on a tone between dazzled and confused.

  “Or you were speeding again.”

  “I wasn’t speeding.”

  “I thought we talked about the speeding thing, Fairy.”

  I snickered. There was no restraining this one. Killian Stone, going all Mrs. Doubtfire on his fiancé…this scene just got better by the minute.

  When my brother shot a dirty look, I held up both hands in chuckling surrender. I’d never had the chance to catch him sneaking snacks at night or talking to a girlfriend past bedtime, but this sure as hell made up for part of the loss.

  “Maybe I’ll give you two a little space,” I finally offered before turning back toward the road.

  Killian steepled his hands and bowed a little in thanks. Claire was still too shell-shocked—or uptight—to notice. I shook my head at that. Damn. I loved the woman but couldn’t figure her out sometimes. Killian bent over like a Cirque acrobat for her—in an act where he somersaulted through fire, dove with sharks then dismounted down a two hundred-foot wall, landing in a worshipping heap at her feet—only to see her freeze when he spoiled her with that adoration. Most women would sear their panties off from his over-the-top gestures but Claire bolted in the exact opposite direction.

  She made no sense to me. At all. Gazing at her car again only reinforced the feeling. She’d avoided the A8 like a rolling container of plague, simply insisting on rattling around town in her old Honda, until Kil helped her baptize the Audi with a weekend drive to Santa Barbara. Apparently crow tasted best when served with a nice Cabernet and a few triple orgasms.

  The craziest part? From what I could see, Kil still lapped up every drop. The less his extravagance mattered to Claire, the more he found ways of drenching her in it.

  Or was it just that the man was hopelessly in love?

  There went my conscience again. Dammit, the thing’s off-switch had to be nearby…

  Bees danced among the groomed mum beds aside the road. I’d pay a hundred bucks to trade places with one of them and fly back up the driveway. Once Claire recovered from her jolt of holy shit, I bet the pissy fireworks would rival the show at Qualcomm Stadium when the Chargers actually won.

  I leaned against her car to lay in wait, hoping the wind favored me and returned at least a few snippets of their “discussion”.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Then again.

  Incoming text.

  Shit.

  But maybe…notsomuch. The window displayed Michael Pearson as the sender.

  After ignoring the funny flip in my belly, I unlocked the screen.

  :: Need to leave town for a little while. Can you meet me? ::

  I stared at the screen. Swallowed hard. Rubbed a hand across my chest. Why did it ache? And why was the queasiness back in my stomach?

  Was I…sad?

  Bullshit.

  No, no; I was probably coming down with something. That had to be it. First the speed date with the toilet aft
er lunch, and now this yummy bile chaser…lovely. Claire walked away from the day with a mansion; I got to go home with the flu.

  And now, no Michael to even pull a pouty plea for a soup stop with.

  I responded, letting him know I was still with Claire and didn’t have my car.

  :: Text the address. I’ll stop there. ::

  My brows jumped. He’d never been so aggressive about anything—ever. “Bring it on, Mr. Pearson,” I laughed out, sending him the address—and denying how the acid in my belly had suddenly taken wing into butterflies.

  Ohhh, no. Not a damn chance.

  Butterflies were for tweens, twits, and—well—Claire.

  I didn’t do butterflies.

  I proved the point by firing off replies to at least twenty emails, and that was before the real estate agent arrived to give Claire and Killian the full tour of the estate. I got out another ten before Michael’s huge black Denali appeared around the corner.

  And my stomach fizzed, popped, and somersaulted all over again.

  The flu. I had the flu, not butterflies.

  Which worsened in direct proportion to every foot of road his truck covered. Just the damn flu. And every degree of focus I gained on his cropped blond waves, his broad, chiseled shoulders, and his easy, anticipating smile.

  Making me smile in return. Then smooth my hair. And bounce on my toes.

  Oh, dear hell.

  I was turning into Claire.

  This was getting out of hand. I was really…

  Going to have to stop seeing him.

  I hated the resolution as thoroughly as I welcomed it. Feelings were getting involved, and that just couldn’t happen. Issues would be stirred. Emotions would start to be discussed. And when that happened, things always turned dirty and ugly…and painful.

  I looked down at my phone, using his own words as fortitude. Need to leave town for a little while. Perhaps it was a crazy cosmic sign, giving the perfect timing for a break on this thing between us…whatever “this thing” was. Keeping it clean was best. Surgical precision. The anesthetic of time. A pain-free solution for everyone.

  He double-parked alongside Claire’s car and swung down from the driver’s side. He was dressed casually, jeans and a chest-hugging tee roughened by a slightly scuffed black leather jacket and boots—so not what I was used to seeing him in. But goddamn, did he rock the look. Out loud.

  I sucked in breath, wondering if my mouth was watering. Not a word of my normal “cute and clever” came to mind so I was left to gawking as he strolled to where I leaned against the hood of Claire’s Audi. Wind, wood, leather, cedar…he always smelled smoky yet misty, a perfect combination of forest and ocean, making me wonder if he was about to scoop me onto his back and fly me through the trees, spider monkey style. Hell. Now you’re officially worse than Claire.

  He only made the torment worse by stepping closer, right up into my space, toe-to-toe. As I grinned a little, wondering what he’d do if I yanked him forward to make it hip-to-hip as well, he looked down, riveting me in place with his sparkling hazel eyes. After that, the adorable half-smile came out…

  Dammit.

  I really was going to be in the market for a butterfly net, wasn’t I? Maybe even a cage to stow the little beasts in. I drew the line at letting him decorate it in lovesick little hearts with his initials in them, though.

  He grinned a little deeper, showing off dimples that set my senses fluttering all over again, before murmuring, “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” I’d copped to the butterflies, so I might as well conceded to the craving to gaze in his eyes all day, too. I wouldn’t call myself entranced…yet…but the afternoon sun, dancing with all those gorgeous green flecks…in a word, wow.

  “So how was the dress shopping today? Looks like you survived, yeah?”

  I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to give my signature gag. He laughed anyway, able to complete my thought simply from the first gesture. Why not? Sometimes he read my thoughts from a lot less—which really should’ve scared me more.

  He should’ve scared me more.

  But he didn’t.

  And that scared me. To the point that I shivered.

  Michael chuckled again. Thank God he just took it as an extension of my bridal salon PTSD. “That bad, huh?”

  I burrowed a little closer to him. “I’ll spare you the gory details.”

  “Awww, you do care about me.”

  If I got brutally honest about that answer, would you hold it against me?

  “Where are the love birds anyway?”

  I relished the opportunity to grin. “I’d tell you to sit down for this, but even that won’t help.”

  His brows, just a shade darker than his hair, crunched over his eyes. “Serious?”

  I tapped at the phone jammed into his back right pocket. “Better store that addy I just gave you. That’s where you’ll need to address the Christmas cards to them from now on.”

  “Whaaaat?”

  “I’m not kidding.” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder but watched Michael’s face to catch his whole reaction. “Behold, the Killian Stone version of a wedding present.”

  I wasn’t certain what to watch for in him—but his face-splitting grin was, admittedly, stunning. “Well, no kidding,” he drawled. “Kil really does believe in being a tough act to follow. He’s raised the bar for the rest of us chumps beating the XX chromosome burden, hasn’t he?” He laughed at his own joke, shaking his head.

  “Wait, let me get this straight. You don’t think it’s too much? Too over-the-top?”

  “Why? Killian can afford it. And if Claire loves it too, then no, I don’t. If a guy is lucky enough to find the woman of his dreams and is capable of bringing her the world on a platter, why does anything have to be ‘over-the-top’?”

  Who the hell is this guy and what amazing planet does he come from? And where can I buy a ticket to get there?

  Before those exact words tumbled out, I stopped them with a sardonic mutter and an arched brow. “Is that right?”

  “Hmmm. Pretty much.”

  He added a shrug but only for effect. He totally owned his opinion, not making a single excuse for it. At times, like this one, his conviction was a bit sigh-worthy. He always meant what he said, no fancy tact just because of my bitch-on-wheels act, then never backed down. He was honest. Authentic. My breath of fresh air in a damned irresistible package.

  “So hey, blondie, I have to go home for a bit. I always do this time of year, to help my mom out with year-end arrangements for bookkeeping and associated bullshit.”

  I popped out a little grin. “Of course you do, Captain America.”

  “Well, this year, things are a little more involved, so I’m not sure how long I’ll be.” He reached and brushed an errant strand of hair off my cheek. “So…I wanted to say goodbye in person.”

  Before I could stop myself, I flattened my hand over his. “Goodbye isn’t a good thing for me, Pearson.” I swallowed, hating to let him see even that, but it was either that or pushing the words out on a see-saw of tone. I picked the lesser damage. “Let’s just do ‘see you soon’.”

  “Sooner…if you want to come visit.” He kicked up one side of his mouth while biting down on the other. Damn. I’ll take “Effortless Hunks” for eight hundred please, Mr. Trebek. “It’s not far from here, just east, up in Julian. If you want to get away for a couple of days, it’s pretty peaceful. Or maybe just if you miss me, or some shit like that.”

  “Or some shit like that?” I managed it past the strange twists of my stomach. Christ, maybe this was the flu—a virus he seemed to have sole control over. I tensed, fighting the urge to throw myself at him like a moony dimwit. “Well, is everything okay? Is your family all right? Can I do anything to help?” And when the hell did you turn me into Captain America, too?

  “I don’t want to weigh you down with it all,” he answered. “And if you want to do something nice, say you’ll think about coming for a visit. Because…I thi
nk I’ll miss you.”

  He lowered his hand to my waist, drawing me closer to him—and despite how I’d longed for it, I was still surprised by my willingness to let him.

  “Or some shit like that?” I murmured, attempting not to feel like a twelve year-old at her first school dance.

  “Yeah.”

  His voice was lower and grittier than mine. It reverberated through his chest—I knew, because mine was now tight against it—only heightening my awareness of the ache in my own. What the hell was going on? Was I actually…sad? And what was the BFD if I was? Our relationship had grown to be a calm harbor for me. A real safety.

  So yeah…I would miss him.

  I did it. Went ahead and wrapped my arms around his neck, securing his body tighter to mine. I turned my face into the warm, firm column of his neck—and for a moment, just one, surrendered all my tension into his unmistakable strength.

  When would I be able to do this again?

  I really didn’t like this. Not one damn bit.

  “Are you sure…you have to go?”

  “I’m sorry, sugar.” His whisper blended with the wind. “I do.” He cleared his throat and added volume again. “They need me now, I don’t have a choice—”

  And why did I feel like that was only half the story?

  “My place is prepaid for a while. Both my landlady and Andrea were cool about it, at least.”

  I bit back a retort to that. Of course Mother was “fine” with it. Chances were, she was chomping at the bit to abolish as many reminders as she could of the team who’d been in Chicago with us during that disastrous trip back in February. If she could fully fire Michael and Chad, she probably would—but full-time slaves were so hard to come by these days, even in an at-will state.

  “So I’m your last stop?”

  “Best for last.” He bent his head to directly meet my eyes. Then bit his lip again.

  Hell.

  “I’m—I’m glad,” I stammered, before frantically modifying, “I mean, I’m glad you came to at least see me before you ditched me.”