No Magic Moment Page 5

  “Damn. I don’t even know how to start a garden.”

  “Of course you do.” I grabbed her other hand. “You just don’t know it yet.”

  Her eyes slid shut. When she opened them again, there was no mistaking the bright sheen across their emerald surfaces.

  “I’m still missing pieces, Michael. Lots of them. How am I supposed to promise myself to you, when I don’t even know what myself is?”

  I lifted her hands to my lips. Pressed into them, acknowledging—and hating—the desperation of the move. To watch her struggle through moments like this, fighting to learn even the simplest truths about her heart, gutted me. I saw the enormous courage of that heart. I also saw the fucked-up wasteland of a childhood she’d had to drag it through—a wilderness that would’ve beaten her spirit even bloodier, if not for that ring.

  “You think we all get to have all the pieces, sugar?” I released her fingers to stroke my knuckles down her cheeks. “News flash, Miss Asher. I fell in love with the pieces I already have.”

  She sighed and smiled. “And I love all the pieces you’ve given me too.”

  I dropped my hands. “Shit.” Her resolute tone, added to the sigh, didn’t require a rocket science degree to interpret. “There’s another ‘but’ coming here, isn’t there?” Because this night hadn’t gone downhill fast enough from the first two.

  She notched her chin higher. “You deserve more than pieces, Michael.” Then higher. “But so do I.”

  I rolled my stare toward the ceiling. “Yep. Here it comes.”

  “Don’t.” She stabbed a finger to my sternum. “I’m not your damn fishwife, nagging you about taking out the trash. I’m the woman who loves you—”

  “Margaux—”

  “And the woman you just proposed to.” She pushed off and stepped back. “Unless you were only fucking around or something.”

  A hundred switches of fury flipped in my blood. “Did I sound like I was fucking around?”

  She folded her arms. “You want an honest answer to that?”

  “Damn it.” I muttered it while dipping my head, confirming I’d already figured that part out. I’d really turned this into a crap pile, hadn’t I? Yeah, even knowing that the woman didn’t let me keep calling her princess just because it was a pretty word. Sometimes—a lot of times—she yearned for petticoats and chivalry, for old-fashioned school desks and rules she could push…and for a marriage proposal from a Disney movie, my knee on the ground and her ring on a pillow.

  “I thought we were talking about you.”

  “Which equates to you, dumb shit.” Now she poured herself more Aberlour. “That’s the way it still works, right? ‘The two shall become one’? ‘Lookin’ at the other half of me’? ‘Anywhere you go, let me go, too’?”

  I sucked in air through my nose. Muttered back, “Yeah. That’s how it still works.”

  “So maybe you have something to tell me?”

  I ground my jaw. Not without serving you a heaping plate of ugly, my love. Not without showing you my deepest pain, my worst shame—and my darkest fear. That you’ll take one look and decide this prince was more than you bargained for.

  “Michael.” Forget princess. She stamped both syllables with queenly command, setting aside her drink to stand before me. I’d conjured her as a Highlander just minutes ago—now she was a royal one. Her stance made me wonder if the schoolgirl shirt was about to spring an ermine cape. “We’ve already been through so much. You’ve helped me past so much…”

  I pushed my gaze back into hers. All her fire, spirit, passion and love waited for me. I swallowed past a tight throat. She was so beautiful—and deserved to live every day knowing that. “I’m glad,” I murmured. “No. I’m delirious. What I said, earlier…it wasn’t just words for the middle of a good screw. I’ll be here for you, baby. Always.”

  Her lips tightened. “And I love you for it. But that’s only half of what we are. I need to be your safe place, too.”

  I lifted my hands toward her hips. She stepped out of reach again—damn it. She was keeping this shit real—free and clear of any pheromones, hormones or chemistry that could get in the way.

  “I’m not hallucinating this, okay?” she asserted. “Don’t think I didn’t learn anything useful from Andrea. The woman didn’t know a lullaby from a rock ballad, but she sure as hell taught me how to spot a person holding back secrets.” Her head cocked, emphasizing the muss of her hair, piling more arousal onto my tension. “You think I’ve simply written it off that you call the police substation in Julian every week to check on the farm—not Carlo, your mom or anyone at the farm? Speaking of your mom, do you really think I don’t see those strange glances you trade with her, when you assume I’m preoccupied with my phone? Are you assuming I’ve forgotten the bruises she disguised with makeup, when we went to visit over the Fourth of July?”

  A lot of times, silence was the best response. I banked on that now.

  “For all your talk of wanting to help with my pieces, you’re still holding back a shit pile of yours from me, Michael.” She swallowed so hard, I heard the lump slam the bottom of her throat. Note to self—rethink the silence-is-best thing. “If you think I’m pissed-off,” she pushed on, “then think again. You’re not pissing me off. You’re breaking my heart.”

  Hell.

  I reached for her again. She stumbled back again. Sometimes, being bigger and faster came in handy. I captured her after two steps, yanking her against me, growling into her hair. “Your heart is the most precious thing in my world.”

  Her frame remained rigid. “You have a shitty way of showing it.”

  She wasn’t going to relent. Admitting it to myself didn’t help the impression of being a lion in a corner. I couldn’t exactly swing out with teeth bared and claws exposed, so I chose another counterattack—pulling her head back by her scalp then crushing my lips to hers.

  Sweet fuck.

  Nothing like planning a little retaliation—and gaining some sweet perks.

  I’d taken her by surprise, meaning she had no time to think of a defense. Everything she turned over in that kiss was her purest instinct, wild and open, sighing and free, brimming with all the fire and sensuality that had first hardened my cock, long before my idiotic brain caught on. Back in the days when she was just the boss’s daughter, a headstrong blonde with an impressive sarcastic streak, and I was another cog in Andrea Asher’s corporate wheel. I’d damn near gotten off to thoughts of kissing her like this and never understood why. Now, I comprehended every speck of it.

  She was meant to be mine.

  And always would be.

  So why did I have to smear that with filth from my past? With degradation I’d never asked for? Why did I have to keep paying the price for what Declan had done?

  It ends now.

  Before I could stop it, my soul punched the same words over my lips. I’d broken off a kiss like that for it, too? What the hell?

  “What the hell?” Margaux’s echo was stabbed with equal confusion “What are you talking about?”

  I kissed her again. She tasted doubly as good, the bite of the Scotch mixing with the sweet magic of her passion, plunging my mouth back over hers for more. Goddamn, if I could only ravage her like this for hours…

  The thought made it hell to drag away, but if she was half as affected as I was, now was the time to do it.

  “It ends now.” The words dovetailed into my purpose, so why not? I punctuated by lifting her right hand off my chest and curling her pinkie finger toward my lips. As I brushed a kiss over the gold circle there, I delved my stare deep into hers—and realized my intention of mesmerizing her was a massive fail. Instead, I wondered where my lungs had stashed my air and where my brain had dumped my equilibrium. “You take my breath away.”

  Her features trembled, too. Nevertheless, she prodded, “Michael?”

  “This.” I tugged on her hand as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “This. The ring—and all the mystery about it—wh
y don’t we end it? For good?”

  Her forehead furrowed. “Huh?”

  “To accept my ring, you need to get pieces back from this one, right?”

  She added a catlike head tilt. “Why do I smell a giant pile of distract-the-girlfriend?”

  “Full disclosure?” I countered. “Maybe it is a distraction. But it’s also a solid offer.” I tucked her knuckles against my chest and let my forehead dip to hers. “Your happiness…it’s everything to me, Margaux. You keep telling me how you sense Caroline has been near, how you even think you see her sometimes.” With the slow track of one tear down her cheek, I knew her reply to that. “So why don’t we learn the answer for sure? To find her, reconnect with her…to find more of those missing parts of you?”

  “God damn it, Pearson.” She angrily swiped the tear. “That’s one hell of a distraction.”

  I grinned. “I like pulling out the stops for you, blondie.”

  She popped up on tiptoe and rammed a kiss to my lips, as if intending to punish as well as pleasure. Did I dare tell her that the only true punishment for me was a life without her? Hell, no. First, the tinge of salt on her lips turned her into a pure taste of heaven. Second, I vowed to make so many of her dreams come true, she’d never want to leave my arms. This dream was one of the biggest—the quest for Caroline Beecham, the woman who’d been more mother to her than Andrea Asher ever was, then paid the price for it by being banished from Margaux’s world when Margaux was just a kid. After pulling that loser move, Andrea had ordered no tears be shed over the matter. Almost two decades had passed since then. Margaux still didn’t know what had happened to Caroline.

  My girl’s single tear, even now, was a blaring broadcast of how meaningful a reunion with the woman would be—no matter how hard she tried disguising it with a snarky smirk.

  “For the love of Gucci.” Like every good princess, her favorite colloquialisms were a creative take on the almighty. “I need to be more careful, don’t I?” She wound her hands around my neck and tugged at the ends of my hair. “When you’re up to something, you’re really up to something.”

  I snaked my lips upward. “I like being up for you, sugar.”

  Her answering smile could cut miles through the emerging fog outside—not to mention my cock, now straining to prove my words as truth to her. “Incorrigible.”

  I flipped up her skirt. “Just the way you like me.”

  She hitched her legs around my waist. “Just the way I love you.”

  Chapter Four

  Margaux

  “What about the back?” I whirled around again, flattening the silk fabric of my gown to my figure.

  “Just as amazing as the front.” Michael pulled my hands into his, trying to calm my nerves. “What has you in such a fit? The School Arts Foundation is one of your favorite causes. You’ve done these things a million times. You’ll be the belle of the ball, like you always are.” He kissed the tip of my nose, careful not to smear the color on my lips.

  I tried breathing deeply while studying my reflection again. Sorrelle had brought his A game to get me ready, but a million butterflies still duked it out in my stomach.

  “I don’t know. I guess—I don’t know.”

  I knew exactly what it was, but I didn’t want to tell him.

  It was him.

  He was special—more than that—and tonight, the whole world would officially know it. It was our first major function as a couple, meaning even Hollywood and New York would send teams to cover it. The photogs would be crawling all over the place looking for hot pictures and a hotter story, turning my nerves into a jangled mess.

  Talking to him about it wasn’t going to make anything better, especially because he’d been working so hard this whole week. His long days at Aequitas had been followed by nights of diving into research about how the last eighteen years had seemed to swallow Caroline Beecham whole. So far, his quest had turned up nothing but dead ends and frustration, making him more excited about getting to dress up and shine with me at the gala tonight.

  He was right about the gown, though. It was amazing, fitting like a second skin. Black satin clung to my top in the form of a strapless bodice, gathered under my breasts into a rectangular rhinestone cluster. The material was fitted down to my knees, where wisps of chiffon, also in black, took over down to the floor. The chiffon added movement and depth even when I stood still, a plus when a lot of red carpet posing was in my near future.

  Sorrelle had pulled my hair into a severe top bun then tamed every stray piece with industrial-strength hairspray. My makeup was intense but feminine and my jewelry, all diamonds, was selected to accent the rhinestones on the dress. Michael wore a classic Tom Ford tuxedo that complemented my dress perfectly.

  To the regular onlooker, we had it nailed. If I could wrestle the inner chaos, I’d feel as perfect as I looked.

  We loaded into a limousine for the event, wanting to make a splashier entrance than my 750i would. The travel time was only fifteen minutes from the El Cortez so I leaned into Michael’s side and tried to relax as we soared into the night, seeming to fly over the Coronado Bay Bridge, escaping to the Silver Strand for the evening.

  The arrival line clogged Adella Avenue leading into the Hotel del Coronado, so Michael and I made small talk and little jokes as Andre inched the car toward the front of the line. My nerves finally began to calm, soaking up the energy from my smart, sexy beau.

  Michael was good for me. Damn good. His company made me happy, content…solid. I began to wonder why I’d been so damn nervous back at home—

  Until cameras flashed through the tinted glass.

  One last check of my hair and lipstick, just before the back doors were whisked open by the attendants. Andre’s friendly face came into view, as he extended a hand to help me onto the red carpet. Michael got out to help from the other side, ensuring there were no wardrobe malfunctions. The dress was pretty safe, so the car exit went smoothly. I accepted Michael’s waiting arm then gripped him a little tighter as we followed the carpet down the path into the magnificent Victorian icon known simply as the Hotel Del.

  Having lived in San Diego my entire life, I’d been to so many events here I knew the property like the back of my hand. Regardless, the sight of the distinct red cupolas, sprawling white buildings and scenic beach was never a disappointment. It was easy to see why event planners and filmmakers loved the place.

  We smiled our brightest smiles—and entered the gauntlet of flashbulbs and questions.

  “When’s the big day?”

  “Who are you two wearing?”

  “Margaux, when are you going to make an honest man of Michael?”

  Blah, blah, blah. “I need a cosmo,” I mumbled into Michael’s ear. “How’s that for honest?”

  “Good call.” An enticing smirk curled his lush mouth. “Let’s stick together. Looks like the sharks are swimming in packs tonight.” He emphasized the invitation by leaning over and kissing my neck just below my ear, making me grin then shiver. He knew every spot on my body that elicited tremors like that…every single way to liquefy me, no matter where we were or what we were doing.

  I peered around for a broom closet to haul him off to. And hoped, by some off chance, there’d be a random ruler in it, too.

  Of course, the flash of a camera went off right at the same moment, reminding me of the zero privacy we’d have tonight.

  “At least they don’t know what I was thinking.” I gave him a playful wink. “But I’ll tell you later if you want.”

  “Oh, I want.”

  I gave him a saucy grin and waggled my brows. “Now, about that bar…”

  Michael took my hand and tugged me away from the photographer. Not surprisingly, we found a bar in less than a minute, adjacent to the ballroom the event was being held in. I wasn’t sure it was the bar we were supposed to be at as these society things often had private bar set-ups inside the room itself, but it was already nice to be free from the crowd for a few minutes, so I didn’
t tell Michael.

  After he purchased two bottles of beer and I ordered a cosmo, we gave a ridiculous tip to the adorable girl behind the bar and braced ourselves to reenter the main event room.

  Until shock froze me completely.

  “Oh, hell no.” I barely noticed half my drink sloshing onto my wrist.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael demanded. “Is it too sweet? I don’t know how you drink those things in the first place. Do you want me to get you something else?”

  “No. It’s not the drink. In fact—” I slammed back what was left of the cosmo, finishing it in one gulp.

  Michael’s mouth dropped open. “Shit. The last time you did that, I ended up with my nuts in a vice.”

  “Yeah, it’s not you this time, either, stud.”

  “Then what’s going on, princess?”

  I pointed toward the easel just outside the ballroom door. “That.”

  The poster, a student-designed advertisement for the School Arts Foundation, depicted several details about the event—including, in huge red letters, the name of the evening’s star speaker.

  DOUG SIMCOX

  Please, earth…open up and swallow me whole.

  I closed my eyes for a long moment, hoping I’d just read the thing wrong. But reopening them dumped me right back into the This is Your Life, Margaux Asher lightning round—without the cool mushies to show for it.

  Doug Simcox was a former second baseman for the New York Yankees—and the man who’d swept me off my feet for eight months, until dropping me with the thud heard round the world. In the process, he tore my heart out, tap danced on it for everyone to see, then handed back the remains in a banker box, along with everything else I’d left at his place—to which he promptly changed the locks. I’d handled my devastation and humiliation with the immaturity that fit my age, resorting to extreme tactics to win him back—including, but not limited to, a flashy attempt to take my own life.

  Jump forward. This isn’t then, girlfriend. You’re not that person anymore. You’re healed and adjusted—and best of all, you’ve explained all this in full to Michael already. There’d be no fireworks of the gasping, dramatic variety from our corner of the ballroom this evening.