Margot’s agent had, of course, thrown her under the bus and said that Margot would love to meet for dinner.
This was a complete nightmare.
The last time Margot was at a public dinner had been an absolute catastrophe. Her grandmother had begged Margot to let her take her out for her birthday.
Her fingernails dug into her palms while she tried to calm herself down. She could still remember the curious stares from people. It was normal to be curious, even she knew that. But what wasn’t normal was the whispering, pointing, laughing.
She’d tried to ignore all of it, but her nerves got the better of her and she’d fallen.
God, she could still hear the noise of the silverware slamming against the floor. She’d been so insecure about the stares from people that she’d tripped and taken half the table down with her.
It was the last time she’d been in public, and after driving home in tears, she made her grandmother promise never to ask her to do it again.
That had been five years ago.
With a gulp she read the e-mail.
They had reservations at seven that night. “Bring your significant other!” the e-mail encouraged.
Right. Because she had one of those.
A plus one.
The problem was, anytime her agent assumed she had a boyfriend, Margot had always laughed it off or responded with a vague e-mail in hopes that the subject would be dropped.
So now, not only did she have to go out in public…
…but the expectation was that she’d have someone with her.
Hell.
Her mind drifted to the man downstairs.
She sighed. He’d hold it over her, or at least make her give him something in return. And the last thing she needed was to be in a position where he could take more of her heart.
With a groan, she slapped her hand against her clammy forehead and kept reading.
“It’s good for you to meet your editor in person, gives them confidence in your work…” Blah, blah, blah.
The more she read, the more her stomach clenched with dread. It was going to be an absolute disaster.
And the worst part? She was actually tempted to ask Bentley. Not because she wanted him by her side—okay, so maybe that was part of it—but mainly because she was so terrified to go by herself that the thought had her dizzy.
Margot licked her dry lips. She could always cancel at the last minute, develop a stomach flu.
She pressed her fingers against the keys, then jerked back. A week ago she would have lied.
But today…something held her back.
Maybe it was the conversation she’d had with Bentley, where she’d done a stellar job of asking him if he even knew himself all the while feeling guilty for being the sort of person who knew themselves too well and kept hidden away out of fear.
She knew what people’s reactions would be like—just like she knew what her reaction would be in public. For the most part, people were nice, but there was always that certain percentage that stared, that whispered. She broke out into a cold sweat thinking about it.
The problem was that he made her feel like a complete hypocrite and he hadn’t even done anything! At least not yet.
How bad could it be? It had been years since she’d gone out to dinner, maybe it would be nice? A nice bottle of wine. Good food.
Maybe he’d hold the door open for her.
She would like that.
Maybe it was time, at least to go outside, drive more than a mile away from the house.
Live a normal life.
Her body shook as sweat started to trickle down her back. Just thinking about a normal life—going outside, driving—had her ready to have a nervous breakdown.
What the hell was she thinking? She had to decline.
And yet, the idea of staying in…
The idea of doing the same thing over and over again—living this insane life of repetition—was just as panic inducing as the thought of leaving the house.
Why was she even considering it?
She only had one answer.
Bentley.
Somehow without even trying he’d gotten to her, made her feel trapped in her own house.
Vampire!
She wasn’t a vampire.
But she did have about five million takeout menus and an uncanny ability to one-click everything she needed on Amazon.
Because it was easier than the stares.
She gulped.
Maybe they had more in common than she thought.
Bentley might be a runner.
But Margot was a hider.
Chapter Nineteen
He was in way over his head.
That was for damn sure.
Swimming laps had always been an almost spiritual experience to him: the quiet rhythm of his strokes, the easy way he glided through the water. It helped him think.
And think he did.
About Margot’s hair.
Her kissable lips.
Those damned freckles.
Her smile.
He swam harder as confusion clouded his judgment of what was really going on between them. It was becoming too easy to slip back into the friend zone, but the thoughts that lingered in his head were anything but friendly. No, they were downright dirty, tempting, wicked. Those thoughts fucking hated the friend zone…he’d never wanted to be there in the first place.
Since the moment he first laid eyes on her.
And he sure as hell didn’t want it now.
How had things spiraled so far out of his control? Showing up had been like his worst nightmare come to life, like opening a Pandora’s box of memories that he’d nailed down on purpose out of fear of them getting out and ruining him.
He should have known this would happen.
In the week he’d been there, she’d grown on him—even if she was abrasive at least 90 percent of the time. It was refreshing. Challenging.
Damn it, she’d always been challenging.
His arms burned as he swam one more lap then stopped to catch his breath.
“I have a favor to ask you.” Margot’s voice was barely audible.
“Shit.” He turned to face her. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to appreciate your back muscles.” Her face was pale but at least she was smiling—even if the smile was more wobbly then secure.
“You sure about that? Because you look ready to puke into the pool.”
She wrung her hands together, opened her mouth, shut it, and then put her hands on her hips.
“Yes.” Bentley drew out the word and grinned. “I’ll have sex with you.”
“Hilarious.” Her nostrils flared.
“Go ahead, take off your shirt. I’ll wait.”
Her cheeks burned bright red. “No! That’s not what I—” She shook her head. “That’s…”
“The way I see it—” he swam toward the edge of the pool, where she was wearing a damn path from her awkward pacing “—that’s the only thing that would make you look so nervous you look like a ghost.”
“Sex doesn’t make me nervous,” she snapped.
“Could have fooled me.” He swatted playfully at the water and grinned up at her. “You know, since my nakedness always seems to…offend you.”
“People wear clothes for a reason.”
“Stupid reasons.”
“Can we get back to the favor?”
“Of sex?”
“I do not want to have sex with you!”
He blinked and then rested his arms against the warm concrete. “I honestly think that’s my first rejection. Hurts more than I thought it would.”
Rolling her eyes, Margot let out a groan and pulled a chair across the concrete until she was about a foot away from him. “I…I have to go out…to leave the house. I need you to come with me.”
Why the hell was she so nervous about leaving the house? Had she even left the house since he’d been here? Who grocery-shopped? Gassed h
er car? Did she even have a car?
“Okay.” He swallowed back all his questions. “So where are we going?”
“Dinner.”
“Margot, are you asking me out on a date?”
“No!” she said quickly. “It’s only business.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“I knew this was a bad idea.” She moved to stand, lifting a shaky hand and pressing it to her temple.
“Wait,” he called out. “I’m sorry, let’s start over. This favor you want is a business…dinner?”
She gave a jerky nod.
“With you and…?”
“My publisher.” Her body swayed. Shit, was she going to pass out? Over a business dinner?
“Sounds fun.” He nodded. “Right?”
“So fun,” she choked out drily.
“Margot?”
“Hmm?”
“When was the last time you went out to dinner?”
She didn’t answer for a while, just stared down at him like a war was raging inside her head: Tell the truth or lie. He wanted her to be honest. And he wanted to help. God knew why.
Suppressing a groan, he waited.
Margot finally ground out, “Five years.”
“In human years?” he asked.
“No. Dog years.”
“Oh, well, that makes more sense.”
Her lips twitched.
“Better not laugh, Margot. The last thing you want to do is give in and laugh just because I’m dying to hear it.”
“If I laugh, will you come?”
“So now you want me to come?” God he’d missed her. The thought slipped past his mental barriers before he had the sense to stop it, and like a wave, more thoughts of them in bed together came rushing through his brain. “You’re so demanding today.”
“Ha ha.” She spoke the words rather than laughing. “Good enough?”
“Eh, we can work on it later.”
“Thanks, Bentley.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Seriously, thank you.”
“You used to call me Bent.”
“I also used to call you jackass,” she countered. “I’d take what I can get.”
“This.” He pressed his hands against the side of the pool and heaved himself up onto his elbows. “This is what I miss.”
“Arguing with me?”
“Arguing, flirting, talking, joking…You asked me if I knew who I was.” Why the hell was he speaking? “I think I lost a part of him—when I lost you.”
Margot froze, her eyes darting between him and the pool. “But you didn’t.”
“I did,” he whispered. He’d said enough. He was losing his mind, and for the first time in a really long time, the crazy that came along with it didn’t bother him.
* * *
“Margot.” Bentley knocked on her door. “Are you ready to go?”
“No!” she wailed from inside.
With a sigh, he tried the knob. It turned, so he pushed the door open and walked in.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screamed from her spot in the middle of the floor, holding a black scrap of a dress against her almost fully naked body.
He raked his eyes over her luscious form and barely managed not to groan out loud when a piece of the black fabric fell away from her right breast.
He’d seen a lot of women naked.
None of the women even compared to the smooth supple feast that was before him—like a fucking buffet of curves he couldn’t wait to sample.
“Bentley!” She pointed to the door.
He braced his hands against the door frame. “I think I’ll stay.”
“You don’t get a vote!” Her voice screeched and then tears welled in her eyes as she looked down at her prosthetic leg.
He followed her gaze. “Battle scar.”
“What?” she exclaimed.
“It’s not a wound. It’s not a weakness. It’s a battle scar… You warred. You came out on the other side. Don’t ever look at your leg like that again in front of me.” The harshness of his voice surprised even him, the anger he felt at the way she saw herself had him ready to rip something—anything—apart with his bare hands.
He had no idea where it was coming from, this insane need to protect her—even if it was from herself.
“Look at me,” he commanded, taking a step toward her.
One more step and his body was hovering over her shaking form. “You’re beautiful.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “I don’t know what to wear.”
“Go naked.”
She giggled.
“We can match.” He started removing his tie.
“No!” Her eyes went round as saucers as she half-leaped at him and grabbed his hands.
“Why not?” he teased. “Nobody would stare at your leg if I arrive with my cock out.”
Another giggle, and then she burst out laughing.
He cupped her chin, flicking her bottom lip with his finger. “Don’t get me wrong…a naked Margot…” He whistled. “But that laugh…I’ve stored that laugh in my memory—forever.”
She kissed him.
He tugged her hard against him. “We’re going to be late.”
“I know,” Margot whispered against his mouth. “I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” She wriggled away.
“You can’t just kiss a man and run away. I’ve read that story. She drops her shoe, he chases her, there’s a pumpkin—and he has to go through hell to get her back.”
“You have to have her in the first place in order to get her back.” Her eyebrows rose in defiance.
“Who says I don’t?”
“The girl.”
“She’s crazy, doesn’t know her own heart or mind—but her body?” He pulled her back in close. “It hums…”
“You’re a dangerous man, Bentley Wellington,” she breathed. “A danger to women. Society—”
“Wear red,” he said, surprising himself because the woman was half naked in his arms, and he was actually telling her to put clothes on. Another first. “Show off your legs.”
“But—”
He pressed a finger to her mouth. “And no buts.”
She gave him a shaky nod and whispered, “Give me five minutes.”
“You have two.” He kissed her again. “Or I’m coming back in and there won’t be any dinner…at least with your publisher.”
She blushed and looked away.
“I lied. I’m giving you one minute.”
“Bentley!” She shoved him toward the door. “I can’t move around that fast.”
“That’s too bad for your publisher. Oh look, I win again.”
She shoved him out the door, and he heard the lock turn.
Chapter Twenty
Margot had a car.
A car that worked.
A really nice car that sat in the garage gathering dust.
She never drove.
Ever.
She’d stopped driving. Only bad things happened when she drove—she had proven that to herself a long time ago. So when Bentley offered to drive she nearly sobbed with relief.
Except she hadn’t exactly put two and two together: a sports car and Bentley Wellington.
Needless to say, he drove fast.
Way too fast.
“Hey, are you okay?” He grabbed her thigh.
“Watch the road.” She gripped the leather seat with both hands, and sweat pooled at the base of her neck as they passed car after car. It had been two minutes, and already she was regretting the decision to go.
She’d thought about her leg.
About how the last outing had gone.
But she hadn’t thought about the car ride.
“B-Bentley.” She clenched her eyes shut. “Can you please slow down?”
“The speed limit’s fifty; I’m going fifty-one and one half.”
She opened one eye then the other. “You can’t go in halves!”
“It sounds less like breaking the law.”
“It’s still too fast!” Tears welled in her eyes.
He looked at her, then back at the road, his jaw clenched, and for whatever insane reason, he hit the accelerator.
“Stop the car!” she wailed. “Bentley!”
“If I go ten miles over, twenty,” he said in a calm voice, “what’s going to happen?”
“Bentley!”
He slowly applied the brakes as they drove into town. “And now I’m going under the speed limit, while turtles pass us and grandmas flip me off. But one thing still remains the same.”
She was going to strangle that smug grin right off his face!
“You can do everything right, and bad shit still happens. Or you can do everything wrong and walk away without so much as a scratch. Accidents. Happen.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I wasn’t there.” No. He wasn’t. The reminder was jarring. “But I do know this…you didn’t purposely injure yourself or kill your parents. Accidents happen. End of story.”
He gripped the steering wheel so hard that she was surprised it was still attached.
“How much do I owe you for that therapy session?” she asked snidely. “I’m not stupid—”
“I didn’t say you were stupid. Stupidity has nothing to do with it. You’re smart, too smart. You overthink and overanalyze every possible situation, every possible outcome; you always have. You think if you can explain the why behind the accident then you’ll finally be able to move on, but you’ll never know why, or how.” He pulled into a parking spot and turned off the engine. “I could have kissed you, you know.”
“What?” What was he talking about? “While you were driving like a speed demon?”
“When you were sixteen.” His voice was distant. “I could have kissed you that day, could have delayed you at least five minutes. God knows I wanted to. And then fucking Jennifer, who wasn’t even supposed to show up for another hour, came up to us, and I hated how the girls treated you so I thought, well, I’ll get Jennifer away from Margot now, and hang with her later.”
“We made plans.” Margot swallowed the lump in her throat. “To watch movies later.”
“Yup.” Bentley released the steering wheel then slammed his hand against it. “So really, it’s my fault, Margot. All of it. If I hadn’t been such a coward, had I kissed my best friend, like I’d wanted to do since the minute I set eyes on her, your parents wouldn’t be dead, and you wouldn’t be thinking of yourself as a woman who had nothing to offer—when you’ve always had everything.”
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