The Secret (Magnolia Grove #4)

by J. B. McGee

  “Feisty, fierce, and powerful. Tigress reminded me of you. She’s also powerful. Elegant. She’s honorable. She doesn’t fight with her claws. She doesn’t have to.” Is this how he views me? I put my forehead against his and wrap my arms around his neck, staring in his eyes as he continues, “I mean, you’re all those things, Cam.”

  I shrug. I’m not, but if he wants to think I am, I’m not going to stop him because I’ve yearned to have a man think and look at me the way Holden is right now. After the way Holden treated me, I figured Oliver was an upgrade. But I deserved more. This is the side of Holden I fell in love with in high school and didn’t even realize it. As I sit here gazing at him, I’m wondering if I deserve this much.

  “Don’t be modest. You are. Most girls would have gotten in a cat fight, clawing their way through, if Charity had done to them what she did to you at the auction and then after everything came out about them. But you act with grace and elegance in a way that makes people that much more envious of you.”

  Butterflies take flight in my stomach, flittering and fluttering about. “Thank you,” I whisper. “If you had just said this to me back then, I wouldn’t have had to watch the movie or wait to hear your professions all these years later.”

  “You know that wouldn’t have worked back then. Timing is everything. It’s happening the way it’s supposed to.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  He shakes his head. “I am right. That’s a fact. But anyway, that’s not why I called you that. I mean, not the only reason.” His lips quirk up as he gives me that mischievous grin I’ve come to know. I’m not sure I’m going to like this next part based on that look. “Tigress and Po became sidekicks. Despite her reservations about him, he grew on her. And after I saw that movie, I finally admitted what I had been feeling. You were my sidekick, and I wanted more than friendship with you, but it scared me because I didn’t want to lose you. Tigress and Po kept each other safe. I wanted to keep you safe. I couldn’t do that if we were no longer friends because I fucked it up by trying to be more. Hell, I didn’t even expect anything from you in return.”

  “And so you realized and asked me on a double date that wasn’t really a double date, and then I acted like I only wanted to be friends because I was stupid and confused?”

  “And I thought about Tigress and Po. I hoped with more time I’d grow on you like he on had her. That day at the pool, I realized we weren’t cartoon characters. That’s fiction, fantasy, and not realistic to think we could protect each other. The realization hit me like a shit ton of bricks. And then your father’s threats, losing my sister, and Dad more than fucking everything up. I was so pissed at Kung Fu Panda, I didn’t watch the sequel when it came out three years ago in the theater.” He laughs. “I ended up renting the DVD. Like it was the movie’s fault or like boycotting its release was going to make a damn difference. But again, that isn’t why I called you that.”

  “Dammit, Holden. Spit it out already.” I grind against his hip. “You’re redefining delayed gratification.”

  He chuckles. “I told you to shoot the hell out of Amie and Brody. And unlike Tigress, who acts without hesitation and has a tendency to slay her opponents with power and speed, you completely froze and freaked the hell out, instead.”

  I playfully slap his taut abdomen. “Asshole!”

  He doesn’t flinch. “It was fucking adorable.” Flipping me over, he straddles me, pinning me to the ground. His eyes are dark and pooled with desire. “I adore you, Camellia Spencer. I always have. That’s what the hell it was all about. I just didn’t know how to show it back then and the timing was fucking shit.” I let out a laugh that is partly a nervous exhale. “Do you know that the first thing Tigress ever said to Po was that he didn’t belong in Jade Palace, that he was a disgrace?”

  “Of course I don’t. I haven’t watched it. But I hope you’re going to take me home tomorrow and watch them all with me. How many are there?” I squish my face together. “I think I just became a huge fan of cartoon action movies.”

  “I don’t know. A bunch. Cam, I just…”

  “What?”

  His lips brush mine as the breeze blows. Goosebumps erupt everywhere. “When we were at your parents’ house—when you had this bathing suit on and bended over to pick a movie—I felt this pull, but I wanted to protect our friendship. After I saw that movie, when I was in your room and saw your bathing suit, I realized we had more than Tigress and Po.” My heart races. “But a week later, they had so much more than us. For the last nine years, I’ve longed to be accepted the way Tigress accepted Po. To know that I did belong in Magnolia Grove. Not because I give a shit about anyone or their opinions of me, but because I wanted to be a part of wherever you were. I want to be your friend, your lover, your forever.” His voice cracks. “Fuck.” He glances away. Does Holden Masters have a tear in his eye? “Sorry, sand.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He stares back at me. “The biggest mistake I ever made was not fighting for you, for pushing you away more. If I’d done everything I could have to prove your father wrong—to prove I wasn’t like my dad—maybe it wouldn’t have taken us so long to be in this place. It’s the closest to heaven I’ve ever been.”

  I caress his cheek. “Didn’t you just say it’s all happening the way it should be?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, you think if I had watched Kung Fu Panda back when we were teenagers, I would have been able to put all that together?” I bite my bottom lip to try to hide my smile.

  “Yeah. At least the Tigress part. You would have surely known why I called you that.”

  “I wouldn’t have known the full context, Holden. And if I’d known you felt this way, but walked away from me, it would have only further solidified your place under asshole in Webster.”

  “Well, thank fuck you never watched it then.” He winks. “Now, let me tell you, show you, all the ways in which we’re not Tigress and Po.”

  “What?” He’s maddening. Confusing. He just said we’re them. How can it be both ways? He makes me completely discombobulated in all the best ways. I think. It depends on what he says next.

  “Spoiler alert. Po and Tigress never fell in love. They just stay friends. We’re definitely not doing that, okay?”

  I slap his ass. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “No more secrets?” I ask.

  “No more secrets.”

  I hold his face between my hands. “Thank you for telling me the secret meaning. Your timing couldn’t have been better, Holden Masters, because I’m so in love you.”

  He’s beaming. “That’s the most melodic music to my ears, like a symphony of hushed major harmonies. I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.” Cheese ball.

  A gust of wind blows sand in my face, and I close my eyes until it’s over. When I open them, he’s on one knee. There’s a book in his hand, and I’m not sure where he got it from. “What are you doing, Masters?”

  “Remember when we did that Urban Dictionary stripping game?”

  I nod.

  “And you lost miserably?”

  “You cheated.”

  “Pfft.” He shakes his head. “And remember when you asked me in Rind ‘N Grind that first Sunday what we were? What we were doing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s just say, I made a few mental notes.” He winks. “One being to give you a fucking dictionary with some definitions so we could be on the same page.”

  “Like a dictionary that defines all the ways to fuck?” I ask. “That sounds delicious.”

  “No.” He laughs. “One that defines us,” he says, turning it around.

  “The Definition of Us.” My voice cracks, reading the title. I’m not sure there are words to describe what we are, to do justice to whatever this is. It’s special. It’s more than that. It’s rare.

  He opens it, pointing to the left page. There’s a picture of us dancing at the auction in the background with words o
n top of it, but what catches my attention is something blinding in the center. A huge princess cut bisou ring with pavé diamonds on the bands.

  “Oh, Holden.”

  “Do you like it?”

  If I had picked out a ring, it would have been this one, but I’m not sure if he’s asking about the dictionary, which I’ve yet to read, or the ring. I can’t take my eyes off it, though. Tears streaming down my face, I nod. “I love bisou rings because they look like infinity signs.”

  He grins. “You’ve been in my life since the beginning, and I need you in it until the end. I need you for eternity, Cam. I’ll never take for granted that you’re my coconut tree.”

  I laugh, furrowing my brows. “Your what?”

  He shakes his head, that sexy sideways smirk curving up ever so lazily. “The day my dad died, I was on my way to come tell you I didn’t want to be a volcano like your dad labeled me. I wanted to be your tree. A sturdy, reliable, oak or magnolia tree.”

  The thought of my father, of what he did, infuriates me. It’s ruining the moment. It’s as if he can tell, and he shakes his head, taking my hand in his. “A week later, I just wanted you, Cam. I wanted you so fucking bad. And I knew I could never give you what you needed, but I’d try. But you, you could and can give me everything I need. You’re my coconut.”

  A garbled laugh, cry escapes, and I cover my mouth. “You are more than enough.”

  He makes no effort to remove the ring. If that was all he said to me along with the big question, I’d be content. He doesn’t have to do anything fancy.

  “Let me read you the rest,” he says. “We’re hot and cold. We push and pull. We’re cheating chicken fighters, us against the world no matter the costs. We’re Marco Polo failures. We are complimentary elements on the periodic table. When the world appears upside down, you are the brains, the eyes, that flip my world and make it upright. We are the one tree out of fifteen hundred palms, the only one, capable of producing coconuts. We are the planets and stars on a perfect day.” That’s what we are. That’s the definition of us. “But you. You’re the rind to my grind. You’re the clouds beneath my feet. You’re my hope. You’re my love. You’re my everything, you’re my tree. You’re my Tigress.” He kisses my hand. “Marry me.” Taking the ring from the middle of the book, he holds it just above that finger that goes straight to my heart, the same one he captured before being made to abandon ship.

  I nod. “Yes.” More tears spill over my rims. “Yes.”

  He slides it on, and it feels perfect. The exact right size. He drops the book and pulls my lips to his. Our mouths crash, tongues exploring. My hopes are so high in the sky. “You forgot something.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yep. Every couple needs a song in their definition. Good music is everything.”

  “It is. What would that be? I Choose You by Sara Bareillis? That’s like a chick flick song. It fits us.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Aw, that’s a good runner-up. I was going to say Weightless by Lee DeWyze.”

  He smiles. “Angels have wings. So high that we’re never coming down.” Of course he knows it. He starts gathering our stuff. “I need to add these to the definition of us. We’re lovers of good music. It’s a must have quality of any woman worthy being a wife of mine.” He gets quiet for a minute.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I promised Vi I’d love for both of us. I’m just wishing I could tell her I finally figured it out. Got it all right.”

  And cue the tears again. Damn him. “She’d be proud of you.”

  He glances up and gives me a sad smile. I can’t have him getting mopey on this moment.

  “Hey, Masters, do you know what bisou means in French?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No, but Miss Webster will probably tell me.”

  “Smartass. For that I’m not telling you.”

  Holden’s eyes become hooded. He’s smoldering. I’m not sure why my father told him he was a volcano. Why that made Holden go through this crisis where he figured he needed to instead be a tree. It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s set me on fire ever since my hormones kicked in. And more now than ever before. Especially with that look. He throws the bag with all our beach stuff in it over his shoulder.

  “What about the answer in exchange for Urban Dictionary stripping when we get inside?” he asks, grazing his bottom lip with his teeth.

  “I see how you wanna play.” My insides immediately scream yes, please and thank you. “Okay. But I don’t think you know the answer.”

  He leans forward, his lips brushing mine before moving to my ear. “Kiss. It means kiss, future Mrs. Smartass.”

  OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES

  THE AUCTION

  THE DATE

  THE PROMISE

  THE QUESTION (Wells’ story, a stand-alone, coming March, 2017)

  THIS SERIES READING ORDER

  BROKEN

  MENDING

  CONSPIRING

  FORGIVEN

  FOREVER

  STAND-ALONES

  HEARTFALL

  SKIPPING STONES

  COMING SOON

  OUT OF THE STORM (A stand-alone releasing January 31, 2017)

  Tossing the papers across my desk, I bury my head in my hands. This day has been crap. Absolute crap. I sigh. Typically I’m efficient. I’m neat, organized. My desk tidy, but not today. I’m up to my ankles in spreadsheets. Crumpled reports that missed the trashcan are strewn across my office. Highlighters are scattered on the traces of my hidden mahogany desk peeking through the manila folders that are covering it, half open and half closed. My workspace resembles my life. It’s how my brain feels.

  For as chaotic as it looks, you’d think I would’ve accomplished something. Anything. But nothing. I’ve managed to do nothing on my list. Lists. I’m a list person. I’ve got one for everything. For work, home, the wedding. I don’t usually leave work until everything on it is done. That’s how I operate, but not today. Something’s off, and I can’t put my finger on it.

  The only thing I know is that I have to get out of here. To hell with the list. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut. And mine is telling me that I should be anywhere but here. All day something has been eating at me, and it’s kept me from accomplishing a single damn thing on my list, and I don’t think staying here all night would change a thing. In fact, it’d just piss me off, and besides, I have plans with my fiancé.

  And any other night, I would have canceled them if my list had been in such disarray, but not tonight. Ha. And any other circumstance, I’d also clean up this mess before leaving, but not today. I glance around and kick a few of the papers beneath my feet. Standing on the pads of my feet, I slide and glide across the carpeted floor. It’s fun and carefree. This isn’t me at all. In fact, who is this girl and what have I done with the real me?

  Kicking the paper, I grab my briefcase, jacket, and flip the switch to the lights. The mess can wait until tomorrow. Like my list.

  Making my way to the elevator, I press the down button. The office is pretty empty. Even though I said I wasn’t staying late, my definition of that word is different from other people on staff. It chimes. The doors open. But it’s not empty as I expected. All the air has been sucked out of the building because I can’t breathe as I take in the sight of the man standing before me. All approximately six foot six inches of him. His light molten brown eyes swirl like lava, and he’s dressed in an impeccable tailored suit that fits him perfectly. And when I say perfectly, I mean it hugs every muscle in all the right places. And by every muscle, I mean there are lots. My insides quiver. If Charlie didn’t drink so much, he could probably look like that in a suit. Charlie. Think of Charlie. I run my thumb along the back of my engagement ring while the sexy god sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, and my pulse races. There’s definitely no air in the building. Is there a problem with the ventilation system? I swallow. He stares at me, and I stare back. The doors close. Then he sticks his hand out
and holds the door. “You coming in?”

  I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t go anywhere near him. But my body finally starts to actually respond the way it’s supposed to instead of betraying me the way it did two seconds ago. “Yeah.” I smile. Because I actually have a date, and I’m going to be late if I wait on the next elevator.

  When I get inside, the button for the bottom floor is already illuminated, so I stand against the back wall. Maybe there’s a problem with the air conditioning, too, in this building. Exhaling a breath, I blow air up, fanning my bangs. “Is it hot in here to you?”

  He smirks. “Not really. But you’re clearly hot.” He stalks toward me. He points to my forehead, then tilts his head down, his lips mere inches from mine. Oh hell. What. Is. He. Doing. Better yet? Why am I not stopping him? “You have a little bead of sweat right here.” He swipes it away.

  “Oh. That’s kind of embarrassing. And gross.”

  He shakes his head as the doors open. As he’s walking out, he says, “Nothing about you is gross. You’re sexy as fuck, Jules.”

  I don’t think I realized what a giant he was until he put a little space between us and walked away. He looks back over his shoulder, his lips forming into a sideways smirk. Wait. How does he know my name? What’s his? My voice won’t work. Swallowing, my mouth parts, but the only thing that escapes is my labored breathing.

  These damn doors start to close again as I watch his fine ass flexing beneath his black pinstriped suit. I’d not had long to stare in his eyes because I’d been too busy trying to remember how to breathe and stand, but I’d noticed how those stripes seemed to bring out the rims of his eyes, how the brown wasn’t super dark, so the black didn’t get lost in them.

  Kicking my foot out instinctively, I manage to squeeze through the door just before it’s too late. “Hey! Mystery Giant.”

  He chuckles, stopping in his tracks. His eyes close a little as his head jerks around, but his smile is dazzling. Nope. Change that. Incinerating. Fuck me. I bet he would too. Stop it, Jules. “What’d you just call me?”

  Shaking my head, I wave him off. “Doesn’t matter. How’d you know my name?”