No Perfect Princess

by Angel Payne

  “Because you’re vulnerable. And that’s scary.” I wrapped my hands around to her back. Ran them up and down her spine in assuring strokes. “What you told me last night…who else knows all that, besides your mother?”

  The second I referred to Andrea, grooves of sadness etched into her face. No…deeper than that. It was sorrow, palpable gobs of the stuff. “Nobody,” she finally answered.

  I’d expected as much. But the grief that lingered on her face, in her eyes…it plowed into me, then enraged me. And confused me. All the heel clacking, snark talking, and bitch maneuvering this woman had made her name on was a grand illusion to hide this dark heartache, of that I was sure—but understanding the scope of it, even the complete reasoning for it, was like sanding down a layer of paint on a rare piece of art, only to learn eight more existed beneath.

  Tearing someone’s throat out sounded really good right now, but I had no damn idea where to focus the shit—so I dealt in the best way I could. Pulled in a lot of calming air and tightened my hold on her even more.

  “It’s safe with me, Margaux.” I raised a hand to her nape, compressing fingers in just enough that she felt my resolve. “Okay? You’re safe with me. I won’t ever let you fall, sugar.”

  She quietly took that in. Actually, was too quiet. Dammit. If past experience bore out accurately on this, it’d only be a matter of seconds before she—

  “Psssshhh.”

  Rolled her eyes and said exactly that.

  “I was still conscious when you said it the first time, buddy.”

  She batted at my chest. I didn’t match the playful groove. “I’m more than aware of that. But sometimes, you need to have things spanked into you a few times.”

  And then, sometimes life brought shit a guy didn’t expect. Out of his own mouth. As I debated whether to go for a retraction or pray she let it go, the beauty in my arms went for Door Number Three: breaking into a shit-eating grin at my expense.

  “Well, okay then. You offering that reinforcement now, stud?”

  Stud. Why the hell did I like that so much when she drawled it? With every inch of my fucking body?

  Breathe it down before it punches a hole through your pants, man.

  “No,” I finally got out. And, shock of shocks, sounded halfway sane about it, too. “No reinforcements today, sugar.”

  She pouted. And hell’s goddamn bells, must have practiced that shit in the mirror. Nobody did adorably put-out like Margaux Asher. “But why? Because I made a hasty decision about the bath thing? Which I might be persuaded to reconsider, under the right circumstances…”

  “No.” I repeated it while bringing hands back in to stop hers, skimming down my abdomen with saucy determination. Once I’d captured her wrists in my grip, I held them halfway between my body and hers, securing a lock on her stare again because of it. “Not because of what you decided about the bath thing…which was actually a good call.” I added in a mutter, “I may hack off my own balls later in retaliation for that, but for now, it’s worth sticking to.”

  She scowled. “Why?”

  “Because,”—I smiled into my exhalation—“this is good, Margaux. We’re good, together. I think we both realized it a while ago, but fear got in our way. And now, we’re probably both still picking our way through that a little. Only now, we can do that together. I mean, I’d like to—if you would—”

  She cut me off with a hard kiss. “You’re such a dork.”

  “I like stud better.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Because that’s your job?”

  I yanked her hands around my neck and sealed our lips back together. This time, I gave no quarter to any inch of her delectable mouth. I swept her, claimed her, consumed her, devoured her, vowing that when she took her next breath, she’d also inhale the knowledge that I meant business here. That I wanted her—but that meant all of her. That I’d ask things from her—in a bunch of uncomfortable ways.

  “Wow,” she breathed. Not a note of discomfort yet—but double-checking that fact wasn’t a chore I turned down. Holy hell, she was beautiful, with the sun glinting in her eyes and her lips stung by our passion to the shade of ripe cherries. I felt a small smile curling at my own, as I indulged a round of internal chest thumping. The thought of anyone else making her look like this…

  Wasn’t even going there. Not a fucking chance.

  “There’s a lot more of that coming, sugar.”

  She grinned until her dimples were deep and adorable. “Okay.”

  “But it comes with conditions.”

  The dimples disappeared. “Oh, here we go.”

  “Yeah.” I grabbed the side of her face, curling fingers into her hairline. “Here we go. And sugar, it’s going to be good, damn good. But you have to show up for this. For us. I can’t do this if you’re going to check nothing but your body in for the flight.”

  She undulated a little, making me clench back a groan. “But my body can be fun. Seems your body agrees, mister.”

  “Not arguing that point—but it’s not the point here. Not right now.” I braced my hands again at her hips, purposely setting her back a little. Did I really think that’d ease the pressure throbbing between my legs? Idiot. I pushed on, “No more dancing, no more evasions, no more hiding…not from me, Margaux. Last night…everything you gave me, including your confession about Caroline—hell, especially that…it was all the best gift you’ve ever given me.” I jerked on her again, hard enough to make her look back into my eyes. “It was one of the best gifts anyone’s ever given me.”

  She tilted her head, activating that intense ESP I loved and hated about her, before prompting, “But…?”

  No use fighting it. Not that I wanted to. “But I want more,” I stated. “A lot more. And…I think you do, too.” Pulling her close for another soft kiss was another lesson in masochism. Tasting her…it always felt like a sip of the season’s first cider press. I instantly craved another. And another. “Say you’ll try. Say you want to try.”

  She twisted fingertips into the hairs along my nape. Her eyes were the Marianas Trench of uncertainty. “I’m still scared.”

  “I know,” I assured. “I know.” I slipped my hand up to her head, gently smoothing over her hair. “But you’re going to let me worry about the falling part right now, okay?”

  Because God knows, I’m halfway there already.

  She surrendered a tentative nod but little else beyond that, including any indication that she comprehended the extra layer of my declaration. Still, from the way she curled her clutch on me a little tighter, lowered her head a little closer, and stared into me with unrelenting intensity, I guessed the ESP might still be twinging, and now prodded her to double-check the facts.

  Check away, princess. I could sit here and stare back at you all day—and find a thousand new things to adore about your face.

  A car’s horn stabbed into the morning’s peace. Birds burst from the trees. The neighbor’s dog woofed. And the woman on my lap hissed a sharp “Shit!”

  I cocked a brow, pretty certain I hit the right combo of casual and piqued. I was tempted to go for a blasé smirk—before a head of dark, well-groomed hair appeared over the back gate, attached to linebacker-sized shoulders. “Uhhh, blondie? Why is Andre in my back alley?” A troubling thought pierced. “Has he been there all night?”

  Margaux smacked my shoulder. “Even I’m not that big of a bitch. I texted him twenty minutes ago to help with the getaway.”

  “You meant the thwarted getaway.” Now I smirked. She countered with an eye roll, though her hand, still on my shoulder, bunched into my shirt to assist her new descent against me. After capturing my lips beneath her kittenish pout, she lifted the hand to tangle in my hair. Fuck, it felt good. And right. So right.

  “Yes, officer,” she purred, “you busted me, fair and square. So…is it time to take me to the slammer yet?”

  She added nothing to the words but a little sigh against my neck, but my cock didn’t
know the difference. Everything from my sack to my crown swelled as if she’d reached down and gripped it all. I managed to growl past my moan, “Do you really have to go to work?”

  She winced and rose up a little. “Dammit. Yeah, I do.”

  “Then let’s bookmark this for tonight.”

  She wetted her lips and smiled. “Mmmm. I like your idea of bookmarks.”

  “Pick you up around seven?”

  “Seven’s good. But no ‘picking up’.” At my deepened growl—I tolerated the car-and-driver act for business only and she knew it—she drew out a teasing giggle. “I meant…why don’t we just make it a sleepover?”

  Well, that did it for any prayer of subduing the pressure between my thighs. Accepting the torment made it a little easier to beam her a wicked grin. “Now that I like the sound of.” As her hair fell and curtained our faces in, I whispered, “You going to wear footsie pajamas and tell me scary stories?”

  Her gaze darkened in all the right ways. “I’m going to wear something you can take off with your teeth, and let you remind me why ‘scary’ isn’t part of our conversations anymore.”

  I kissed her hard, glad for the excuse to disguise how her trusting words blasted open more doors inside me. Doors I hadn’t opened in a long damn time…

  No time traveling today, man. Especially not to the god-forsaken Valley of Laci Gold.

  “You have a deal, sugar,” I whispered against her lips. “I’ll bring dinner.”

  “I’ll handle dinner.” She bit into my lower lip. “You just bring your teeth. And your lips. And…other useful body parts.”

  A moan echoed through me, and I swore it started from my balls. At the same moment, her phone binged. Saved by the bing. Or doomed. I wasn’t sure which.

  She laughed, opening the device to display Andre’s text for me, too.

  :: Should I come back later? ::

  I chuckled, then called out, “Miss Asher is on her way.” After lifting her off by her waist and making sure her footing was steady, I rose, as well. She didn’t let me get very far, already popping on tiptoes to get in another kiss. Though I allowed her the clinch, I ended it with a firm smack on her gorgeous bottom. “Be good, dammit. Go work hard.”

  “So I can ‘play hard’ later?”

  Jesus Christ. The woman could flip any statement into verbal sex. And I fucking worshipped her for it.

  “Something like that,” I laughed out.

  “And what’s on Mr. Pearson’s calendar for the day?” She wrapped her arms around my waist, gazing up with sincere interest.

  “Long, cold shower. Workout. Lunch. Another cold shower. A few rounds with the bloodiest game I can find on my system. Probably another cold shower.”

  She laughed louder before untangling herself, turning, and dashing down the path toward the gate. I watched every move, letting her believe I’d been joking about the words. But every syllable was true, along with a few others I hadn’t thrown in. No coping mechanism was off the table today. Nothing. Anything was a possibility, if it helped me forget the endless countdown to tonight—and finally getting to speak the truth I’d kept shoved in my shadows for too damn long.

  Margaux Asher, you have invaded every other thought in my head, every cell beneath my skin, every dream in my nights.

  No more dreams. Tonight, she’d be reality.

  Maybe I’d just spend the whole damn day in that cold shower.

  Chapter Eleven

  Margaux

  Stop. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

  Michael Pearson was invading every single cell in my body.

  And I loved it.

  Which meant this whole mess needed to stop.

  But it felt so right. So amazingly, incredibly…right. And I had no freaking idea how to handle it.

  When the upper hand slipped from me in a relationship, Starship Margaux hit the red emergency button. Mission aborted; pop the parachute and dive beneath the hard deck. But right now, all I wanted to do was hit the thrusters and scream to mach five with Captain America—even after spewing all that shit about Caroline last night.

  As I walked toward the car, I fingered my ring and twirled it. Fast.

  I could keep blaming everything on the alcohol but deep down inside, I knew why I’d spilled. Michael was more than my safe haven. He was, in so many ways, a match for my soul, confirmed when he’d revealed the decadent, nasty mind behind that boxer-straining bulge. Just the recall of what he’d done last night…how he’d commanded me…the words he’d done it with…

  Wow.

  “Inner goddess”? Screw that. I had an inner fuck bunny, and that man had blazed right into her garden. Once he’d burned away all the bullshit, I’d been eager to run in and play, letting one of my deepest secrets tumble out during the sprint. I hadn’t regretted it. Still didn’t. I trusted him without question, a truth my heart bestowed on someone for the very first time in my life.

  So, yeah…maybe it was time to let the freak-out begin.

  Andre seemed to sense as much as well. As he held the car door open, he stared at me with open curiosity. I flashed up my hand—do not even go there—before climbing in. He reached in after me to take the dress and the rest of my shit, stowing it in the trunk before lumbering in behind the wheel.

  He didn’t speak until we were cruising down the freeway toward downtown.

  “You know that boy has it bad for you.”

  I glanced up in time to confront his soulful eyes, examining me from the rearview mirror.

  “Concentrate on the road, big guy. Especially in heavy traffic.”

  “Right. Because I’m so busy fighting off all these church ladies. And the other early morning escapees.”

  Ugh! “Quit while you’re ahead.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His gaze betrayed his cheeky grin. Dammit. Wanker with dreadlocks. He took advantage of limits I’d let slide for too damn long, though was smart enough to let it rest for now, leaving me to navel gazing for the rest of the ride.

  With my wince-worthy second thoughts.

  And my too-damn-deep-for-a-Sunday contemplations.

  Like the universe cared.

  As it tormented me with more memories of the best guy I’d met in a long—long—time.

  Shit on a shattered platter.

  So what now? Ten minutes into the ride home, and I already missed Michael. Intensely. But the secrets in my head alone would blow his off its oh-so-amazing shoulders. In what world would it be fair to tangle him in them? My family shit alone was insane. Okay, Andrea and I had played nice in the sandbox for Kil and Claire’s big day but that healed nothing for me—and she showed no signs of wanting to reach out in understanding, either. That didn’t even touch the bigger issue. What the hell would Michael Pearson, as up-front and real as they came, think about suddenly calling me Mary Stone—with all the drama, notoriety, and closet skeletons that came with? The man knew skeletons. Had helped hide them, re-shape them, even turn them into something else. He knew their time, their trouble, their legal ramifications, and their damage to people.

  Michael Pearson didn’t need or deserve a woman with skeletons.

  Trouble was, his magical hands—and lips—didn’t know that part yet. The man could…work things…out of me without even trying. Okay, so he wasn’t intentionally trying to “find out” anything about me, let alone the complicated drama about my birth father and mother, but simply being with him made me crave to tell him.

  What would happen…if I did? If I had a weak moment and unloaded everything to him? On him?

  All of it?

  I let out a long sigh. Andre impaled me again with his stare. I chose to ignore him, still battling to work things out in my mind.

  Dammit, why did it have to be so hard?

  I’d finally found someone I enjoyed being with. Enjoyed? Well, that was phrasing it all nice and Miss Manners-like, wasn’t it? Being near him, with him…I fucking reveled in it. In some ways, he was more than safety. He was home.
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  Hold up, Laura Ingalls Wilder. Like you even know the meaning of the word.

  Evoking it brought more memories of Caroline. If she were still around, she’d have pulled out several of her favorite colloquialisms by now, calling Michael something like “quite a catch” or “yummiest dish in town”. And she’d be right. He was smart, sexy as hell, and funny. He adored me but didn’t take my crap. Respected me as a person but made me feel every inch a sensual, desirable creature. He turned my pussy to mush like the world’s hugest Galahad—but was the most decent, dependable man—hell, human being—I’d ever met.

  Which made it even worse to think of dragging him into my mess of a life. Because even if he hated the tangle, he’d stick around just to try and help fix it. And dammit, I didn’t need fixing. I just needed…time. Space. A chance to figure out who the hell I was now, and what to do with that knowledge once I was solid with it.

  If Michael stuck, I’d get stuck right back. I wasn’t sure we hadn’t already slathered a little sample packet of glue on each other already.

  Not good. So not good.

  If he’d been any other guy, I would’ve screwed him and left him a long, long time ago.

  His check-out time was way overdue. The front desk of this joint was getting antsy about the issue.

  Maybe after tonight.

  Yes. Good plan. Just one last sampling. One taste of the candy to satisfy the sweet tooth, then cut him loose. A night of decadence I could remember him by forever.

  The one that got away…

  Andre dropped me off at the front entrance of the El Cortez, promising to get my dress to the dry cleaners on Monday morning, saving me the humiliation of carrying it under my arm as I crossed the lobby to the elevators. Fine, fine, so I was irony’s bitch anyway, being noticed by a couple of church-bound neighbors while in sweatpants and a T-shirt that had clearly been pilfered from someone twice my size. Go ahead and wonder, bitches—but FYI, he was worth it. Not that I cared what they or anyone else thought, so why start now? I pumped my head up and jutted my chin out as I waved the key fob to unlock the elevator for my floor.