No Perfect Princess

by Angel Payne

  I sat still for entirely way too long. What the hell? I usually thrived on situations like this but fish out of water aren’t at their full swim speed so I cut myself some slack, deciding against the urge to excuse myself to the ladies room and make a break for it. How disgusting would that be, anyway?

  Plan B was the better play.

  I made a great show of standing up, stretching so my tank top caught at all the right places, then sitting back down—on Michael’s side of the booth, with my back against the wall and my feet up in his lap, exactly like we’d been under that tree on the way here. He was as shocked as Darla by the next time she walked by, but it was worth it to see the look on her backwoods face when he borrowed from my inspiration and hauled me practically into his lap, hand wrapped just beneath my breasts, his breath warm on my throat while he began telling me about all the great things on the menu.

  Point to Asher.

  After Michael ate enough food for a small village, we walked back to the truck, then headed to his mom’s to pick up the pies she’d made for the mayor’s hospitality social after the parade. The farm was a lot busier now. Several crew members were loading up the petting zoo animals to take to the park for the kids to enjoy. In the same neighborhood—what wasn’t in the same neighborhood in town?—was the Women’s Club building, home of the annual quilting competition. During our first drive in, Di had confessed she had an entry this year, but was nervous about her chances. She hadn’t said that in so many words, but my ability to read people like a book had come in handy, yet again. I’d grabbed her hand and told her I already knew hers was the best quilt in the contest. Her grateful smile was worth every drop of sunshine in the sky.

  If she’d already crawled into my heart like this, I couldn’t imagine the scope of Michael’s love for the woman. Maybe I’d already sensed it last night, which had led me to ask about her face. I felt horrible for upsetting him but would’ve never forgiven myself for remaining silent, either. Kind of crazy, all the things I unequivocally knew about this guy-who-wasn’t-my-boyfriend. At the top of the list: his fierce protectiveness of the people he cared deeply about. Whoever had hurt his mother needed to be watching their six damn closely right now—because I sure as hell wasn’t standing in the way of Hurricane Michael.

  Just like that, Trey’s snarling face flashed in my mind. I froze in the middle of changing my clothes for the parade. Epiphany time. As violent as Michael had been about shielding his mom from another attack was how I was about thwarting Trey from ever touching him. Put in that context, I was reassured about my vow to keep everything between us—passions, feelings, connections—held to the confines of this weekend alone.

  It was simply the way things had to be.

  I took a few minutes to freshen up, apply some sunscreen, and change into a little sundress, pale pink and delicate, that I often wore to functions down by the beach. Given the way the day was rapidly heating up, it seemed like an excellent choice. I combed through my hair and braided it off to the side, finishing up with a little pink lip gloss. Nothing was worse than a melting face of full make up, so the natural look was it. I wondered what Michael would think about my freckles, which would certainly be coaxed out in force by the sun. It would probably be another thing for him to rib me about, which had lately been followed by a lot of kissing, so…win-win for everyone! I slipped into my perfect final touch: a great pair of worn-look, low-cut cowboy boots—not bad at all.

  Michael’s voice drifted up the stairs as I came down. He was in the kitchen, giving final instructions to the staff members who’d be handling the petting zoo in town for the day—or at least he was until I cleared the bottom of the stairwell. As soon as I stepped off, his voice trailed, his jaw dropped, and he stood, staring. I quickly looked down, making sure my dress wasn’t tucked into my panties or something just as mortifying. My attention snapped back up at the distinct spurts of stifled snickers. All three of the farm hands were now gawking at Michael, then at me. Back to Michael. Back to me.

  I certainly wasn’t going to turn down this opportunity. Preen.

  “Mr. Pearson, you are busted.”

  “Indeed I am, sugar.”

  We both chuckled softly, though his sounded more like an opossum being strangled and mine had returned to the land of giggly tween. The moment wasn’t really that funny, but right now, everything was amplified, more vibrant. Funnier. Better.

  “So is this okay?” I looked down at what I was wearing, suddenly feeling overdressed. “I brought other things.”

  “I know.” He flashed a grin, but when it didn’t budge my scowl, he leaned in and kissed me for several long minutes. Hell. Even without tongue, his kisses were matches on the panties. After he pulled away, keeping one hand on my face, he murmured, “You look stunning, as always—and quite perfect.”

  “You always tell me I’m perfect,” I groused.

  “Because you always are.”

  Oh, Michael…if you knew only half of it…

  “Come on,” he tugged on my hand. “You might need something warmer for tonight, but we can always hop back over and you can change again. Sound good?”

  I grinned and popped up to give him another kiss. The animal guys had left as soon as we started bantering so right now, it was just us. “Sounds perfect.”

  Outside was the quietest I had seen the farm since arriving. With all the animals gone, a hush had fallen over the entire place. Except for a few chickens in the pen across the lot and Carlo’s basset hound sleeping under the pepper tree, everyone had migrated to town for the day’s celebrations.

  It was almost show time!

  *

  The next three hours were more fun than I had during three-week vacations in Bali, Belize, and the south of France. The parade was an hour-long promenade of people passionate about their kids, their businesses, and their Wild West roots, complete with town members participating in a mock bank robbery, before the sheriff rode in and “rustled ‘em up”. I laughed until my stomach hurt at the purposeful overacting, followed by a gun fight and stunt show that was pretty damn good.

  “They should hit up Hollywood!” I whispered as two of the “bad guys” tumbled into a hay wagon from the roof of the old bank building.

  “Nah,” he murmured back. “Their mamas usually encourage them to take up more noble professions.” A smirk tempted his lips. “Like law.”

  That prompted my fast double take. “Wait. What? You—”

  “Was ‘Scoundrel Number Three’. When I was in high school.”

  I punched his shoulder. “You were not.” The dork was making the whole thing up to impress me. If he only knew how thoroughly impressed I already was…

  But then he started reciting the last lines of the play along with the performers. I held back from my eager applause, damn glad I did, because the entire audience joined the actors for the very last line, apparently a huge tradition of the play. After their recitation, everyone instantly stood and joined the cast for a flag salute and rousing rendition of the national anthem. There was no curtain call or ovation for the actors themselves. Michael explained that there never was. The flag always got first billing.

  Well, dammit. The people of this silly little town were really starting to get to me. One of them just a wee bit more than the others…

  Michael pulled me up from the shaded grass where we’d been watching the parade, and we walked hand-in-hand to see the exhibits in the park. Finally, we got to the Women’s Center, where Di’s quilt hung proudly with the others. If I could’ve paid someone to ensure she won, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. Hers really was the most beautiful entry. I wanted her to have that victory more than anything, and I told her so. I could tell the ribbon meant a lot to her, perhaps because of whatever had been going down behind the scenes with mysterious-restraining-order-man. But none of it was my business, though it all sat disgustingly heavy in my heart.

  Whoa. Back up the damn apple cart.

  Did I just reference my heart in a sentence
?

  Christ. Maybe I’d been taking all the esoteric bullshit a little too seriously. “Escaping”? “Capturing memories”? Ohhh, no no no. These fucking hicks would not worm their way into my subconscious after one damn day. I couldn’t let them do it. I couldn’t let anyone do it.

  Panic prowled up my throat, so hard and fast that I stopped. Michael didn’t miss a second of it. He roped an arm around me, instantly steering me beneath a tree. “Easy, princess.”

  “Don’t call me princess.”

  He shook his head, blowing me off. “What’s the problem? Talk to me. Is it the heat? You’re pale as a ghost all of a sudden.”

  “The heat,” I echoed. “Yeah, that’s—that’s good.”

  “That’s good?”

  “I mean that’s it.” I forced out a smile, the one I knew would make him forget his own name let alone my little slip. “I don’t think I’ve had enough water. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  He cocked his head like I was speaking another language. I should’ve known better than to use those words with this one.

  “Come on. I’m taking you back to the house. We can cool you down in the a/c.”

  “I’ll be fine, Michael. I don’t want to spoil your day.”

  “Blondie, if you pass out in the heat, I guarantee you my day will be spoiled.”

  I whacked his chest. “Dork.”

  “You want to know something else? I’ve done this every Fourth of July since the day I could walk. It hasn’t changed a bit. I’m not missing anything.”

  He leaned over so we were eye-to-eye. God and all his angels, the man was gorgeous in me-Tarzan-you-Jane mode. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let him think the heat had affected me instead of a freaking panic attack about discovering that some of my emotions had gotten shifted in flight.

  “Let’s go,” I finally relented.

  He kept turning back to check on me while tugging me through the crowd. About the fifth time he did, I openly girl-growled.

  “What’s wrong? Are you going to faint?”

  “No!” I snapped. “But if you don’t stop hauling me through this crowd like a naughty child about to be spanked—”

  Take foot. Insert in mouth. Or, in this case, take libido and insert into brain. Since our gazes were already locked, I watched the same hotter-than-hot imagery sink into his mind, too. My bare ass, beneath his disciplining hand. My skin blooming for his touch. My body arched and ready to take his in…

  Every hard, erect inch of it.

  I looked down. Twisted my toe in the dusty earth. Looked back up to meet his burning gaze and flaring nostrils, making him look like some primeval beast on the trail of something tasty.

  “Shit.” I held up my hands. “Rephrase time.”

  “Too late. It’s in there.” He tapped on his temple.

  “Yeah.” I sighed.

  “Yeah.” His half-bark was gruff.

  “Please, let’s just go. Only without the dirty caveman approach, okay?”

  I called that a better rephrase? He obviously didn’t agree, either. His eyes widened before hunkering down in a glower. “I need a cold shower.” Clearly, he thought I wouldn’t hear the mumble. I didn’t tell him I did. When he reached back with his open hand, I took it in willing silence.

  The ride back to the farm was quick—and quiet. Excellent, the two Q’s were present and accounted for. Problem was, we were nowhere near “the morning after”—and the sexual tension between us thickened with every mile we covered. It didn’t help that a couple of cats darted out of the road right after we swung onto the farm again—interrupted in the middle of their “afternoon delight”. Shit. The whole countryside was out to remind us that it was not only Independence Day, but a Wednesday.

  Hump Day.

  He’d barely cut the engine before turning, one hand still on the wheel, to demand, “You okay?”

  I rolled my eyes, pushed open the door, and jumped down to the ground on my own. “Yes, Florence Nightingale, I’m fine. I was a good little girl, drank all the water you shoved at me. I had a moment, I’m over it, I feel better. This has just been a lot of,”—I waved my hand around—“ruggedness.”

  “Guess that smart mouth of yours has recovered just fine.”

  My smart mouth? What the hell was up with his? Okay, so I’d gotten out of his big, bad truckie-wuckie all by myself instead of letting him help. That didn’t justify his accusatory tone. Unfair label? I didn’t think so. He usually liked my snark. Why the sensitive Air Supply synths now?

  I dialed it all back a couple of notches, taking the bees-with-honey approach. “Well, I appreciate you bringing me back, nevertheless. Thank you.”

  He huffed a little but stepped toward the house. “You’re welcome. Come on.”

  I folded my arms and angled a playful grin. “Before I get my big farm tour?”

  He stopped. Stared. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  Huge method to my madness. We were literally the only humans on the grounds right now. If he and I were alone in the house, with no parental supervision…well, God only knew where the visions in our minds would take our bodies. And right now, I wasn’t sure my body could handle what my mind had conjured doing with him—during every minute of every hour of this day.

  I jutted my lower lip and adopted my pouty anime gaze. “You promised me a tour, Pearson-san. This morning, yes? You remember?”

  The corners of his mouth quirked. “After you rest a little.”

  “I’m done resting. Come on, show me.” I skipped across the dirt, pointing at a bunch of big tractor-looking things. “What’s that?”

  “Blast sprayer.”

  “And that?

  “Compost spreader.”

  “And that?”

  He snickered. “Tractor.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I have a ride on it tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Yesssss.”

  He rolled his eyes but my excitement swayed him to relent about the tour. Looping his arm around my neck, he guided me through the main buildings of the farm’s operational core, pointing out the harvesting sheds, cider mill, and butter/candle making shops, along with a couple of smaller buildings that handled the non-apple products: lemons, oranges, and even some exotic varieties of olives. By the time we were done, I was beyond impressed—and much to my dismay, even more smitten with him. The pride in his eyes and voice were unmistakable.

  “This is a different side to you,” I finally said, stopping to rest a hand on his chest.

  “Yeah?” He bussed my forehead on his way to gazing toward the orchards, contemplating the words. “And? Penny for your thoughts…”

  “And…I like it.” A lot more than I should have. Which made this spot, right now, the damn crossroads of discomfort. But no way in hell was I leaving. The shelter of his arms, the timbre of his heartbeat, the closeness of this moment, felt too damn good. Maybe just a few more memories. “So what made you choose law instead of all this?”

  His deep laugh rumbled through his chest, against my cheek. “You had the big town experience today. That was as exciting as it gets up here, sugar. Would you want to stay?”

  “Well, you and I were raised very differently.”

  “Yeah. We were.”

  Shit. I’d hit a nerve. “Hey.” I pushed back a little, grabbing his gaze. “That’s not such a bad thing, Pearson. You pretty much know the shit storm that was my childhood.”

  His gaze started to flash with fierce fire again. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Easy!” I retorted. “It means nothing but the obvious.”

  “Which is?”

  I stepped away. His mysterious anger was back in full force, and I didn’t feel like playing detective right now. “Just the fact that I’m a fish out of water here, right? It shows how—stunted I am. You deserve better than me, Michael. You really—”

  Like a firestorm raging up the side of this damn mountain, he was back
on me. The big barn’s outside wall became my new posture corrector, hard and rough, as he slammed me against it. His full frame sandwiched me from the front.

  “Don’t talk about yourself that way. Ever. Again. Especially not while you’re with me. Are we clear?”

  My breaths were a staccato mess, escaping any way they could. “Yeah. Yes,” I stammered. “Now back off!”

  I didn’t believe it possible but he pressed in harder, his eyes still aflame…mesmerizing me now, like a sick pyromaniac. “I don’t think so,” he snarled—and then stole the rest of my breath, my senses, and all coherent thought with the most mind-bending kiss I’d ever experienced.

  Before I could stop it, a moan broke free. Another. I scratched both hands up his chest and over his rippling shoulders, locking them around his neck—never wanting to let go.

  So much for keeping the fucking distance.

  Like I could think about caring.

  “Don’t stop, Michael. Please don’t stop!” Oh, hell. I’d never sounded more needy or desperate with a lover—but never had I been on fire like this for a man. Quench it, my senses begged his. Quench me. So thirsty. So hot.

  So needing you. Now.

  This was it. What we’d both fantasized and feared. Desired and dreaded. Craved, yet run from, both in our stupid ways. Why? Why? With this kiss, more raw and real than any other we’d ever shared, the truth blazed at me as sure as the gravity beneath our feet, the blue of the sky above. Every other attempt we’d made, so illogical and ill-fated, flashed through my mind like a movie short, a gorgeous but fleeting preview of the real thing.

  This man.

  This fire.

  This need.

  Of course.

  “Fuck,” he rasped, pressing his forehead to mine. “Fuck, Margaux. I’m burning up.”

  I laughed against his lips, then whispered, “Me too. You’re the fever, you know. It’s you. It always has been you.”

  He pulled back far enough so I was consumed again by the full intensity of his gaze. “And it’s always been you—for me. You know that, right?”