by Angel Payne
Kil kept grinning. “Cool, huh? I one-clicked all of it. Do you know how much shit you have to get for a baby?”
I spied the little remote to his stereo and clicked the music completely off. “Killian. You need to leave this shit alone for a few months.”
He frowned, the kid who’d just had the puppy taken away. “But why?”
“Because you won’t have anything left to do when Claire gets closer to delivering. Then you’ll really hover.”
Full glower. “I don’t hover.”
“Hmmm, yeah…I bet you hover. But if you hover in the third trimester, Claire will likely shiv you. And I will cry. Then I will throw all this crap into your cold, dark grave with you.”
His eyes narrowed. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“In a heartbeat.” I inhaled deep, showing him I was going for the real version of serious now. “Have you been downstairs lately?”
Kil winced. “Nausea’s back?”
“Is that what it means when her skin’s the color of clam chowder?”
He didn’t hesitate to turn for the door. “Let’s go.”
He offered me his arm, ready to escort me downstairs. I smiled and took it. Why was it that my non-biological brother was the sane, classy one? I shuddered to think I shared half the same gene pool with Trey.
“Maybe we can distract her with a movie or something,” I suggested. “You know, all three of us, like we used to.”
Killian grinned. “Great idea. We’ve both missed you, honey.”
“Awwww.” I swallowed, hoping to alleviate the heaviness in my chest, and failing. Was this the shit people referenced when they spoke of “lumps in the throat”? It didn’t suck. But no way in hell was it the greatest. “I’ve missed…hanging with you guys, too.” Maybe I could open up to him—a little—and not spill everything. “To be honest, I could use the company.” Perhaps there was one more ulterior motive. Easing my guilt about the Trey mess was a perfect build-in for all this.
“So maybe I’ve been a little carried away,” he admitted as we walked.
“First step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, brother.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
We laughed again. “I’m so goddamn excited,” he said then. “Can you imagine our little mini Claire running around here?”
“Not a little mini Kil?”
He pretended like I hadn’t spoken. “She’s going to have her mama’s red hair and fiery attitude. And that adorable little nose, that I can kiss goodnight after I read her a story…”
I swore to God, my brother had stars in his eyes. Just looking at him…
Oof.
There was my damn, nagging stomach ache again. No use trying to mask the cause. Jealousy. Fucking jealousy. It swirled in my stomach, dark and debilitating, making me want to hurl the latte I’d declared as nectar from heaven just thirty minutes ago.
I wanted a man to look like that when he talked about me.
Seriously, girlfriend? You had your chance—right before you kicked him to the curb.
When we reentered the family room, the sofa was empty and the fur throw tossed hastily on the floor, giving me a pretty good idea where Claire was. My clueless brother scowled in confusion. “Alfred, where’s Mrs. Stone?”
“She’s in the washroom, sir.”
“Shit.” I interjected it with a huff. The bigger picture was clearer now. “Okay, reality check. Alfred? The sweet little fibs you and Mrs. Stone are perpetuating on Mr. Stone? That shit stops. Now.”
“Y-Yes, Miss Asher.”
“You can cut that shit, too. I’m just Margaux, okay?”
“Yes, Miss Margaux.”
I turned up the frost another notch. “Just Margaux,” seethed between my teeth.
“Wait,” Killian growled. “What ‘sweet little fibs’? What the hell?”
I grabbed his elbow. “Time to cut Bob the Builder loose, brother. He can come back to play when Mr. Hover Board isn’t needed anymore.”
As he nodded, I pivoted back to Alfred. “Why don’t you hustle to the kitchen and grab Claire something with ginger in it? Gingerale? Tea? If you have peppermint, that’s even better. And bring back a few cool, wet hand towels, too. And some saltines. Oh, and Alfred—another awesome latte? Just like the other one, only with a dash of Stevia.”
Alfred ping-ponged his stare between Killian and me.
“She scares the fuck out of me too, man,” Killian blurted. “Just do it.”
Alfred rushed out, passing Claire on the way. Her complexion wasn’t green anymore.
It was light blue.
“Holy hell.” Killian rushed to her. “Fairy…my God.” He scooped her up into his arms like she was the baby herself. “When did you get this bad?”
Claire swung a glare at me. “Tattle tale.”
I held up both hands. “Guilty as charged. Now handcuff me. Oh, wait. You’re too damn weak for that, aren’t you? Bad guys go free. That’s what you get for being stupid.”
I didn’t examine that one too closely.
“Psssshh.”
“Margaux’s completely right,” Kil snarled. “No more sucking this shit up. I’m not leaving your side now.”
“Crap,” she muttered.
“Hush,” he chided.
“It’s just morning sickness.” She batted uselessly at his chest while he completed their trip to the sofa. “I’ve been reading up on it. It just hits some women harder than others. Margaux, stop glaring.”
“She cares.” Kil perched himself on the cushion, leaning over her.
“She sure as hell does,” I added. “You need to stay hydrated, woman. And talk to your husband more. And you”—I jammed a finger at Killian—“need to cut the Tim Taylor and stay glued to her for a while. You’re the fucker that did this to her, so take care of her.”
Kil smiled and saluted. “I’m all over it.”
“Oh, God,” Claire groaned.
I nodded, satisfied. “Okay, I’m going to get out of your hair so you can rest. But you can expect my text later.”
After they nodded in unison, I grabbed my coat and bag then leaned in to press a soft kiss on the crown of her cute red head. Killian rose to walk me to the front door, helping me with my coat as we walked.
When we got to the door, I turned and flashed him a grin. “You did good, Mr. baby-maker-daddy-man.”
“Thanks, princess.”
I groaned. “Not you, too.”
“Huh?”
“Forget it. Just get in there and make sure she drinks, okay? She’s barfed at least three times while I’ve been here. If that keeps up, you’d better call one of the doctors you own, stat.”
Before he could say anything, I kissed his cheek and slipped out into the balmy night. And sucked in the first real breath I’d had in an hour.
Until his shout yanked me back around. “Margaux!”
When I turned, he smiled again. The man radiated so much happiness, I was certain the moon simply chose to reflect him tonight.
“You know she wanted to tell you first.”
I followed my initial instinct to swing my middle finger high.
“Yeah, yeah. We love you, too.”
Shit.
Just…shit.
Andre already had the door open. I slipped inside the car without my usual smart-ass line. I didn’t have any more smart-ass left in me.
I had nothing left in me.
And yet…I had everything.
And had no damn idea what to do with it.
The confusion hit at full force, making me shamelessly grab at the proper white handkerchief that appeared in my line of sight. “Dammit!” I rasped. These fucking people were thawing me, no matter how hard I fought it. I tried to dab daintily at my eyes but the dark eyes assessing me from the front…they knew better. Had already dissected me like a disgusting science project.
“Just…drive,” I croaked out.
These were the times I was most grateful f
or Andre. He didn’t ask where. He didn’t ask why. He just did it. He’d been with me almost four years now, surviving longer than any staff member of mine. And yes, “surviving” was the right verb. In more ways than one.
We merged onto the 5 south at a decent pace, the freeway lights lulling me into a trance as they zoomed past the tinted windows. After tucking his handkerchief into the pocket of my jacket, I took a long, heavy breath—before surprising him as much as myself with my next words.
“Will you take me to Mr. Pearson’s, please?”
His brows bounced up but quickly resumed position again. Wasn’t often he got a sincere version of the p word from me. “Yes, ma’am.”
He put his blinker on and merged into the fast lane, apparently wanting to get there before I changed my mind. Smart man.
“I’ll have Sorrelle return your handkerchief after he does the laundry.”
“No rush, ma’am.” Thank God his snarky side had taken the night off. After getting exposed to the nuclear reactor core of peace, love, and adoration at Kil and Claire’s, I was a bundle of raw emotions. Not only did Andre have a straight link to all those feelings, he seemed to know what I needed now, in the shaky aftermath. Before I could even think to ask for it, soft music filled the car’s back seat. Mozart. My favorite. And very few people knew that, Andre being one of them.
I rested my head back and listened to the music, absorbing every lush note, willing their beauty to center me like a tight embrace. But I never got there. Remembering Kil and Claire and all the love they’d found with each other just magnified the emptiness of what I couldn’t seem to feel…of what I’d never have.
By the time Andre drove into the La Jolla neighborhood where Michael rented, my teeth were clenched, my heart was racing, and my throat constricted, fighting the temptation to order that the car be turned around.
I trembled through several breaths, fighting for the courage to get out. What the hell was I even doing here? I hadn’t called. I hadn’t texted. For all I knew, I’d get to the door and he’d slam it in my face. This wasn’t how I did things. I always ran my game clean and clear. Seeing the destination first always meant it was reached. Anticipating the victory always meant it was achieved.
The door opened and Andre appeared. “Do you want me to see if he’s in?”
I forced as much of a smile as I could. The gentle giant had as deep a protective streak as Michael. Maybe that was why they dug each other. “No,” I finally replied. “I have to do this one on my own. I made a big mess of things in Julian. It’s time for me to pay the piper. If I’m lucky, I won’t need a ride home. If I don’t come back out in thirty minutes or so, go ahead and call it a night. He can take me downtown if I don’t stay.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”
His concern was so sincere, but after the mush-fest in Rancho Santa Fe, I was reaching my saturation point. “Yes,’ I snapped. “Just do as I ask, okay?”
“Yes, Miss Asher.”
We traded glares as I exited the car. He knew I was over that fucking name months ago, and when he was trying to piss me off, he used it.
He slammed the door. The whump made me jump a little—but shot my ass into gear up Michael’s walkway.
After I rang his old man doorbell, I pulled back a maniacal need to laugh. Ding Dong, the witch is dead. Maybe not literally, but close enough. That was certainly the gig I’d just signed up for. Pangs of sympathy sickness for Claire pierced my stomach—and their only cure was the person about to answer this door. For a moment, I allowed myself a blissful vision. Me, ensconced in those huge arms and pressed against the tattooed planes of his chest, letting the world fall away…
He could do that. Oh God, could he do that. I’d been there, done that, worn the T-shirt. The thing fit so fucking well, there were moments I never wanted to take it off—not even for washings.
You are so damn pathetic.
Finally, the light came to life above my head. At the same time, the door was pulled open. This was it. Do or die. Sink or swim. Visualize the victory.
“Hey.” Well, that was fucking original. Nice play, Miss Asher. Stone. Whatever.
“Hey.”
“Mind if I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I asked the damn question, didn’t I?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” An exhalation flared his nostrils. “You just don’t like the answering part.”
I matched his harsh breath. “Michael…”
“What?”
“I’m trying here.”
He finally pulled back to move aside, opening the entrance for me. I battled not to stare as I passed. Thank God he wasn’t just wearing boxers this time, although his black workout pants weren’t much better. Apparently, the guy didn’t believe in shirts unless he was leaving the house. Hallelujah.
“Not Ice Road Truckers again.” I couldn’t help but tease him. It was familiar ground for us, and it felt good. He smiled a little—but I could see he was still pissed. His whole body was tight as a spring—not that it was a bad look for him. At all.
Since he wasn’t playing host tonight, I took my own jacket off and laid it over the back of the sofa. Before he could close the door and walk back to my spot, I sucked up my courage and dove right in. “I know you might want to tell me to go fuck myself right now. I wouldn’t blame you. But I just—” Dammit. I hadn’t rehearsed anything past this point, expecting he’d cut in and help steer by now. “Well, I just—it’s just…”
“It’s just what?” All right; it was official. His fury made him hotter. Much hotter. As he approached, his gait commanding and sure, his sweats rode a little lower on his hips. His wonder V came out to play in full glory, every ridge toned, every line perfect. I let my stare wander all the way down, then back up to confront the deep fires in his eyes.
I swallowed. Then again. “I—I needed to see you. It’s just been a confusing, terrible day, and—well—confusing overall lately—”
“You don’t say.” The mirth disappeared from his lips.
“Don’t be that way.”
He stopped, hanging back on the other side of the couch. “Don’t be—” He laughed, but the sound wasn’t pleasant. “This is good,” he muttered. “So good.”
“Michael.”
He fanned his arms and gave me a mock bow. “Right. Okay. Where are my manners? You have something to say. Please proceed.”
His mocking tone was grating—but hell if I was going to let him triumph with that. He knew it, too. The bastard smirked, knowing he could push. He had the upper hand here, and relished it. Trouble was, he knew it secretly turned me on, too.
I shook my head to try and clear it. He stepped a little closer. Near but still too far. But I could smell him now, his skin so rich with pine and wind and soap. Memories instantly flooded because of it. Kisses in the water. Caresses in the barn. Feasting on our picnic…
“I just—needed to see you.” Okay, this was good. A complete sentence, even if it was in parts. “I had—to tell you—that what I meant—Jesus, I can’t even think straight—”
He just stared at me, expecting me to say more. Shit. This wasn’t good, after all. I’d gone inside out at just the sight of him again. I ached, needing to feel his arms around me, his body against me. I ached…
“Since—since the day I left Julian—”
Why didn’t he move? At all? Couldn’t he see how I was struggling here?
“It was a shitty thing to do, but I had no choice. And ever since then, I—well, I’ve thought about you. A lot. And—I—”
Couldn’t he just have mercy on me? Take me in his arms, make it all better? His eyes softened; the breath he pulled in was resigned, perhaps forgiving.
“Everything we shared was—well, it was good, damn good, and—”
What the fuck was he waiting for?
The moment the question blazed, so did its answer.
He needed me to ask for it.
To prove to hi
m that I still wanted it.
Wanted him.
No games, no ploys. Straight-up feelings, out on the table.
Okay. I could do that.
Maybe.
“I—I need you.” I croaked out the words while desperately inspecting my pedi.
“Pardon me?” He seemed baffled. Did I read this wrong, too?
“I need you, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” I snapped my head up. Lurched toward him on legs that wobbled thanks to nerves that raced. Keeping my hands off of him was like being tied down to a rock and being forced to gaze at Icarus in all his beautiful, burning fire. “I need you, Michael. I’m unraveling, and only you can help…can make me feel safe again, like you did in the mountains. I need it again. I—I need you again.”
I closed the rest of the space between us, sliding my hands up the ripples of his bare chest. He didn’t rear back, thank God, but he did go still as a statue. A golden, flawless one.
He finally spoke again. An uneasy grate. “Margaux…”
“Please don’t say no.”
And please don’t try to look through me or decipher me, because what you see won’t be beautiful. And right now, I need beautiful.
“Please.” The word wasn’t easy for me but I was sure I’d never meant it more. “I can’t be alone tonight. I need you. Please.” It ceased being a plea, moving into the realm of pure need, basic instinct. The fire of Icarus burned through me now too, leading my lips to little kisses up his neck, toward his ear. Michael still didn’t move—either direction. I refused to take that as a bad sign.
“Put your hands on me.” I was nearly whispering, my voice husky and pleading. “Touch me as only you can, Michael. Revive me. Reveal me. Arouse me…”
“Margaux.”
His head fell back. A moan ripped out of him. The sound ripped at me, drawing spiritual blood. He ached, really ached, and I’d done it to him. I hated what that felt like, an agony as strange as it was new, but I wasn’t giving up. Somehow, I couldn’t.
“I can’t keep playing these games with you.” The words vibrated up his throat. “I can’t…”
“No games. I swear. This is my reality, okay? Things are complicated for me.” I grimaced. “They’re…ugly. But you…you’re my beauty. My safety.” I took one of his hands in mine. When he actually allowed the contact, I reached for the other one. His eyes glittered like a copper alloy tinged with brilliant green, beckoning my gaze to his face. I met his stare with the full brutality he gave me and whispered, “Take me to your bed, Michael. Take me in your bed. No more hay lofts or showers or meadows. I want to go to bed with you. Explore you, taste you, worship you…lose track of time with you.”