Pride and Papercuts

by Staci Hart

  “I hate this,” I muttered, fiddling with his buttons.

  He pressed a kiss to my forehead, smoothing my hair. “I know. But it’s just for a little while.”

  “A blip.”

  “A blip. And then it’s you and me.”

  I sighed, angling so I could see his face. The strong line of his jaw, chiseled from stone. The angle and bow of his top lip, the lush swell of the bottom. The Roman nose and the blue of his eyes, the iris azure, shot in the center with silver and ringed in navy.

  However did a man like him exist? He was the picture of dependability, the one you could always count on. He was truth speaker and protector—under his sleek exterior lived a lion, defending what he loved and what was his to the death.

  And somehow I was his, and he was mine.

  The thought was wiped away with a kiss and a shift of his hips, barred from close contact by the comforter. He realized it when I did and rose to draw it back, the cold air kissing my bare thighs and arms.

  His eyes roamed my body as he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it behind him. I lay there on display, unmoving as he admired me. The precise faithfulness of his gaze made me feel precious, like a delicate treasure, a prized painting, perfect and cherished. That look made me feel beautiful, desired, and gladly, I let him mark every inch of me with praise I didn’t know I’d ever feel worthy of.

  His long, square fingers unfastened his belt, lowered his zipper, but when he stretched out next to me, his hands abandoned his task to stroke the curve of my breast. On its bath, his thumb grazed my nipple—it tightened, reaching for his touch as it passed. His thigh slid between mine until that corded muscle rested firmly against the place that wanted him so acutely. The locking of our legs pressed the hard length of him against my hip, and God, how I wanted to slip my fingers into his pants and touch him. But instead, I was still, knowing he wanted to pay some tribute, some homage to me that required nothing but my presence.

  Every touch was slow, every moment drawn out. The slide of his hand into my bra that exposed my breast. The feathery feel of his fingertips skimming the tender skin, circling my nipple. The sight of him lowering his parted lips, the shock of pleasure at the heat of his mouth. A whimper from me, and his tenderness tightened with desire, a sharp intake of breath and a hard draw of my breast.

  My fingers found their way into his dark hair as he spent a long, lovely moment where he was. With a snap of his fingers, my bra was undone and discarded, and when he returned to my body, it was with his chest spreading my thighs and his lips on a path toward my hips.

  I propped myself up with a pillow, not wanting to lose the indulgent sight of him, his black lashes fanned on his cheeks, brows soft with desire, lips deft, tongue masterful. Big hands hooked the waist of my panties, backing away only to rid me of them, to leave me naked, unwrapped and waiting for his pleasure. First with fingertips, slicked with my heat, tracing the rippling flesh, circling the swollen tip of me. Then with his eyes, cataloging every stroke. Then with his blessed mouth, his divine tongue, the hallowed act of which stretched time out to minutes or hours.

  Distantly, I felt his shoulders beneath my thighs, his hands splayed on my hips to hold me still. The chill in the room bit my skin, but I was hot despite it, the distinction sharp and sweet. But my awareness shrank, tightening, receding to the point where his lips latched him to me.

  My body was his. The arch of my back, the roll of my hips, the press of my aching core to his mouth, it was all by his hand, by his lips and tongue.

  Nothing about it was fast, even as heat rose within me, as my heart galloped painfully, as the orgasm he wanted from me began to heed the painfully slow call of his tongue. It bloomed through my chest, down my ribs, past my stomach to pool at his lips as they moved with deliberate resolve.

  An unhurried flick of his tongue was the strike of a match.

  A leisurely draw of my body into his mouth fanned the ember into flame.

  A deep, rumbling moan, and I shattered.

  Every shift of his mouth jolted my thighs, bucked my hips, set a cry on my lips. A groan and a hiss from him and from me, but he didn’t relent. The sight of him buried between my legs sent another pulse of pleasure through me, and I scrabbled at his shoulders, shifting my legs, reaching for him.

  He broke away, drunken and wild. Swollen lips met mine with relief and determination, and with me hanging on his neck, he laid us down, let me go, and backed away.

  He rose before me, a god, not a man, his power over me absolute. I drank in the sheen of his skin glittering across his broad chest, the hard disks of his pecs, the ridges of his abs, down to his narrow waist. His pants hung open, his cock hard and long, his crown escaping the band of his boxer briefs.

  My body clenched at the sight.

  I watched him undress, watched every inch of skin as it was bared, mesmerized. Because it wasn’t only his skin he revealed when he met my eyes. It was the bold and naked truth of his heart, the deep and unbound longing of his soul. And the sight wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a slip of a mask or a moment of revelation.

  It was a deliberate undressing of his very self, offered with the reverence of a sacrifice. It was a gift, one he’d never given before. One I’d never been given. One neither of us had received.

  When I opened my arms, he occupied them. When he kissed me, I held that gift on tender lips. When he filled my body with his, I was given that promise I’d wished for. Without words, he promised me everything, swore his devotion. And I knew in my marrow that he would honor that vow.

  We were a wave, a slow wave of pleasure, a long stroke of love. We were racing pulses and shallow breaths. We were lost in the depths of each other’s eyes, drowning in the bottomless fissures of our hearts. We poured ourselves in until each overflowed with the other, until neither could be distinguished. Together, our hearts stopped. Together, they kicked back to life. Together they raced, together, we came. And together, we came down, tangled in each other’s arms with a single, infinite wish.

  That we’d forever stay there.

  20

  Hear Me Out

  MARCUS

  A grueling and endless week ground me down like a stone mill.

  I’d only seen Maisie once in the last seven days since neither of us was willing to tip her mother off. Since the hearing, Evelyn had been breathing fire down Maisie’s neck, leaving zero room for error. So I buried myself in work, and Maisie divided her time between the charity and shadowing in the advertising department. I’d spent nights with my family, and she’d caught up on time with her dad, which I’d heard involved a John Hughes movie binge and repotting her collection of plants in her room.

  There was no way for her to get away, not with her mother hot on our scent. And as such, we’d spent a miserable week apart.

  But today, I whistled my way into Longbourne, light as could be.

  Because tonight, Maisie was coming over.

  She’d set up a cover with her friend Jess from work—they were having dinner and going for a drink as far as her mother knew. They’d even planned on leaving work together and sharing a cab over to my place.

  All I had to do was survive a few more hours, and then I could fill up on Maisie.

  Ivy was at the register with her baby strapped to her chest, the shop busy as usual. She gave me a shifty look when I walked in, and I gave her a look right back.

  “What are you doing here today, Ivy? I thought you were still on maternity leave.”

  “I am. But they needed a hand, and I’m gonna be honest, Marcus—I’m bored out of my goddamn mind.”

  A laugh burst out of me.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Motherhood is great and rewarding and all that. Look at my baby—she’s cute as hell. Who wouldn’t love holding that little thing all day?” She craned her neck to look at said baby, who was asleep and just as cute as she’d said. “But I really needed to put on a bra and brush my hair, and neither of those things were happening without a good reason.”


  “Well, I’m glad. Wendy’s not quite ready to take your place, so Tess has been pulling a lot of double duty. So anytime you need an excuse to put on a pair of pants with a zipper, come on in.”

  “Psh, a zipper? These are maternity jeans, my blessing and my curse.” She popped the elastic band, just in case I didn’t believe her.

  The baby wriggled, and Ivy bounced, patting the curve of the carrier. With a nod and a smile, I headed to the back.

  I found Tess next, her face pinched and focus hard on the arrangement of zinnias in front of her.

  “Watch out—you’re gonna blow those flowers up if you think at them any harder.”

  She blinked, brightening up. But she still looked a little shifty too, and the sight set my hackles at attention.

  “What’s with everybody today?” I asked. “How come Ivy’s out front? Where’s Jett? Kash asked me to come in, but I was under the impression we were talking about a missing shipment of succulents. Was I wrong?”

  She squirmed. “Ah, they’re in the greenhouse,” she dodged. “You should go back there.”

  I stepped closer, smelling fish. “How come, Tess? What’s going on?”

  Her face was crimson, her lips pursed. “Nothing.”

  “Tess.”

  “I said, nothing!” she said with brusque finality, turning back to her bouquet. “I am not a Bennet, and this is a Bennet thing.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What’s a—”

  The look she cut in my direction stopped me, and I put up my hands.

  “All right, all right. Don’t shoot.”

  She pointed her shears at me and flicked them toward the door.

  I decided then that someday Tess would make an excellent mother.

  To the back I went, through the doors to the greenhouse and into the damp. But the only person I found was Kash, and he practically jumped out of his skin when I opened the swinging doors.

  My brows stitched together. “Please tell me you’ve got something good to spill because everybody’s acting like—”

  “Mom’s about to find out,” he hissed, pointing me toward the basement.

  My feet stopped, and I nearly fell over. When I’d caught myself, I picked up my pace.

  Kash cranked up the radio before following, presumably for noise pollution to deter our mother should she come snooping.

  The basement was dark but for the few lights in the center, one of which shone over a work table. And standing around it like the board of directors from hell were my siblings.

  I came to a stop at the head of the table, and Kash took the other end. For a moment, we were silent. Luke scratched his neck. Jett cleared his throat. Laney looked at me like a traitor, and Kash mostly looked annoyed.

  “I knew you couldn’t keep your trap shut,” I shot at Luke.

  And that was all it took.

  Everyone started talking at once. Kash went on about how he’d told me so. Luke promised it had been an accident. Jett was annoyed I hadn’t told him myself, and Laney was just pissed.

  “I mean, really, Marcus,” she snapped. “A Bower. A freaking Bower. Mom is going to die. You are literally going to give her a heart attack, and I’m gonna put Marcus Did This on her headstone.”

  “I don’t suppose Luke told you Maisie’s helping us, did he?”

  “Oh, he did.” She folded her arms. “I just don’t think that’s enough reason to pretend like this is a good idea.”

  “Well, lucky for me, I don’t need your permission.”

  Laney scowled, but her cheeks flushed, and I thought I caught a glimmer of angry tears in her eyes. “Marcus … of all the women you could have chosen—”

  “I chose her. Do you think I’d have chosen her if she wasn’t worthy?”

  Her mouth clicked closed, and she frowned furiously at me. “No,” she fired, “but it’s still fucking messed up.”

  Kash wore a magnificent frown of his own. “That’s not why we’re here, is it, Laney?”

  “No, we’re here because we have to figure out how to tell Mom without giving her a coronary,” she said. “This girl had better be awesome, Marcus. She’d better be the best goddamn everything in the whole world.”

  “She is,” I said simply.

  Something in the way I’d said it softened her eyes, her jaw, but her arms remained locked across her chest in defiance.

  Jett started, “I think you should sit Mom down. Break it to her easy.”

  “We definitely can’t keep it a secret much longer,” Kash said. “Look at Luke. He’s gonna pop like a piñata, except instead of candy, he’s spilling secrets.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

  We all pinned a look on him.

  “Hey, you try getting cornered by her. When she does that thing with her eyes,” he said, making a pitiful face. “And she asks you with that voice?”

  “You’re the only one still a sucker for that,” Laney answered. “It’s the same trick you pull on her when you want something.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t I use it if it works?” he asked.

  “Exactly,” Jett said on a laugh.

  Kash shook his head and wrangled us in. “You could tell her yourself, or we could be there with you. Maybe if we’re a unified front, she’ll have a harder time arguing.”

  This time, we all pinned him with a look.

  “I have a crazy idea,” Luke said.

  “No, you?” Laney answered on a laugh.

  He made a face at her but continued, “What if you bring Maisie here?”

  Once again, the room erupted in noise, me included.

  Luke held up his hands. “Hear me out,” he said over the din, waiting for us to simmer down.

  Laney had the last word, and it was unrepeatable.

  “Listen,” Luke said, “if Maisie is right there in front of her, she’s not going to sling all the hateful things about the Bowers around—”

  Kash frowned. “You sure about that?”

  “Think about it. Remember after that first deposition? Mom was singing Maisie’s praises. Mom likes her, thinks she’s nothing like her mother, right? Don’t you think she’d have, I don’t know … sympathy?”

  Now Jett was frowning too, the expression identical to Kash’s. “Just because Mom doesn’t hate Maisie doesn’t mean she wants Marcus dating her.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since you assholes found out, but I’ve really thinking about it since Mom nearly walked in on us last week.”

  They gaped at me like a quartet of trout.

  I ignored them. “Telling Mom one-on-one would give her the freedom to completely lose her marbles. If we’re all there, it’d be easier, but she’d still just call us all traitors and storm out in the end. But if Maisie’s there to defend herself, to declare herself, don’t you think Mom would understand?”

  They were quiet.

  “She’s gonna be upset any way we look at it. At least this way, she can look Maisie in the eye and know the truth.”

  “And what’s that?” Laney asked.

  “That Maisie is on our side.”

  No one argued, which I took as a good sign.

  “She has constantly put herself at risk for us. For me. She stuck up for us when it mattered, and she’s been feeding us information on this lawsuit that has the power to sink us. Maisie nearly walked away from everything she’s ever known because she’s through with her mother. If that doesn’t prove she’s with us, I don’t know how else to convince you aside from this—I trust her absolutely and without question.”

  The room went soft with understanding, even Laney, who perhaps wore the most emotional expression of us all. “Well, if you tell Mom like that, I don’t know how she can argue,” she said softly. “I certainly can’t.”

  Jett snorted a laugh. “And that’s saying something.”

  Kash nodded. “I think we should combine ideas—if we’re all there and Maisie shows up, we should be able to manage Mom.�
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  “And Dad,” I added. “If he’s got our back, she really won’t fight it. We’ve just gotta make sure she doesn’t feel ganged up on.”

  Luke smirked. “Leave that to me. I’ll get her buttered up real good.”

  “So when should we do it?” Kash asked.

  I considered for a beat. “I’ll talk to Maisie tonight. If she’s ready now, do you think we could pull something together last minute?”

  Laney gave me a sidelong smile and said, “We’re Bennets, aren’t we?”

  With a gentle laugh around the table, I felt the peace of their acceptance, not realizing I’d been carrying that burden around with me since the second I met Maisie. Because if they didn’t approve, the things I loved in the world would divide. And I only wanted them to expand.

  “Thank you,” I said, swallowing down unexpected emotion. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  Laney took my hand, looking up at me with that smile still on her face. “Marcus, no matter what happens, no matter what’s said, in the end, you will always have our trust.”

  And with a final look around the table, we began to plan the ultimate ambush—how to tell my mother I was in love with a Bower.

  21

  Bring the Bottle

  MAISIE

  “Think she bought it?” Jess asked as the cab took off, leaving my mother at work behind us.

  “I hope so. We made a big enough show on our way out.”

  A laugh cracked out of her. “Going up there together to talk to your mother was a stroke of genius. I think she might have believed we were going to dinner, but I can never tell with her face like that.”

  “I’m sure she’ll watch the security footage anyway, just to be sure.”

  She sighed, her smile fading. “How do you live like this?”

  “Well, I’m not usually dating the son of her sworn enemy. I don’t generally have to sneak around.”

  Jess gave me a look.