by Watson, Meg
I shrugged. A million Margots shrugged back at me.
“I pulled some things together. I’m resourceful.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the Burke situation would it?”
“Nope,” I lied, easily.
She wouldn’t understand, I counselled myself.
“Well, then this is a congratulatory dinner. Let’s celebrate you not being homeless.”
I chuckled and shook my head, watching my reflection.
“Yeah. OK. Well, I guess I’m going to the store. You wanna come?”
“No fucking way. So! What do I need to wear to get some of your sloppy seconds?”
“Um, what?”
“The man-meat you’re hiding up there in shangri-la.”
“Oh… about that…”
I heard her suck her teeth and I swear I heard her roll her eyes.
“Bridge, I’m just going to tell you straight out.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “The Burkes are… staying.”
“What does that mean?”
I blew my breath through puffed out cheeks. “We are, like, together.”
“OK,” she said definitively, but then there was a pause. “OK,” she said again. While she mulled this over I turned around, trying to see myself from every direction. The paint I had managed to splatter on myself was distracting, but I looked to be love-bite free. Declan’s enthusiasm had me a little worried.
“Since when?”
“Since… uh…” I searched my memory. The weeks had flown by in a flurry of work and Burkes, rolling together into one long day of food, sex, painting, more sex, and then some sex. “I don’t know. We were just… at some point it was easier for them just to stay here.”
“They’re not living with you,” she said briskly.
I didn’t answer.
“Wait, are they living with you?”
“Not exactly? I mean, I guess they don’t really ‘live’ anywhere. They’re, uh… staying with me.”
“Where are they right at this moment?”
“Um,” I whispered, “asleep. In bed.”
“In your bed? Like… together?”
I stifled a giggle. Though Declan had bought a new larger bed weeks ago to replace my old queen-size, the novelty of all sleeping in one bed still hadn’t worn off. I loved being pressed between their bodies all night long.
“I’m getting a lot of work done,” I offered.
“Don’t change the subject,” she snipped.
“Well, that’s all you really need to know. Like, a lot of work. Really good stuff I think.”
“Do they pay you for sex?”
“Fuck you,” I hissed, harsher than I meant too.
“It’s just that sometimes girls who are into the freaky shit get paid for it, you know. As your business manager I think it’s my duty--”
“Seriously, shut up.”
“Fine, whatever you say. Margot...” she said, her voice softening. “You know, I think I need to come over. Nowish.”
“No, you can’t. I have to go and shop for my foodie friend and like fourteen more people or something.”
Another long pause. I really wanted to get away from this conversation. Everything was going fine and I didn’t need her monkeywrench. “Bridge, what. Spit it out.”
“I’m starting to think this is a bad idea,” she rushed out.
“Oh it’s a little late for that,” I chuckled.
“No, seriously, babe. Something doesn’t feel right about this. And you know if I think it’s funny business--”
“Since you have the morals of an alley cat?” I interrupted helpfully.
“Precisely,” she agreed. “If your ethical limbo bar has somehow sunk below mine, I just think you should maybe check yourself.”
I arched my back and stuck out my nipples. I could even see the outline of my abdominal muscles a little bit. I’d been getting some really great workouts.
“Margot! Are you even listening to me?”
“Not anymore,” I admitted. “Listen. I think you’re gonna be OK with this. I really do. You’ll see. Bye.”
I heard her protest fading as I dropped the phone from my ear and cocked my head at my reflection. Was this what they saw? Kind of thick around the thighs but strong. Handfuls of flesh available in strategic places. A neat triangle of pubic hair. High, heavy breasts.
It all looked OK, I decided. I approved of them seeing me like this.
It felt good to give myself a passing grade. For a long time I had tried not to feel anything. As Kevin’s interest in me waned, I didn’t want the physical reminder of his absence so I just put it out of my mind. I drove my body around all day like a forgettable compact car.
But now, after spending weeks being pulled, prodded, inspected, manipulated, carried, moved, and thoroughly invaded from every angle, I had come right back to life. All my old nerve cells turned back on with a teenager-like enthusiasm. It was like the old days. I used to be almost feral. I loved the touch of everything: fabric, upholstery, fingers… I used to wear fishnets in summer because I loved the complicated scritch of the pattern on my thighs and against the soles of my feet.
I clipped my hair on top of my head and turned on the shower. In seconds there were billows of steam coming out of the marble-tiled enclosure and I stepped in.
Each drop cascaded over my skin and I swear I could feel them individually. I grabbed the sea sponge and lathered it up with a slab of hand-made soap someone had given me as a gift at some point. The perfume was intoxicating.
Why had I never opened that bar before? I had been using the same economical drugstore brand for years, it seemed. I should have been using artisanal soaps, I scolded myself silently. I’m totally worth it.
My skin felt positively brilliant. I scrubbed and scrubbed, luxuriating in the smells and sensations until I was almost positive I was already running late for dinner party prep. I hated to leave the shower but there was so much to do.
Even the towel felt velvety and slightly naughty. Before I could walk to my closet, my reflections in the triple mirror caught my attention. Flushed pink and gleaming, I looked newly minted. I unclipped my long, dark hair and let it fall over my shoulders, just brushing the tops of my pale pink nipples.
Fuckable, yes.
Holding my arms out, there appeared to be some paint I hadn’t managed to scrub off. I raised my wrists and peered at them. No, those were bruises: finger marks from Declan’s strong hands when he had held me against the studio doors. I bit my lip, instantly wet and swollen at the memory of his sharp, decisive commands.
I chuckled to myself. Everything was so intense, I had a hair trigger. Was the whole world going to be one big turn on now?
Turning around in the closet, I picked out a flowing, empire-waist dress that draped and swirled loosely over my hips when I walked. The fabric was a hand painted, nearly diaphanous silk with tiny pearls sewn under the bodice. The dark blue set off the flush in my chest. I tried to imagine two pairs of eyes on me at the dining room table while Bridget ate her heart out. Oh yes, that was going to be fun.
Opening the closet door quietly, I padded into the bedroom and scanned the perimeter for my laptop. Declan inhaled deeply as I leaned to the top of the nightstand on his side of the bed.
“You smell nice,” he murmured sleepily. “Come back to bed.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, glancing at Jackson on the far side of the bed. His ribcage moved slowly with every deep breath. “Bridget wants to have dinner. I have to get some things.”
“Oh right,” he yawned in full voice, apparently unconcerned that his brother was asleep a few feet away. He sat up and rubbed his hand through his hair, his bicep flexing deliciously with every motion. “Anneka.”
“No, Bridget.”
“No,” he said distractedly as he stood naked and started walking toward the bathroom, his beautiful cock bouncing heavily from side to side. “I mean Anneka is coming to dinner.”
The fuck?
&nbs
p; I stared at the half-closed bathroom door, listening to him pee and then flush. The tap came on and I held back my irritation with both hands while he washed up and brushed his perfect white teeth.
If he turns on the shower I’m going in there after him.
He came back out and gave me a superhero-style wink before pulling a pair of jeans out of the bottom drawer of the new dresser he’d had delivered.
“Who’s Anneka?” I said, stifling most of my irritation.
“Shhhh, you’ll wake Jack,” he stage-whispered.
I smiled blandly and left the room. We had played this game enough times that I knew how it went. If I let on that I wanted to know something, he made it his mission to keep me from it until he felt like giving it to me. Everything had to be his decision. As soon as he sniffed any kind of desperation in my voice, he would employ every dodge and parry known to man. I had to play it cool if I wanted to know.
Walking to the kitchen in my bare feet, I sat on the barstool and casually flipped open my laptop, creating a list of a couple dozen things on the grocery store app to pick up. I figured I could whip up a vat of spicy gumbo in an hour. Giant salad, some crusty bread…
“What are you planning, there?”
“The dinner,” I answered distractedly, making a point of not looking up as he walked into the kitchen and turned on the new espresso machine.
“What are you thinking to make?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” I lied.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Bridget doesn’t care as long as there’s wine. I thought you would enjoy something, you know… rustic. The frozen ones get done in like thirty-five minutes.”
He scowled at me from near the stove.
“The frozen ones of what?”
I shrugged. Gotcha.
“Meatballs,” I said innocently.
“Um,” he grimaced, “why don’t you let me take care of this… I have a guy…”
“Oh, there’s no time,” I said breezily. “Nobody would whip up a dinner party in, what, less than eight hours. This will be totally fine.”
He inhaled deeply and I snuck a glance at his broad, taut chest. I loved the wide patch of light brown hair that spread over his thick pecs and trailed down his belly. He hung his hand on his hip and took a couple steps forward, snapping my laptop closed from behind.
“Hey, I wasn’t done making the list,” I protested.
“Yeah. Get your shoes.”
“No there’s too much to do,” I pouted. “How are you with a vacuum cleaner?”
“Oh my god, stop now,” he growled, coming around the corner of the island and forcing my knees open. I obediently locked my ankles behind his hips as he leaned in and mouthed gently at the ridge of my jaw.
“You know you’re going to do it my way,” he murmured as he leaned forward, forcing me backward. “Stop fighting.”
“But I have to, uh, oh!” I said weakly as he slipped his arm around me, jerking my hips into his.
“What are you going to do?” he asked between love bites, jamming my crotch against his thick, ready tool.
I instantly began grinding my hips, eager to find that easy path to orgasm. Every time I seemed to land on it faster, but Declan would often keep me from it if he knew. I had to work fast.
“I forget,” I lied.
“Margot!” he said, pulling back and giving my nipple a near-painful tweak. I flinched but was instantly desperate for more.
“I’m going to get my shoes,” I whimpered, freezing in place and hoping he wouldn’t pull away if I was very, very good.
“That’s right,” he snarled, diving down and mouthing my pussy through the fabric of my panties. I gasped and threw my head back, but he withdrew and stood straight, leaving me cold and unsatisfied.
Quirking an eyebrow at me, he said, “Well, get a move on then.”
“OK,” I nodded obediently, hoarse and throbbing. My legs threatened to collapse under me as I shuffled down the hall.
This is nuts, I told myself for the millionth time.
Yeah, yeah. We know.
***
Declan buttoned his shirt with one hand while he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and slipped his shoes on. He had that expression of eager-cat-meets-clever-mouse on his handsome, ruggedly stubbled face. Declan loves a project.
“I’m sure you can do it,” he was purring smoothly into the phone as he pointed me toward the front door, gesturing that I should wait for him there.
“Sounds fine. And the wine pairings. We’ll be there in less than an hour,” he said as he disappeared toward the garage.
I was tempted to dash to the bedroom to ask Jackson who Anneka was before Declan got the car, but there wasn’t enough time. Jackson would just answer my question directly without teasing or torturing me. Somehow that seemed too easy, though. I was just going to have to hope that Declan didn’t forget.
When the Jag pulled to the front, I heard the small honk and opened the door, stepping out into the shaded entryway and then into the late morning sun.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said as I opened my door and dropped into the seat. He thumbed another number and drew the phone to his ear, then guided us down the drive.
My phone jangled in my purse. I reached between my feet and dug through my bag.
“Miranda, hey… Can you get a housekeeping team to Margot’s in the next couple hours? And uh… I don’t know, um. Orchids. Something like that. White and blue?”
I miss u, came the text.
“Just a little thing,” Declan continued.
I held the phone angled away from his line of vision and scowled at it. Now? Kevin wanted to text me now?
“Like five people…. Well I don’t know, use your judgement.”
Five people, right, because of our special surprise guest, I thought as I stared at my phone.
Hi, I texted back simply.
Hi yourself, came the instant reply.
Declan turned onto the main road and chuckled quietly in a flirtatious tone into the phone. What on earth was Miranda saying to him?
I just drove by, Kevin texted. Thinking of you. It’s been forever.
I stared at the screen. He was in town? And presumably circling my house? Huh.
Declan thumbed his phone and dropped it into his lap as we headed for downtown.
“Why do I need to be hungry?” I asked.
“Oh, Mike is whipping us up a tasting menu,” he said, cutting his eyes toward me to gauge my reaction. He loved his ta-dah moments.
“That’s amazing. Instant dinner party?” I asked with the required amount of admiration in my voice. I was getting pretty good at Declan-Burke-style communication.
“Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, you know,” he purred.
What have you been up to? came the next text. I flipped the phone face-down against my thigh.
“So have you ever been to Amsterdam?”
“No,” I shook my head.
“Oh you should go,” he said. “It’s a gorgeous city. Jack and I have to head back in a week or so, I think I told you.”
“No you didn’t tell me,” I said, carefully not sounding irritated.
“Oh didn’t I?” he asked, glancing at me. “Sorry, I thought I let you know we wouldn’t be in town long.”
“Oh. OK, yeah, you mentioned something about that,” I mumbled as I flipped the phone back over and looked at the face.
“Well, you’d love Amsterdam,” he said, gunning the motor as we shot onto the freeway. “You should come.”
I looked at him. Was he serious? I was never really sure.
Not much, I texted back to Kevin. Just getting a little dinner party together for tonight.
Oh darn, was hoping to see you, Kevin texted back.
“Anyway Anneka is going back after tonight, and Jack and I will tag along after. You’ll like her. She’s brilliant.”
“Sounds delightful,” I said with absolutely no trace of sarcasm.
Declan’s phone vibrated in his lap and he pulled it to his ear.
“Yeah that’s fine,” he said into the mic. “We’ll be there in about twenty. Desserts too, for five, say eight o’clock.”
“Six,” I said, looking at him as I tucked my phone back in my purse.
Declan looked at me from under his brows.
I nodded. “Six,” I said again.
He shrugged and resumed looking at the freeway.
“Mike, it’s six guests, sorry. Yeah…. OK yeah. See you soon.”
CHAPTER 2
MIKE ARRIVED AT 6:30 with two other white-coated, handsome men and asked me which way to the kitchen. They brought in covered trays and a case of wine and a crate full of pots and pans while I stood there helplessly like I was guarding the refrigerator.
“What are you doing?” Jackson asked when he saw me standing, my hands flapping uselessly at my sides.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “I didn’t realize he was going to use my kitchen. Am I supposed to, like, show him where stuff is or something?”
“No,” he chuckled. “Just let him do his thing. If he really needs something he’ll speak up.”
“OK, well…” I sighed, “what am I supposed to be doing? Like… I mean Miranda’s team cleaned, um, everything. Stuff I haven’t cleaned in years. If ever. Should I set the table or something?”
“No, baby,” he said, leaning close and kissing my forehead. The scent of his shower-damp throat made me dizzy. “Why don’t you just relax?”
“I forgot how.”
“Take a nap?”
“Who could sleep at a time like this!”
“Go for a swim?”
“And get my hair wet? Are you serious?”
“Margot.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and pouted.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll be in my studio. Not working. Just hiding.”
“That’s my girl,” he cooed and I wriggled like a puppy on the inside as he patted me on the bottom and sent me on my way.
I dodged past the chefs and walked down the hall to my studio sullenly but was secretly glad to open the door and get that shazam feeling all over again. Nine brand new, totally unseen by outsiders, totally wonderful and exciting works leaned against the wall. They even covered up the paintings behind them. I was absolutely smitten.