No Perfect Princess (10 page)

I had to admit, the moment dissolved even my black cloud a little. For the next half hour, the usher-ly duties were a decent distraction, too. It also helped to offer a helping hand to the six-piece party band, freshly arrived to take the string quartet’s place in the gazebo. I killed another half hour at the bar with Chad, Drake, and Fletcher, probably learning more than I wanted about Killian’s two friends. They’d had quite an adventure last night at an “interesting” private club beneath one of downtown’s most famous—and supposedly respectable—dinner clubs. It was one of Andrea’s favorite places to take clients for dinner. Now I began to wonder why.

Damn.

Had Margaux discovered something along
those
lines about her mother? Was that the reason for their sudden estrangement last summer?

And where the fuck did that leave Colin Montgomery?

Poor, pussy-whipped man.

You calling it like you see it, or just welcoming the dude into your boat
?

I rewarded the thought with a chest-deep snarl while sinking into an empty chair at an abandoned party table. A dinner buffet, catered by Wolfgang Puck’s team, had long ago been cleared. Many reception guests were lingering over their slices of red velvet wedding cake. Looked like Killian might still have a speck of it on his nose but it also looked like Claire didn’t care. Though the band was already a verse and a chorus into
Uptown Funk
, the pair still swayed in a corner of the dance floor, forehead to forehead, as if the strains of
All I Ask of You
, their first dance song, still filled the air. A few folks got up to start shaking their moneymakers, while kids chased each other around the lawn.

Laughter. Music. Lights. Cake. Even the mist I’d predicted gave respect to the joy in the air, lingering at the edges of the party, afraid to ruin the night.

Talk about your perfect romance movie scenes. And yes, I had authority to make the ruling, considering how many of the damn things Margaux made me sit through last summer.

Last summer.

When things had been simpler.

Bullshit. You only remember them that way.

“Simple” wasn’t ever a luxury when it came to Margaux Asher.

And that’s just the way you like it.

Chest snarl number two. And another vow to never spend more than a month at a time back at home again. Clean air, fresh farm food, and no night life? Points for the clear lungs, the solid sleep patterns, and the body fat drop even with pie every night for dessert. Major minus for the solitude. Too damn much of it. Shit, even Christ only lasted forty days in the wilderness. I’d doubled that and then some. No wonder I dove into my head too much now.

Mom had tried to be a gentle sounding board—and I appreciated her efforts—but between her book club, wine tasting group, kick boxing, and time on the shooting range, she also had city council duties, as well as making sure the PD kept the restraining order on Declan active. And oh yeah, running one of the mountain’s hugest orchards.
That
little thing.

In short, my worries about her had been pointless.

Clearing a swath through my brain for what-the-hell-do-I-do-now.

But I wasn’t the fucking Dalai Lama. Aligning my chi was not the goal tonight.

Finding a tactful and respectful way to get my ass out of here? A worthy goal. Hadn’t I seen an ad for a weekend marathon of
Ice Road Truckers
when thumbing
SI
while shoveling my oatmeal this morning? Boxers, beer and sixteen-wheelers on frozen lakes were sounding damn good.

“Hey, Michael.”

The soft greeting turned my head up. Instinctively, I added a smile, earning me an onslaught of giggles from the three young teen girls forming a semi-circle in front of me. The one who’d spoken, a little ginger with a spray of freckles across her nose, was the daughter of a guy who served on Stone Global’s Board of Directors. The other two were her companions for the party, a set of identical twins with blonde curls and mischievous grins crammed with orthodontics.

“Oh. Hey…Kelsey.” Her name hit my brain just in time. Thank God I’d decided to save the heavier blood alcohol level for the
IRT
binge. “Who are your beautiful friends?”

The trio giggled as I added a playful wink—and instantly realized the error of the decision. Crap. Take one impressionable teen girl, add two more, stir in several gallons of volatile hormones and—

You had six eyes mooning at you like the best thing to come along since red velvet wedding cake.

Not a good idea, girls. Not tonight. Just talk to Margaux Asher. There are
much
better flavors out there than me.

“This is Teresa, and this is Tammie. We go to academy together.”

Of course they did.
Academy.
Because—gasp—high school just wasn’t a concept anymore. Like preferring lettuce over kale or saying “filet” and meaning “mignon” instead of tempeh.

“We’re in alpha rotation together. It’s pretty cool.”

“Alpha rotation. That sounds cool.”

What the hell? Like they were in the Army and on latrine duty every other day? Didn’t girls go to school and just learn the essentials these days? Texting without teacher detection? Sneaking smokes in the bathroom? Ogling boys?

Maybe they had that last one nailed juuussst fine.

“So what’s the best thing about being in…alpha rotation?” Still not feeling comfortable with all that shit.

Kelsey swiped at the grass with the toe of her shoe. Like her friends, she wore modest pumps, though I’d caught them all eyeing Margaux’s uber-heels with more than a little shoe lust. I couldn’t fault them a shred of the obsession. My cock had done a great job of tormenting—er, reminding—me, all damn night, just how thoroughly Margaux rocked those strappy gold stilts.

“Well,” Kelsey went on, “we get to learn ballroom dancing.”

I nodded, the perfect picture of approval. “Impressive.”

Teresa—or was it Tammie?—shrugged with “nonchalance” she’d likely perfected in the mirror. “And required. We all come out next year. In the spring.”

“Big times.” I forced the gravity into it. Helped in disguising how bizarre this felt. Forty-eight hours ago, in any diner in Julian, “coming out” meant visiting someone’s farm with a pie and a smile. Twenty-four hours ago, in any coffee place in downtown San Diego, the same words meant visiting Mom and Dad with “interesting” news. These girls were talking about a year’s worth of dance lessons to prepare for one night that would carry a price tag close to this wedding.

“Guess so.” The same twin shrugged again. She had the I-couldn’t-give-a-shit act down pretty good.

Or maybe it just takes one to know one, buddy.

Like the way I’d been taking care not to notice every step Margaux took, or every guy she stopped to talk to. Or, for that matter, girl. The passion that percolated beneath the woman’s kisses alone was enough to justify that assessment…

Thoughts that
had
to go away.
Now
.

I looked again at Kelsey. The girl was as exposed as her friend was guarded. Her smile still wobbled with nervousness. She jabbed chunks of her hair behind her ears with frantic fingers. “So—uh—Chad was telling us about how you know some moves, too.”

I was going to kill him.

Lock down the grin before you call Chad a fucker in front of these nice girls. Yeah, even the one who thinks she can see through your shit.

“He did, did he?”

It was all too easy to find the ass munch in the crowd. He clearly lay in wait for me, abandoning his earlier smirk in favor of the Joker-who’d-just-wedgied-Batman grin. The look was no different than the day I’d first stepped up—literally—to help Talia prepare for the wedding of her high school crush. I’d figured karma would eventually catch up with him on that whole front, but he’d obviously gotten ahead of the wench tonight.

I widened my smile but narrowed my gaze.
Payback’s a bitch, Lerner. And I’m waiting for the day when your tab gets dropped on the table.

“Well, Mr. Lerner is right.” I stood and extended an elbow toward Kelsey. I couldn’t watch the girl go through another second of angst when her intent was increasingly clear, and the band had just hit the halfway point on their rendition of the latest Enrique Iglesias hit. “What do you say we hit the floor, beautiful?”

Even Nonchalant Twin joined in on the task of pushing Kelsey toward me. Once we got to the floor and decided a mambo would fit the song best, I made sure to keep my hold chaste and the moves at a G rating. I didn’t give a shit if either or both of Kelsey’s parents were watching. I
did
give a shit that she knew it was possible to have “fun” with a “boy” while still having his decency and respect.

A good strategy—until ten minutes later, after I’d given each of the girls a song, when the band downshifted the set into another ballad. The tune was slow but the melody was powerful, a pretty good cover of a new rock ballad I’d only heard a couple of times so far. The lyrics were also typical for the genre, with a lot of talk about lips, hips, temptation, need, and even a reference to cherries—in the first verse alone.

In short, the huge cue for a long break.

Now, I just had to figure out how to do that with tact, grace, and dignity—and words that would make all three girls feel like they alone had made my night.

“Anyone mind if I cut in?”

I visibly exhaled.

Karma
did
know how to send angels.

Especially ones in you-know-you-want-this red dresses, who had the girl
cojones
to cut in on three teenagers mooning at a guy with the unabashed focus of—well—teenagers. Who also had the guts to go Scarlett Johansson dominatrix with her tone to said teens, infusing her “request” with enough badass Black Widow to emphasize it
wasn’t
a request. Who then stepped past all three girls with enough of a glance to convey sincere gratitude and you-can-all-get-lost-now in the same exquisite, perfect moment.

Like Kelsey and her friends, I didn’t know whether I adored her or feared her. No way was I tempting fate’s wrath by going for the trite answer of “a little of each”. Margaux Asher deserved so much more than trite. So much more than easy. So the answer to that? Yeah, I adored her
and
feared her.

And revered her.

And wanted her—now more than ever.

And had no fucking idea how I was going to get through this entire song without fully mauling her.

I took the edge off by allocating enough brain power into a charming farewell to my dance partners. “I think you lovely ladies have earned yourselves some of that awesome cake. And maybe someone can grab a corner slice for me, too?”

“Me!” The answer came back in triplicate. As the girls scurried off toward the cake table, I looked back to Margaux in time to catch the sardonic twist on her lips.

“Holy shit, how I’ve missed that,” she drawled.

Holy shit, how I’ve missed
this.
All of it
.

Her spine beneath my fingers. Her body pressed against mine. Her fingers, soft and slender. Her gaze, huge and mesmerizing. Her hair, a mist-kissed halo.

Diamond captured.

Moonbeam pinned.

Princess come to life.

And I thought I’d be able to just “get over” this?

“Missed what?” I took a page from Nonchalant Twin, feigning that the answer didn’t really matter—and that I didn’t hold half my breath waiting for her reply.

“Watching women trip over themselves because of you.”

I mulled a long list of profanities as answer to that—and turned them all down. What good would it do? She’d find a better profanity in return, and look twenty times better delivering it—with proportionate effects on key parts of my anatomy. I was pretty sure Kil was the only guy approved to sport major wood on this dance floor tonight—and he and Claire had conveniently disappeared two songs ago.

In short, either way, the losing straw belonged to me on that one.

So…what the hell…maybe pure honesty was the way to go.

“I haven’t missed a lot of anything but you, blondie.”

She stopped. In both her gorgeous strappy shoes. Just for a second, though long enough that I had to stop, too—allowing a full gaze at the color rushing over her face.

So much for letting Killian hog the dance floor erection duties.

Cheeks still stained, she looked down then back up. Her eyes were just as incredible, thick lashes framing the luminescent green depths—an accurate description, given the extra fires now burning their way up to me.

Uh-oh
.

That extra heat usually meant the princess was pissed—and though I couldn’t figure how my sincerity could’ve sparked it, I braced myself for impact.

“Missed me?” She canted her head. “Well, I’m glad you cleared that up—because it felt more like being avoided.”

My
feet jammed us to a stop this time. I squeezed her extra close to counteract the shock to her balance, though instantly wondered if I could get away with doing it all over again. The feel of her leaning completely into me, her body soft and pliant…I was Zeus harnessing the lightning, ready to scale Olympus in a single bound.

If only there wasn’t the not-so-small issue of her voice to deal with. And the ire in it—acting as a thin disguise for the hurt.

I kept her locked in the standstill, despite her effort to return to the rhythm of the song. Pushing a tiny huff through her nose, she glanced back up.
Glanced
. Giving me just enough let-it-drop-buddy impatience to communicate she’d meant that as the last and only word.

In another world—like, say, the one of six months ago—I’d have rolled with that. When Margaux raised her walls, especially with those strange lines of loneliness etched across her face, my MO had typically been “respect the boundary”. But where the hell had that gotten us? Six stupid months of separation. Texts so awkward, Kelsey and the twins would likely laugh in derision. A handful of phone calls that hardly made it past talk of the weather—the fucking
weather
—so that now, I’d driven myself crazy about wondering who she’d brought as a date to this thing, only to get my first up-close of the night and see the exact same solitude haunting her beautiful eyes.