Margot lowered her voice. “Riley told you that Clint wants to get serious?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Say something.” Anything.
Dani was definitely serious herself now. “I shouldn’t be the one saying something here. You say something. You tell me why Clint has enough power to make you call me in the morning bitching about him.”
If Margot didn’t know any better, she would’ve said that the new Dani had done more than have a slight physical makeover. She had a new way of dealing with everyone, too.
Drawing her knees up and pulling them toward her as she sat on the mattress, Margot knew that the time for hemming and hawing was over with Dani.
And with herself, too.
“I have no clue what’s going on,” she said. “Last week, I was this fabulous single girl on the go. This week...” She closed her eyes, opened them. “This week I’m starting to think about what it’d be like to stay.”
“With Clint?”
“Jeez, I can’t believe I said that.” Could she take it back?
Dani’s tone gentled. “You’re scared to death, aren’t you? It’s okay, Margot. Love’s darn scary. It’s hard to figure out.”
You should know, Margot thought, wondering just how far Dani and Riley had mended the small tears in the seams of their relationship.
Her heart had started to palpitate way back at the mere mention of love. “Maybe we shouldn’t say the L word. I can’t even...”
“All right. Can I say like instead? Because you do like Clint, don’t you?”
Margot hugged her knees even tighter. “I wish I didn’t.”
“But you do.” There was some hope in her tone.
“Don’t you dare tell Riley, because guys gossip just as much as girls. They just do it in far fewer words.”
“I’ll be mum about it. But what’re you going to do?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Then, after a hesitation, she slumped. “Nothing. I know I’m not going to do a damned thing, because this is a good fling, but otherwise...”
“Ah.” Dani sounded disappointed.
But why shouldn’t she be when Margot had no idea what it was like to be with someone in a normal relationship and would most likely blow an opportunity for one, anyway?
She shouldn’t have called Dani. She shouldn’t have even opened this can of worms, because what else did she have to give besides seventy-plus more slips of paper in a basket?
Nothing, she realized, thinking of her dead-end job, her restless, noncommittal spirit.
But maybe there was something after all, she thought, before saying goodbye to Dani.
She hadn’t driven away from the ranch yet, and at least she could have one more night’s worth of good times before she went back to whatever she had left.
* * *
AFTER A DAY full of training a quarter paint that he had bought last month, Clint returned to the house exhausted, headed for the shower.
The water’s spray massaged his muscles and, of course, his mind went into fantasy mode, imagining that Margot wasn’t in her room being a study bug and working on her project. Instead, she was here in the shower with him, running her hands over his body, soaping him up, easing him down from hours of labor.
It wasn’t enough, though, and afterward, he went downstairs, thinking he would just throw a couple frozen dinners into the stove and see how much fight Margot had left in her when she came down to eat.
Would it be war?
Or would it be time to make up?
He found her waiting for him, sitting on a kitchen chair, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she wore that long white innocent-but-not-so-innocent negligee that he’d given her last weekend as a part of his basket.
As she smiled mysteriously at him, he nearly blew up.
Maybe she didn’t notice, because she merely pushed a plate of meatloaf and vegetables across the table in his direction. She had food in front of her, too.
“I heard you come in,” she said, “so I went ahead and warmed this up. I found some ground beef in the fridge earlier. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” he said. “Thanks.”
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing with her sitting there in a sexy boudoir gown with meatloaf on the table. Was he supposed to choose one or the other?
Was there a piece of paper he’d missed in her basket that had some kind of Hotsville, U.S.A., scenario written on it?
The only thing he knew for sure was that she was setting up another destination—their finale.
Let it play out, he thought. Nothing earth-shattering is ever going to happen with her, anyway. He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea last night. Or ever.
Just imagine—successful city-girl Margot and him, the simple lone cowboy.
Sitting, he took a long drink of the water she also had waiting for him. The glass clinked with ice, and a slice of lemon decorated the top.
She slid a piece of paper over to him.
And there it was—a scenario from the basket.
He didn’t read it yet, only looked at her for a moment as she gave him another cryptic smile.
A second or two ticked past, and he thought, Why not?
What did he have to lose?
As a small voice within answered, Your heart? he ignored it and read the paper.
Reykjavik ice bar, Iceland.
He glanced at her in that white negligee again. An ice princess. And, unfortunately, the image was more than just a role she was playing for the basket.
She was as cool as they came.
“It’s a freezing place, this ice bar,” she said. “When I went there, they gave me an actual ice cup for the cocktails. They also gave us parkas, so we wouldn’t chill our butts off on the ice seats.” She smiled, tracing a finger over the rim of her glass, which curiously didn’t have water, just ice cubes. “The bar was a great place to find someone who could warm a girl up afterward.”
He tightened his hand around his glass and spoke before he could think straight. “I don’t want to hear about how you got warmed up.”
A pause.
A heavy thud of time during which she was probably thinking that she had him wrapped around her little finger.
For a second, he believed that she might drop the basket game altogether, but then she reached into her glass, taking out some ice.
She stood and started walking out of the room, though not before saying, “Dinner can get cold for all I care, but you might want to come and warm me up.”
Then she left.
Clint told himself to stay put. To not give in this time, because if he did, it’d be for real.
He didn’t know if he could take another night with her, pretending it didn’t matter anymore.
But then he found himself standing, walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway, drawn to her.
Always drawn to her.
He saw her in the hall, disappearing into the study, the lights doused inside. She looked like a ghost or...
Or a bride in that long negligee.
But he wouldn’t dare tell her that, because he suspected it would ruin the last night they had together.
And he wanted it to be special, to be different.
Dammit, how had he gotten to this point? And why did it feel like he should’ve arrived much sooner?
He went to the dark room where he knew she was waiting,
and the summer scent of her led him deep inside, even though he couldn’t see anything but the faint white outline of her gown. He knew the reason she wanted darkness—it would make him wonder where the ice would touch his skin.
“Come here,” she said.
She didn’t call him “stud” now. Was that a good sign?
Telling himself that it was, he walked forward.
“Take off your shirt.” Her voice cracked a little, or maybe he was just imagining that.
As he went along with her, he said, “Where’s this going, Margot?”
“You’ll see.”
He hadn’t been talking about this scenario. He’d meant something much bigger and, if she knew that he’d just laid himself on the line, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he felt her ice-dampened fingertips on his chest, and he started, shocked by the wet charge of the contact.
He caught her hand. “What happens after tonight?”
“I go back to my place.” She tried to pull away.
But he wasn’t letting go. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to go?”
“Are you going to talk all night long?”
His heart kicked at his chest. “Maybe I should. Maybe this is the best time to tell you that I don’t want you to go, even though that’s how you apparently operate.”
“Just be quiet.”
This time, when she touched him with an ice cube, it was more aggressive. She slid it around his nipple, and he sucked in a breath.
Is she really all ice? he thought.
And he wondered if he would ever be able to melt her all the way.
She was doing a hell of a job of melting him. His blood was turning into blasts of steam as she kept tracing patterns on him with the slick cube.
Water ran down his chest, over his stomach, cool and tingling.
“Thatta boy,” she whispered, easing her fingers into the waistline of his jeans.
Gripping her around the wrist again, he stopped her from going further with the ice. Then he released her and backed away.
“No more games, Margot. No more bubble baths or paintings or ice.”
She laughed carelessly, just as she always had during their basket time together.
He forged ahead, still in the dark, wishing he could see her face. “Last night at the bar, I didn’t want another man even looking at you. You know why? Because when I think of you being with anyone else, it drives me insane. Even after one damned week, all I want to do is be around you, smell your perfume, have you next to me in bed or on the sofa or wherever it is, just so you’re there. You’ve already become a part of my home. Don’t you realize that?”
She’d gone quiet, but he was going to make this night part of their history, erasing the one that had started everything off so badly in college.
Deliberately, he stepped forward until he felt just where she was, his skin singing at the proximity of her. Then he reached out with both hands, instinctively knowing where to cup her face.
He brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones, bending down so that he was nose to nose with her.
Her breath came quick against his lips.
“You belong here, with me,” he whispered before kissing her softly, a touch of his mouth to hers.
A hint of the tenderness from him that had always been hiding just below the surface.
She made a protesting sound in her throat, dropping the ice and circling her fingers around his wrists as he palmed her face. But when he deepened the kiss, parting his lips just slightly, she seemed to lose form beneath him, her knees giving out.
He wrapped an arm around her, keeping her steady while pressing her to him at the same time, his other hand going to the back of her head.
When she sighed against his mouth—this sound one of pleasure—he restrained himself.
A real first kiss.
A gentle one that wasn’t about sex or animal instinct.
This was about showing her how he felt without having to tell her and scare her off completely.
They kissed for what felt like hours, her mouth opening under his as they drew at each other, seeking, necking like two desperate kids who couldn’t stand the thought of ever being apart.
She clung to him, her hands roaming his back as she kept making those urgent yet sweet sounds low in her throat.
When he finally lost the ability to breathe, he came up for air, still pressed against her, still holding her.
“No games,” he said against her mouth. “This is more real than what I’ve ever felt for anyone, Margot.”
He waited for her to answer, every second like a drumbeat that would announce his fate.
12
THIS WAS MORE real than anything she’d ever felt.
And it frightened Margot to her very core.
As a pulse beat rapidly in her temples, speeding up her thoughts until she couldn’t latch on to a single one of them, she realized that she’d been gripping Clint’s waist.
She should say something. But what? Because telling him that she felt the same way about him would be a commitment, and she didn’t do those. She’d made a career of hopping from one place to another, never staying, never wanting to.
Until he’d come along, offering her the first true home she’d ever had.
Making her realize that this...and him...were all she’d ever been looking for.
But he didn’t understand that homes never lasted. They were way stations, just like people were way relationships. Homes broke down, sometimes with fatal consequences, and she was fine all by herself.
Always had been, always would be.
She wanted to flee now, even as he held her, warm, strong.
“Margot,” he whispered, touching her cheek. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
Finally, she snatched a thought out of the spinning cycle of her mind. “I don’t mean to.”
“Good. Because I don’t regret telling you how I feel. What I would regret is seeing you drive off, knowing that there was a chance things could’ve been different.”
“Is there a chance?” she asked quietly. It hardly sounded like her.
“Why wouldn’t there be?”
She thought of the stripped-down words he’d bared to her, words about how she belonged here. Even if they were in the dark right now, he had lit her up temporarily.
She wished she were capable of doing the same for him. He needed someone who’d be there when he faced his brothers the next time, someone who wanted to see him win at everything he did in life.
She didn’t want to let him down when he realized that she was just good at temporary, and that was all.
He was still stroking her cheek, conjuring those butterflies in her chest, the fluttering sensation she’d never felt before when someone cared about you.
But those wings also felt like fear, because what would happen when the butterflies got tired and stopped trying to fly? What if those butterflies weren’t even real in the first place?
She yearned to touch his face in the dark, just as he was doing to her. She wanted to show him without those hard-to-say words that she was going to take this risk, put her heart out there, give it to him.
Yet she couldn’t.
She was the joke this time, and she probably always would be.
When she pulled back slightly from him, his fingers stiffened, and he took them away from her cheek.
He knew she couldn’t do this, didn’t he?
“This is happening too fast,” she said, avoiding the issue altogether. She wasn’t going to let this go anywhere.
His laugh barely disguised what she thought might be an injury—one she’d inflicted.
“Is there a certain amount of time that we should be taking to—”
She wouldn’t let him say “fall in love” or anything even close.
“I just need to think,” she said, moving toward the crack of light at the doorway. “My head’s scrambled. I just need...time.”
You’re what’s scrambled, she thought. And you have no idea how to fix yourself.
“All right, Margot.” He sounded...confident? Or was that another mask to hide his resignation? “You take your time.”
He was letting her off the hook, and she wondered whether he had never meant all the things he’d said in the first place. If this was really all about getting her to fall for him, it would be the ultimate joke.
But something inside of her told her that wasn’t the case at all.
Still, even if she were to go running back to him, jumping into his arms, it wouldn’t last. It never did for either of them, so why should they think that the odds were in their favor this time?
She left the room, telling herself not to look back.
Only forward, just as she’d always done.
* * *
CLINT LET HER go, because keeping her in the dark with him wasn’t going to solve anything. It wasn’t going to make her feel something for him when she obviously didn’t.
She had merely been letting him down easy, Clint thought, waiting until he heard her climb the stairs so he could finally get out of that study.
Afterward, he shut the door behind him, as if he could box away what had just happened in there. A dark stain was growing in him, heavy and lonely.
Why had he even said anything to her when he knew damned well how Margot was going to react?
Going to bed, he tried to sleep on it, but that didn’t work. He ended up watching TV until he couldn’t keep his eyelids open anymore.
In the morning, the TV was still on, sounding tinny and loud at a time when the dawn usually came on soft waves of color through his window.
But even the sunrise was lackluster today.
Lead Me On Page 16
