by Angel Payne
“Brace yourself, baby.” I leaned into Michael, using the sweet gesture as an excuse to whisper in his ear. “The ride’s about to get a little bumpy.”
“What the—?” was all he could manage to me before the reporters advanced, shouting questions and shoving every portable recording device invented into our faces. Cell phones, smart pads, even old-fashioned mini tape recorders. The gang was all here.
I raised an arm, consumed with the sudden need to beat them all back from Michael. So this was how that ooga-booga protective gorilla thing felt. “Back up, people! I’ll make one statement, then you can all go fuck off.”
Voices sprang from the crowd.
“Ohhhh, she’s back!”
“There’s our Margaux!”
“The ice princess reigns!”
Michael seemed to pale when he heard that comment. Maybe it hit home why it took me a while to warm up to his version of the endearment.
The media fools finally cleared a small semi-circle. Didn’t stop them all from getting their pictures and video. Michael tightened his clutch on my waist by increasing degrees, sending a very clear message about where he stood in my life at the moment.
When the roar died a little, one voice rose above the rest. “Margaux, have you seen Trey Stone’s tweet?”
“Nope,” I quipped. “Did he spell my name right? Because really, nothing else that tampon says is worth wasting my time on.”
“Then there was no suicide attempt over a split with a boyfriend?”
“Did I say that?”
“So it’s true? Is this the boyfriend? Looks like you’ve made up to me.”
I slashed up my arm again. “Okay, hold up there, sparky. Let’s set this record straight, once and for all. First of all, Trey Stone is a world-class loser and we all know it.” Mumbles of agreement rippled through the herd. “It makes me sick that we have to even address anything he says, but I want you all to hear this from me.” I jogged up my chin as Michael squeezed me close in support. “The story is true. Years ago, when I dated Doug Simcox and he broke up with me, I thought I was devastated. I was young and dramatic,”—I laughed as they all did—“okay, more dramatic—and screaming for attention. I took some pills, thinking I would glamorously end it all. Doug would see the error of his ways and mourn me forever.”
“Well, nothing about it was ‘glamorous’. I ended up in the emergency room with a tube down my throat, getting my stomach pumped. It was dumb, and naive, and expertly covered up from the media.” I sucked in a ton of oxygen. “So there you have it. I wasn’t exhausted. I was an idiot. Now everyone knows the real story and we can move on.”
A bunch of the reporters shouted more questions about the “Doug-clysm” but as soon as I raised my hand again, they quieted.
“Listen. I just told you the facts. That’s all there is to the story, kids. It happened a long time ago. The news is as yesterday as Kim Kardashian’s ass.”
They all chuckled and time-stamped their devices. Bow to the queen of sound bites, ladies and gentlemen. Kim’s camp would have an equally awesome zinger for me tomorrow, and I couldn’t wait to hear it.
A reporter I recognized from the Huffington Post stepped to the front of the crowd. “So do we get to know who this handsome hunk is?” He motioned to Michael, all but eye fucking him in the process. Yeeeaaah; not going there today, Marc!
The question sparked a new buzz through the crowd. I glanced up at Michael, who squeezed me again and smiled. I tucked myself tighter to him, realizing I grinned like a total fool. For once in my life, I didn’t care. I wanted the entire world to see how happy I was.
“This very fine man is my boyfriend, Michael Pearson.”
“Is it serious?” someone in the back shouted.
“I hope so.” I all but giggled it. Giggled? Jesus wept.
“Do we hear wedding bells already, Margaux? Maybe another event up at the Stone estate in Rancho Santa Fe? Can we actually come to this one?” The remark was a pissy punch at their lockout from Killian and Claire’s nuptials.
“Don’t be stupid. We just started this thing.” I waved a finger between Michael and me, indicating the “thing”.
Entertainment Weekly spoke up this time. “Just love, then?”
“‘Just love’?” I volleyed. “Just love? Christ, Bill.”
The reporter smirked. “Excellent point. Forgot who I was talking to. So this is a big step, huh?”
“In full, five-inch glory, baby.”
“Reserve the marquee,” somebody else quipped.
“Not a bad idea.” As I laughed it out, I beamed my smile back out over the crowd. Then did a double-take. A woman caught my eye, standing quietly toward the back of the throng. Not another reporter but definitely interested in all the dazzle. Our gazes met. I smiled a little wider, feeling a bizarre urge to wave. The woman lifted a hesitant smile. Why did she seem so familiar? Sure, most of the people in this were familiar; I’d frequently worked with all of them over the years—but something was different about this woman. Something was off…but not in a disturbing way. I knew her from a different place, maybe even a different time…
But when I looked back for a second read, she was gone.
And there was the not-so-small distraction of the beautiful beast next to me.
I sighed as Michael yanked me closer. Mine. He was all mine. The joy of it burst through me again as he pulled me in for a long, slow, tongue-twisting kiss, inciting cheers and wolf whistles not only from the press but the small crowd of travelers who’d gathered now.
Once he released me, our stares remained riveted. We were locked, a couple of stars who’d collided and fused, floating through a firmament of flashes and shouts and chaos. He was my safety from it all. The match to my soul. The farmer boy with the devil inside. The love of my life.
I finally swung back toward the throng. “Show’s over, gang. Get the fuck out of here, you nipple monkeys.”
They all laughed but I wasn’t kidding. Imagining the troop of them swinging off my nipples and nibbling at peanuts was wholly plausible—and another reason to giggle, right before I turned, reached up, and pulled Michael into another kiss. He tasted so good. So right. So much like the anchor in this storm…my best and luckiest break. Oh, God…if he’d boarded that plane a second sooner, or those bozos manhandled me three seconds longer, I would’ve missed him. It was bad enough that skinny ginger had a thing for the leather pants I was wearing. He thought I missed the woody he was sporting? Yeah. Loserville.
“Mr. Pearson?”
“Yes, princess?”
“As long as I’m spilling my guts for everyone to see, I’m going to lay something else out.”
His golden brows pulled together. Slowly, he drawled, “Okay…”
“Don’t leave me again. Please. Just so we’re clear. Okay?”
“Okay.” His face relaxed. A smile warmed his lips. “Hmmm. I kind of like you all mushy like this, princess.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. But don’t get used to it, mister.” We kissed again. Then again. “I’m really just trying to get in your pants. You know that, right?”
He threw his head back on a laugh. It was my favorite laugh of all, when his eyes glistened like the sun was shining right into them, even if we were in the dark. And they did—just before he leaned down to issue an intimate rasp into my ear.
“Sweet words or not, my pants are good as gone the minute we clear your front door.”
“Front door?” I narrowed a teasing glare. “Who said anything about that? Have you seen the size of my car’s back seat?”
He growled.
I mewled.
More tongue dancing.
Holy shit. At this rate, we were going to get arrested for public indecency before reaching the car.
“You should’ve decided you loved me a long time ago, Ms. Asher. It’s a damn good look for you.” He kept me pulled in tight, our hips fitted against each other, even when shock took over his face. “Well, hell.”
&
nbsp; “Uh-oh,” I muttered. “What is it?” I could work with anything except second thoughts. Or the revelation of a secret pet iguana.
“Hrrrmmm. I’ve terminated the lease on my house.”
I was still waiting on the stunner. “And…?”
“And all of my furniture is in a truck on its way to Atlanta. The moving company can bring it all back, but for now, your boyfriend is homeless.”
I wound my arm back and decked him in the shoulder.
“Idiot.”
“Hey! Ow!”
“You’re staying with me. As long as you want. And as long as there’s no iguana coming back on that truck.”
“Huh?”
“We can discuss a dog, though I’d prefer a cat. But no igua—” I frowned, catching the new glint in his eyes—like he was actually contemplating payback for the punch I’d landed. “Michael?” When he made his full intention clear by ducking his shoulder and eyeing my pelvis, I screamed. A few straggling reporters dashed over, ecstatic they’d lingered. “Michael! Stop! Stop!” But I laughed too hard to resist as he barreled in, hauling me up in one easy motion. Inside two seconds, he hung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
I shrieked and took a smack at his amazing ass—before realizing there were much better things to be doing while back here. When opportunity knocked…
Without hesitation, I slid my hands beneath his jeans and briefs, rewarded with tight, Michael-muscled glory.
“Hey,” he yelled. “Behave yourself!” But then he landed his own shot to my ass. Let me tell you, a spank on the ass in leather pants stung worse than one might think. But hell, was every second worth it.
When we got to the car, he flipped me over and plopped me inside then turned to Andre, who was beaming like the Rasta Cheshire cat. “Damn good to see you again, Andre.”
They did some variation on the guy greeting, bumping fists and shaking hands and slamming shoulders in a language more mysterious than dogs sniffing each other’s butts. Andre’s booming laugh practically shook the car. “I had no doubt in my mind, Michael Pearson. No doubt at all.”
Michael climbed in, still grinning, as Andre slid behind the wheel.
“Take us to the El Cortez, please.”
“Right away, Miss Margaux.”
Michael stared at me in mock agony, still rubbing his shoulder. “Who the hell taught you to punch like that? Wait; maybe I don’t want to know. Think I’ve heard enough about ex-boyfriends for one day.”
I scowled. “Oh, don’t get all weird on me now. The past sneaks up on us sometimes, Pearson. We both know that.”
“Yeah.” His gaze sobered. “We do.”
I had no doubt his mind had kicked back different memories than mine. So many things still to know about him…but I’d do my best to give him space. A lifetime’s worth, if he’d let me.
For now, I had to brace us both for more bumpy roads ahead. “You know Trey won’t leave this all alone with one measly tweet. He didn’t get everything he wanted, so we haven’t seen the last of him. And…” Deep inhale. “I have to come clean to Killian about what I did with that account at SGC. Fuck. He’s going to be furious with me.”
He reached to caress my nape. “Don’t worry about Killian. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Have you forgotten what he’s like when he’s mad?” I countered. “I mean really mad? Sometimes, even I’m scared—but you’re sworn to secrecy on that part.”
He flashed my favorite version of his lopsided smile. The expression hit his lips but turned into something very naughty on its way to his golden-green eyes. “My silence isn’t free, Miss Asher.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid over to him. Into his ear, I breathed more than spoke, “Name your price. I’ll pay anything.”
He pulled back enough to stare at me, gaze turning dark and lusty, before he whispered back, “Get back over there and put your seatbelt back on…or I may have to think of punishment.”
I obeyed, but wasn’t happy about it—and let it show. Michael leaned over, grabbed my chin, then turned my face up to meet his. Silently, I begged him to tighten his grip. He slowly grinned, reading my mind as always, while torqueing his fingers harder. Harder. Ohhh, yes…
“You’re so beautiful, even when you pout.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“Uh-huh.”
Good thing the drive to my place was short. I spent every one of those five minutes debating whether to snap my seatbelt free, rip off my shirt, and kiss my way into some payback. I settled for keeping my fingers or toes on him any way I could.
As soon as Andre pulled the car up to the El Cortez, I sprang out of the back seat. Michael was only half a step behind. Great minds lusted alike.
I waved the key for the elevator to open and let us up to the penthouse, making a mental note to have Sorrelle call management regarding a new key for Michael. They would probably raise a little hell but Sorrelle could be a charmer when he wanted.
As soon as the lift doors closed, Michael moved into action. He pushed over me, pinning me into the corner quicker than I could spot a fake fur from a real one. His knee nudged between my thighs and he grabbed my wrists, slamming them both against the walls that formed the corner at my back. My breathing instantly quickened, meshing with the same passionate huffs of his.
“Wh-what’s going on here, Pearson?” I rasped.
“Very good question, Asher,” he growled. “Now let me answer.” He jerked his knee up a little. Every nerve in my core cried out in joy and agony at once. “This is me, showing beautiful you how things are going to be once we lock ourselves in at your place. And this is you, agreeing to it… because you want it that way, too.” He dipped his head, trailing the heat of his lips down the side of my face. “Say you do, pretty princess.”
I could barely breathe. Holy hell, he turned me on—like nobody else ever had. Or would. “I…I do.”
“Look how easy that was.” He turned his head a little, biting into the side of my neck. As he soothed the throb with firm strokes of his tongue, my pussy began pulsing in time with the pain. Oh, dear God…
The elevator slowed.
I let out an aching moan as he pushed away, allowing my hands to fall to my sides. I stayed slumped into the corner, certain I’d be on the floor, a heap of horny goodness, without support.
He turned just as the elevator dinged, sliding open at my floor. How the fuck he timed that so perfectly, I’ll never know. It made every minute that much hotter now. The bastard was killing it at this game. He was killing me. But what a way to go.
After wobbling out of the elevator, I made it to my door. Mr. Ridiculously Sexy was waiting, shit-eating grin in place.
I glared.
“Is that anyway to treat your house guest, sugar?”
He barked out a laugh when I added a raised eyebrow. “House guest? Is that what you are now? In that case, you’ll be staying in the guest room on the other side of the penthouse—downstairs and far, far away from my boudoir.”
He stopped after closing the door. “Boudoir?”
Point regained, Asher. His what-the-hell expression gave it up loud and clear.
“Of course.” I breezed past him, walking toward the guest area around the corner from the staircase. “Come come, now. I’ll show you to your room.”
I covered only two steps more. After that, I was spun around, smashed against him, consumed again by the hot domination of his kiss.
Oh…this kiss…
It felt so different than anything else we’d shared. So new. So raw. So hot. Untamed passion was our blazing reality, dry timber mated to burning brush, promising to ignite the whole forest. Screw the tanker planes. Forget the fire crews. We don’t need no water; let the mother fucker burn.
“Michael.” I managed to croak out.
“Yeah baby?” His voice, just as needy, sent a thrill straight to my sex.
“Stop fucking around. Take me to bed.”
He jerked back, making me growl
. I tamped the sound just as fast, simply hoping he saw the ache building through me.
A corner of his mouth lifted in quiet command. “Ask nicely.”
“Oh, my God. Are you ser—”
Yeah. He was serious. His perfectly-arched brow said so.
Very well, Mr. Pearson. Two could play this game. I’d proved it to him before with a hell of a lot less incentive.
Without a pause to give him warning, I lowered to my knees in front of him. When his breath hitched, I bit back my grin. I was eye level with the beautiful bulge in his pants. Perfect. I leaned in, letting him feel the warmth of my breath through his jeans before climbing my gaze all the way back up his body. He stopped the air in my lungs, even with all his clothes still on, especially as his abdomen started heaving in and out with the excitement of beholding me like this before him. I loved his reaction. Fed on the pure power of it. What I wouldn’t give to flick open the button in front of me, then slide the zipper beneath. I looked up again, letting that fantasy play out through the slow, dramatic process.
When I finally tilted my head up all the way, I found his hooded gaze waiting for me. His breaths were harsh rasps, in and out through his nose. Even more perfect.
“Please,” I finally whispered. A softer, sweeter tone hadn’t left my throat since I was a girl practicing fashion show etiquette with my dolls. “Please, please take me to bed and fuck me into tomorrow. Please.” I added that one with an over-the-top blink. Not a flutter, just one blink.
It worked.
Michael jerked me to my feet. Slammed me with another kiss. No tongue, no fuss, pure demand. “Upstairs. In your room. On the bed. Naked. Two minutes. Go.”
I already knew how this one worked.
As of right now, I had one minute, fifty-eight seconds and counting.
Chapter Twenty
Michael
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three.
Fuck. I was never going to make it to ten seconds let alone a hundred twenty. My cock begged for an escape route from my jeans with every step I climbed toward her bedroom, burning for the sneaky little minx who’d turned the tables on me—and was going to pay for it with several screaming orgasms.
