No Magic Moment (Secrets of Stone Book 4) (30 page)

“Mom.” The clutch in my voice was unavoidable. “He still
is
a monster. That’s why I have to—”

“I didn’t tell you enough.” Her words were vehement but shaky. “Not nearly enough…how proud I was of you.”

“What?” I shook my head, baring my puzzlement. “Of course you did. All the time—”

“No.
No,
I didn’t. Not when I should have. Not when you were actually standing off against him, taking his ridicule, trembling from head to toe. And I—I said nothing.” The creases in her face, usually only evident when she laughed hard or smiled huge, turned into crevices of grief. “I said nothing…and I should have.”

“Because you were scared of him.” I braced her shoulders, digging fingers in, making her feel my understanding. “I know, okay? I know.”

She looked up with brimming eyes. Framed my face with both hands now. “I wasn’t scared because of that asshole, bear. I was terrified…because of you.”

“Me?” I dropped my hands. An iceberg crashed atop the fire in my chest. “What the fuck?”

“Yes. Because of the reckless places your fear took you to. The anger, the fire, all the taunts you kept up…” She spurted a teary laugh. “God, Michael. You really were just like a baby bear, poking the grizzly who was ten times bigger and twenty times stronger, but you never cared. You just kept going at the bastard, you valiant little fool.”

The ice and the fire collided. A spume of outrage erupted. “Fool? He might have killed you.”

“He might have killed
you
!” Physical pain had nothing to do with the new contortion on her features—or her shove at my chest. “Do you know what it was like for me to cower there and watch you? Can you fathom how badly I wrestled between cheering you on
and
holding you back? If I tried the first, it would send Declan and his belt harder at you—but if the last,
your
pride would’ve propelled you right back into his path.” She shoved aside tears with her palms. “If I did anything,
any
goddamn thing, I risked that monster getting mad enough to go harder at you—to hurt you for good.”

“All right,” I countered, “I get that. But I’m not that stupid kid anymore.”

“Really?” She rocked back, shocking me by keeping her balance. “Because I could swear that’s who I’ve been dealing with for the last three weeks.”

“Because I’m the only one who’s actually
thinking
about this situation?”

“Thinking?” She folded her arms. “Oh no, son. You’re reacting, not thinking—and it’s paralyzing you fast. It’s trapping you in a place of nothing but fear, and it’s only a matter of time before that fear manifests into something worse—something that will turn you into a person you don’t recognize.” She sucked in air through quivering lips. Her hazel eyes turned deep brown, giving away her sorrow. She didn’t relent the look, despite my derisive huff. “Don’t take my word for it, then. You want evidence? Look no further than your uncle.”

The iceberg inside me shattered. Its shards fanned to every nerve ending in my body. “I am
nothing
like that man.”

She dragged in another tormented breath. “Not yet.”

I stumbled backward. My lungs searched for the instruction manual on breathing and never found it. Bitterness, bile, and chaos ripped the thing to shreds.

Pain is part of the move forward.

If that was her point, she’d sure as fuck made it. This was pain—though I sure as hell couldn’t determine the “moving forward” part yet. Had a good idea about how to get the proverbial ball rolling, though.

Wordlessly, I spun toward the stairs. In five minutes, I’d have enough personal shit thrown into a bag for a few nights. I’d go into town and crash at one of the B&Bs tonight, then hit up Ross or Deacon for a pillow on their couch until Mom and I had cooled off. With Declan still MIA, I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I was more than a few miles from the farm. Wasn’t like I had any other place to consider right now. So much was up in the fucking air.

Who the hell was I kidding?
Nothing
was “up in the air.” It was all Pottery Barn after the San Andreas Fault hiccupped, broken to the point that I didn’t know what fit with what.

Was this it
?

This confused rage…the aloneness…was
this
the first step in transforming from myself into Declan? Was I simply damned to walk that dark path, no matter how violently I’d fought to stick to the light?

Mom didn’t come after me. It was definitely for the best. As I stomped up the stairs, I heard her rummaging across the coffee table for her iPod. We each had our own methods of cooling off and blocking any more of the other’s “advice.”

Twenty minutes later, I was no closer to being the packed-up, pissed-off, misunderstood Bruce Banner that I’d cast myself into. Fuck, I hadn’t even made it back to my room, thanks to a stop in the bathroom to retrieve my toiletries.

The bathroom, where the scent of Margaux’s hair and skin and soap consumed every breath I took.

Where I was still staring at her hairbrush, left behind on the counter…and her clothes, tossed aside on the floor.

Beautiful princess.

God, I miss slipping across all your shit.

Where I lifted my gaze inside the shower, at the corner that brought back every hot memory of what we’d done there three months ago. Of how I’d spread her wide, fucked her hard, and fallen deeper in love with her. We’d gone to the meadow that afternoon, where we’d screwed beneath the sun and between the flowers…and I’d lost my soul to her as well as my heart.

I’d never been the same since.

I never would be again.

Margaux Corina Asher had turned me into a different man. Had, through the sheer force of her passion, honesty, and fearlessness, turned me into a better person. A
better
person—not the beginning of Declan Pearson’s heir apparent.

I had to believe it. I had no other choice. I’d succumb to a fucking lobotomy before becoming even a dim facsimile of that heartless prick.

The resolve did nothing to move me. Imagine
that
. My worst nightmare handed over on a goddamn platter by my own mother, and now I could only stand and stare into a shower, toothbrush held like a shiv to hold off the mind fuck for just another minute.

I had to get out of here. Now.

But fate wasn’t done with its fun little detours for the night.

I left the bathroom—and instead of turning left, toward my room, I was compelled to the right…toward the closed door of the guest room.

Toward the woman behind it.

Toward the presence my confusion needed. The safe place for my soul. The only one on this planet who’d speak it all to me straight—with a chaser of her brutal, beautiful love.

By the time I stood in front of the portal, I yearned to bash the fucker down. A deep breath and a clenched jaw later, I turned the knob gently, instead.

So I really should’ve knocked—but so much about that felt wrong after sharing nearly every aspect of my life with her for the last three months.

Nearly
every aspect.

For the last three months—minus three weeks.

Three weeks that vanished as soon as I stepped closer to the bed.

The act of simply gazing at her…I had no idea how thoroughly I’d taken this small privilege for granted. I ached with thanks for it now, taking in the slopes of her body beneath the blanket, the rise and fall of her shoulders, the brilliant fan of her hair against the pillow. Before I could control it, my hand rose, drawn to those white-gold strands, wondering if they still felt like sunlight on a rose…

An inch before I touched down, she rolled over, onto her back. Blinked up at me with the inquisitiveness of a napping kitten.

“Hey.”

Her voice didn’t have a note of anger in it. Not even surprise. But her uncertainty, serrating the edges of the word, made my jaw tighten. She sounded that way—again—because of me.

“Hey.” The sandpaper in my own voice was impossible to mask. It made her prop on her elbows, gazing more intently. She was wearing one of my old Ron Jon T-shirts, an observation that stirred every ember of possessive lust in my blood. I couldn’t help wondering what she wore—or didn’t—besides the shirt.

Not the time. Not the place.
Getting horizontal with her right now would release the fucking Kraken of mixed signals—and right now, we had enough monsters crowding the roster.

“Are you all right?”

I didn’t answer. Just returned to the sixteen year-old stance, hands in my pockets, one foot jabbing the carpet. But I sure as hell didn’t feel sixteen now. I was suddenly old, tired, frustrated.

“Look…your mom made me stay, okay? I was emotional earlier,”—she winced as if not believing she’d said it—“and it was dark. If you’re that uncomfortable about this, I’ll get up and—”

“Stop.” I beat a fist against the bedpost. “Stop it, goddammit.” The tension of the day—fuck it, of the last three weeks—piled into my lungs, making them pump. My throat constricted around my gritted words. “I’m not a monster.”

She inhaled deeply. “I didn’t say you—”

“I’m
not
a monster.” Repeating it didn’t help. I spread my hand, gripping the post instead, letting myself sink to the mattress, near her feet. Margaux pushed the comforter back in order to crawl over and reach for my other hand. “I know.
I know
.”

Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her.

Like that helped. Throwing my gaze to the floor was just as useless. Hurray for peripheral vision, making me all too aware of her bare thighs peeking out from the T-shirt. My body, still clad in most of my work clothes, shivered as if I were just as barely dressed—except my cock, which jumped straight into hot poker mode.

Margaux slid a little closer. Wrapped her other hand around mine.

Fucking. Awesome.

The grim thought shook me to my core. I attempted to inhale—like an alcoholic forced to hold a bottle of Stoli.

“Maybe…that’s the problem,” I finally uttered. “Maybe I
do
have to be a monster. Be like them, to protect you from them.”

“
Michael
.” It was a scream disguised as a rasp. She dug her grip into my arm, nails almost ripping my shirt. I twisted, praying for the tear. The heat of her was too damn good, the force of her too damn amazing, the strength of her too damn impossible to resist. I pulled it into my soul, greedily wrapping it around my will and shoring up my resolve.

“I’ll do it,” I grated. “If that’s what it takes. I’ll do it, princess, and I won’t be one fucking speck of sorry.” I seized her wrist, possessing her flesh exactly as she possessed my soul. “So help me God, I’ll let Satan himself crawl between my thighs if it means keeping you safe.”

“Michael.” It crumbled to a whisper as she crawled up, curling against me. “Don’t do this.
Please
don’t do this.”

I lifted her fingers to my lips. The tips were cold. Her body shuddered in the circle of my arms. I folded her in, tighter…tighter.

Not tight enough.

“If anything ever happened to you—”

“You won’t let it.” She caressed her other hand up my nose, over my eyebrows, into my hair. “But you don’t have to do it alone.” Lifted her face to kiss the underside of my jaw. “You’re not alone, Michael.”

My breathing shook. My grip tremored. Everything she touched turned to fire, torching the walls of my resistance. How the hell had I come in here with half a prayer of fighting this? How the hell had I even
wanted
to? “Princess,” I whispered. “My beautiful, stunning princess.”

“Damn straight.” She yanked on my scalp, forcing my gaze down to her face. The corners of her silken mouth were already turned up, as if she knew exactly what the expression did to my self-control—what was left of it. “
Yours
,” she murmured. “Which means nobody gets near your thighs except me—even that bastard Satan.”

“Fuck.”

White flag or rally cry—and did it matter, when the battlefield of my will was totally razed? Did
anything
matter beyond the ecstasy of taking her mouth beneath mine, the bliss of pulling her body closer, the joy of racing a hand beneath the shirt to her thigh, her waist, her breasts, even her perfect collarbone? Once I reached her neck, did anything in the world compare to pressing in on her jaw, forcing her wider for the invasion of my lips and tongue?

Was there a world left to give a shit about beyond this? Or had we just burned every inch of it away with the force of this kiss alone?

When we tore apart, it was only to get in more breath—the physical support for fulfilling what our spirits, hearts, and souls demanded. Her throaty sighs were my libido’s symphony, drowning all doubt about this choice. For now, for just this one last time, I’d be her hero instead of her heartbreak, her desire instead of her disappointment, her fantasy instead of her failure.

Yes…

The resolution made it easy to fall backward beneath her push, then let her straddle me with her lush thighs. I glided up both hands, turning them into V’s for the valleys between her torso and legs while watching silvery moon fingers sneak through the window and shamelessly caresses her body. Their light soon became an open invitation to join in.

Who the hell was I to argue with the moon?

“Oh, God!” Margaux husked as I trailed both hands in, then up. Beneath the shirt once more, I traced her waist and ribs before working my hands over the erect buds of her breasts.

Damn. Three weeks and unbelievably, it felt like the first time I’d ever stroked her like this…an impression she seemed to share, if her sexy-as-fuck undulations were any indication. I marveled at the weight of her mounds, the density of the flesh beneath her creamy skin, the way her nipples hardened like diamonds beneath my fingers. Her lips parted, showing me the bared teeth that perfectly matched the feline glow of her eyes.

“Wicked little wildcat.” I growled it while pinching her points, savoring how they stiffened even more.

“Shit!” she cried. “Ohhh, hell!”

I paused. Lightened my touch but only a little. “You asking for more or for less, sugar?” Sarcasm aside, reading her was suddenly very interesting. While I’d barely pinched, she reacted like I’d just put her in nipple clamps then torqued the pressure.