No Magic Moment (Secrets of Stone Book 4) (32 page)

The condo?

I didn’t give a fuck about the condo.

I just wanted to return home—
any
home—with her by my side.

What
would
our own place be like? Something closer to the water, probably. A little place in Carlsbad or La Jolla, so she could be closer to Claire…

And what the hell kind of crack are you smoking
?

Nothing had changed between yesterday and this moment. Not a goddamn thing. Though Doug’s team had “possibly” sighted Declan at the airport last week, my scum-sucking uncle was still missing off the grid at large. That little tidbit wouldn’t matter to the Principals, who’d demand payback on their loans in some way, shape, or form. Hell, Menger and his boy toys might be prowling through Julian this minute, stomping the wooden boardwalks between the pie shops and antique stores, thinking they were inconspicuous just because of their scowls.

No. Nothing was different at all. Dialogue echoed in my head courtesy of the party Mom and I had attended at Town Hall over the weekend, celebrating the Triangle Club’s annual melodrama run.
There’s still danger aplenty lurking in the forest
.

Not even an hour of I-missed-you sex was going to fix that.

Crazy, catastrophic, mind-blown-off-its-hinges sex.

Memories that had to be forced aside now—and were—as I slinked back into my room and threw on a sweater and jeans.

Memories that returned in a relentless rush as soon as I saw Margaux again.

I’d expected to find her in the kitchen or living room, gazing out the window in her typical way of easing into the day. So many of those moments, when she stilled her inner dervish long enough to soak in the world instead of contemplating a conquest of it, were my favorites.

I’d get no such moment today.

She was out on the porch swing, coffee cup perched on her curled-up knees, beneath a heavy wool blanket. She wore a pink angora sweater in that funny backwards way, so odd it looked cool, but that wasn’t what arrested me at first glance. That came in the form of her sleek, French-twisted hair and her to-the-eyelash makeup job, including the perfectly applied berry stain on her lips. Even with the turned-around sweater, she emanated class and polish and perfection.

And detachment.

Decision.

Resignation.

As if she’d woken and performed the exact same mental game I had. Purging all the memories, forcing down all the reality.

Of course she had. Because I hadn’t fallen in love with a stupid woman. She was the exact opposite.

Your equal in about a thousand ways.

Your better in a thousand more.

I should have been relieved. After all, she’d done all the hard shit already.

I wanted to lean over the rail and puke into the bushes.

Instead, I shuffled to the empty end of the swing and eased onto it. When she didn’t kick me off, I scooted back a little farther. Wrapped one hand around her bundled feet and rubbed gently. “Hey.”

She didn’t echo the greeting, or acknowledge the massage. After half a minute of silence, she finally murmured, “Your mom and Carlo took off a while ago. Grabbed an early breakfast in town.”

I almost laughed. “Sure.” Early breakfast, my ass. Mom rarely even thought of food before ten—unless she didn’t want to be lurking during the most uncomfortable “morning after” in history.

Margaux sipped her coffee. “I made a full pot. There’s plenty left, if you want some.”

“No, thanks. Not yet.” I plunged again into the stillness as thick as the mist. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“Big plans for the day?”

“Not really.” She sipped again. Gazed out toward the barn. “Looking put-together helps me deal better with wanting to fall apart.”

I exhaled through my teeth. “Fuck.”

“Hmmm. Yeah. That about sums it up.” Then after she sipped again, “Dumb shit.”

I grimaced. “Guess I had that coming, too.”

She flung a side-eye like a wet towel embedded with razors. “What were you expecting? That I’d suddenly become ‘that’ girl, rewriting today because of what happened last night?” She let out an all-too-quiet sigh. Set down her cup then folded her arms. “Your cock and your heart are two different things. While I
really
enjoy the commitment of one, nothing between us is going to be right without the commitment of both.”

I turned to swipe my hand around her nape. “Every fucking inch of my heart belongs to you.”

Her lips tilted up, though she might as well have sobbed. The expression clutched my gut just as violently. Sadness, so deep it transcended tears, poured off her stronger than a nuclear haze. “No. Not every inch—and we both know it.”

I snarled. Jerked back to my feet. Shuddered as Mom’s words from last night echoed within, adding to the agonizing cloud.
You’re reacting, not thinking. It’ll only be a matter of time before that fear manifests into something worse…

Fine, goddammit. Let the manifesting begin.

“Margaux.
Fuck.
” I slammed both hands to the rail. “I don’t know how to do this any other way.” Twisted my hands around the damn thing until I trembled, my only defense against a full plummet to my knees. How else could I translate the mess in my mind to her? To communicate that I’d learned no other path than this? Did she think I hadn’t explored those other roads? Used compassion, understanding, and the whole “teamwork thing” with dear ol’ Uncle Dec—even against him? Good beats evil, was that it?

But that wasn’t it.

Captain America beat the bad guys by understanding them.

Then pretending to the rest of the world that he didn’t.

Nobody ever told him it was going to be easy, either—especially in a moment like this, when the love of his life rose to her feet with such singular grace she knocked the air out of him as if they’d met for the first time. Yeah, even more than the night she’d shown up half-drunk at his place and dropped her dress, offering herself to him in the sexiest red lingerie he’d ever seen. Even more than the first time she’d confessed her love for him, in the middle of the airport, begging him not to get on a plane and leave her.

Those moments—and all the incredible ones in between—glittered in the depths of her eyes, trembled across both her lips, echoed in every breath that stuttered from her…and coiled in every knot in my gut.

“Until last summer, I didn’t know how to do things any other way, either.” Her shoulders hunched in as she started kneading at her ring. “I didn’t know if I had the capacity to even love someone, let alone to show it, to say it. But you—” A hard breath halted the rip in her voice. “You came along and changed all of that, Michael. You helped me. You taught me.” She lifted her head, stabbing me with the emerald dagger of her stare. “You…changed me.”

I didn’t look away. Fuck, did I want to. “Margaux—”

“
Don’t
.” She lunged up, tearing at my shoulder. “Don’t you dare throw up your ‘love’ as an excuse now, goddammit.
I
changed, Michael.
I
changed—because of you.” She pushed off, curling her arms in, standing away once more. “I love you so much, it hurts.
This
hurts. It hurt when I opened my heart to you, my secrets to you, and when I chased you across the airport, deciding to fight for you. It hurt in all the scariest ways when I sat in the waiting room at county lock-up, praying they’d let you out of that horrible place. It sure as
fuck
hurt when I got into the car yesterday and hauled my ass up this mountain, knowing I was getting ready to put my soul on the chopping block again—for you. For
us
.”

Her voice shuddered once more. She visibly gritted her teeth, and her throat vibrated on deep, hard swallows.

I…stood there like a nimrod.

My dim consolation rested in watching her breathe, because I couldn’t even do that. Her pain was a palpable force on the air, clinging like bitter smoke.

She screwed her shit together faster than me. Pivoted on her heels, storming back into the house only to emerge ten seconds later. Her bag was in one hand, the Maserati’s keys in the other.

“What…are you doing?”

“Following orders, Mr. Pearson. Getting the hell out of here. Going home.” She took the three steps to move right into my space again. Leaned in and up, her breath fanning my neck, as if to nuzzle against me in her favorite way. My arm rose to keep her close, though my fingers visibly shook—

Before she tore away, choking down a sob.

“Margaux—”

She twisted her wrist free from my grip. “I won’t be back again, Michael. Not like this. Not
ever
again like this.”

She didn’t turn back to finish it. Just let me watch her shoulders sink and her head fall between them.

“Justify it all you want now. Go ahead and tell yourself how noble you are for saving me. But let me make one thing perfectly clear. If you remain here, Michael Pearson, you’ll have saved only yourself. Have fun becoming that monster you talked about—because the biggest part of me is still right in the middle of your chopping block.”

Margaux

“H
ey, Alfred? I’ll
just leave the Maserati’s keys on the entry table, okay?”

Alfred’s steps echoed on the marble floor of Kil and Claire’s front foyer. Despite the formality of the setting
and
the man, I’d relaxed a little just by stepping in the door of this place.

God knew, I needed all the help I could get.

“That will be fine, Miss Asher. I’ll let Mr. Stone know you returned the car when he comes home tonight. I would’ve been happy to come into town to pick it up, though. I’m sorry you drove all the way out here.”

“It’s fine, Alfred. I needed the head time, you know? May even hit the beach on my way back, since I’m already up this way.”

“Very well, Miss Asher.”

“Tell my brother thanks again for the loan. It’s a sweet ride.”

“So he tells me, ma’am.”

I paused near the front door to take in the ground floor expanse of Claire and Killian’s Rancho Santa Fe home—and despite my misery, I smiled. Even though no one was home, there was unmistakable warmth and open invitation here, drawing me in, making me long to stay. The love they had for each other permeated everything in the place. It was so strong that even an outsider felt it when standing inside their front door.

Love. Warmth. Magic.

They had it and I wanted it.

This wasn’t a jealous or petty whim like I once would have had, when coveting some trinket or pair of shoes. This was something I’d never experienced in a home before, something deep and devoted and connective. And it was something I craved with Michael. I yearned for people to feel this inside our home.

Our home
.

A dream that would never be.

“Fuck.” I burned to repeat it a dozen times but bit the inside of my cheek, checking it. What good would it do? For the first time in my life, I’d admitted the longing to create a home with another person—a place where people would come and enjoy spending time with us, where it wasn’t all about me. A place where I no longer needed to be the star of the show. I wanted to share the spotlight. With Michael.

The man I still loved so much, it was a physical ache. The man I was still so sure of, I spoke it out loud, still standing there in the foyer.

“
Yes.
”

This was what I wanted. Our home. Our connection. Our love.

Could I wait for it…even for forever?

I left the house, closing the door quietly before meeting Andre in the driveway. My head was heavy and hurting, like I’d been whammed by a sledge hammer. Well, now I knew what I wanted, but was so lost on how to get there.

We had to handle the shit with Declan first. Yes,
we.
I’d start tomorrow morning by calling Killian. Since our little chat in his office, I’d snapped together some conclusions about the “homework” he’d done regarding Michael’s uncle. First, there was no way Kil would drop that shit at mere “homework.” The man had assigned a whole team to the damn subject by now, I was sure of it. That led to an unnerving number two. No news wasn’t often good news. If Kil’s people had learned anything useful that would give me an inroad back to the stubborn ass on the mountain, I’m sure he would’ve shared it yesterday. But maybe he knew something.
Anything.

If not, then I had to figure out another way to convince Michael that we could get through this. For now, I chose to ignore the memories of how I’d last seen him, with shadows of doubt in his eyes and lines of desperation across his brow.

His gaze of goodbye.

That was the tragic story of us. One step forward, two steps back. I wondered if the pattern had continued for so long, we were more lost now than three months ago—attempting to figure shit out after that first night of amazing sex at his old place.

“You ready to head back home?” Andre’s deep voice shook me from my musings. “On second thought, you have that ‘I need retail therapy’ look.”

Shit. The guy knew me so well, it was unnerving. He emphasized the offer with his signature half smile, my favorite expression on him. It was also his look when he wasn’t sure about overstepping the line between our business relationship and friendship.

I threw back a glower, unwritten assurance that all was okay. I needed a friend right now more than a minion. “I’m going to let that one slide—only because I’m too exhausted to kick your scrawny ass today.” I knocked my shoulder to his—well technically, my head—which bumped his massive bicep.

He turned, mocking his self-defense. “Yes, Miss Margaux.” He spilled a rich laugh, not bothering to contain it. “Where to, then? Highway 101 in Encinitas? The Forum in Carlsbad? You don’t get up to North County that much. Why not make the best of it?”

“Andre.” I stopped beside the BMW, looking up at him with purpose. “Will you marry me?”

It was fun, weird, and sad to witness the million and one thoughts running through his mind. He finally opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He was measuring his words so carefully, I didn’t dare tell him I was kidding.

“Miss Margaux,” he finally offered, “I’m flattered, truly—but first there is the issue of Mr. Michael. He is not only one-hundred-percent in love with you, he is my friend. And you see, there is a code about that.”