No Magic Moment (Secrets of Stone Book 4) (7 page)

Margaux

“W
hat about the
back?” I whirled around again, flattening the silk fabric of my gown to my figure.

“Just as amazing as the front.” Michael pulled my hands into his, trying to calm my nerves. “What has you in such a fit? The School Arts Foundation is one of your favorite causes. You’ve done these things a million times. You’ll be the belle of the ball, like you always are.” He kissed the tip of my nose, careful not to smear the color on my lips.

I tried breathing deeply while studying my reflection again. Sorrelle had brought his “A” game to get me ready but a million butterflies still duked it out in my stomach.

“I don’t know. I guess—I just don’t know.”

I knew exactly what it was, but I didn’t want to tell him.

It was him.

He was special—more than that—and tonight, the whole world would officially know it. It was our first major function as a couple, meaning even Hollywood and New York would send teams to cover it. The photogs would be crawling all over the place looking for hot pictures and a hotter story, turning my nerves into a jangled mess.

Talking to him about it wasn’t going to make anything better, especially because he’d been working so hard this whole week. His long days at Aequitas had been followed by nights of diving into research about how the last eighteen years had seemed to swallow Caroline Beecham whole. So far, his quest had turned up nothing but dead ends and frustration, making him more excited about getting to dress up and shine with me at the gala tonight.

He was right about the gown, though. It was amazing, fitting like a second skin. Black satin clung to my top in the form of a strapless bodice, gathered under my breasts into a rectangular rhinestone cluster. The satin was fitted down to my knees, where wisps of chiffon, also in black, took over down to the floor. The chiffon added movement and depth even when I stood still, a plus when a lot of red carpet posing was in my near future.

Sorrelle had pulled my hair into a severe top bun then tamed every stray piece with industrial-strength hairspray. My makeup was intense but feminine, and my jewelry, all diamonds, was selected to accent the rhinestones on the dress. Michael wore a classic Tom Ford tuxedo that complemented my dress perfectly.

To the regular onlooker, we had it nailed. If I could wrestle the inner chaos, I’d feel as perfect as I looked.

We loaded into a limousine for the event, wanting to make a splashier entrance than my 750i would. The travel time was only fifteen minutes from the El Cortez. I leaned into Michael’s side as we soared into the night, seeming to take flight over the Coronado Bay Bridge, escaping to the Silver Strand for the night.

The arrival line clogged Adella Avenue leading into the Hotel del Coronado, so Michael and I made small talk and little jokes as Andre inched the car toward the front of the line. My nerves finally began to calm, soaking up the energy from my smart, sexy beau.

Michael was good for me. Damn good. His company made me happy, content…solid. I began to wonder why I’d been so damn nervous back at home—

Until cameras flashed through the tinted glass.

One last check of my hair and lipstick, just before the back doors were whisked open by the attendants. Andre’s friendly face came into view, as he extended a hand to help me onto the red carpet. Michael got out to help from the other side, ensuring there were no wardrobe malfunctions. The dress was pretty safe, so the car exit went smoothly. I accepted Michael’s waiting arm, then gripped him a little tighter as we followed the carpet down the path, into the magnificent Victorian icon known simply as the Hotel Del.

Living in San Diego my entire life, I’d been to so many events here, I knew the property like the back of my hand. Regardless, the sight of the distinct red cupolas, sprawling white roofs and scenic beach was never a disappointment. It was easy to see why event planners and filmmakers loved the place.

We smiled our brightest smiles—and entered the gauntlet of flashbulbs and questions.

“When’s the big day?”

“Who are you two wearing?”

“Margaux, when are you going to make an honest man of Michael?”

Blah blah blah
. “I need a cosmo,” I mumbled into Michael’s ear. “How’s that for honest?

“Good call.” An enticing smirk curled his lush mouth. “Let’s stick together. Looks like the sharks are swimming in packs tonight.” He emphasized the enticing by leaning over and kissing my neck just below my ear, making me grin then shiver. He knew every spot on my body that elicited tremors like that…every single way to liquefy me, no matter where we were or what we were doing.

I peered around for a broom closet to haul him off to. And hoped, by some off chance, there’d be a random ruler in it, too.

Of course, the flash of a camera went off right at the same moment, reminding me of the zero privacy we’d have tonight.

“At least they don’t know what I was thinking.” I gave him a playful wink. “But I’ll tell you later if you want.”

“Oh, I want.”

I gave him a saucy grin and waggled my brows. “Now, about that bar…”

Michael took my hand and tugged me away from the photographer. Not surprisingly, we found a bar in less than a minute, adjacent to the ballroom the event was being held in. I wasn’t sure it was the bar we were supposed to be at as these society things often had private bar set-ups inside the room itself, but it was already nice to be free from the crowd for a few minutes, so I didn’t tell Michael.

After he purchased two bottles of beer and I ordered a cosmo, we gave a ridiculous tip to the adorable girl behind the bar, and braced ourselves to reenter the main event room.

Until shock froze me completely.

“Oh, hell no.” I barely noticed half my drink sloshing onto my wrist.

“What’s wrong?” Michael demanded. “Is it too sweet? I don’t know how you drink those things in the first place. Do you want me to get you something else?”

“No. It’s not the drink. In fact—” I slammed back what was left of the cosmo, finishing it in one gulp.

Michael’s mouth dropped open. “Shit. The last time you did that, I ended up with my nuts in a vice.”

“Yeah, it’s not you this time either, stud.”

“Then what’s going on, princess?”

I pointed toward the easel just outside the ballroom door. “
That
.”

The poster, a student-designed advertisement for the School Arts Foundation, depicted several details about the event—including, in huge red letters, the name of the evening’s star speaker.

DOUG SIMCOX

Please, Earth…open up and swallow me whole.

I closed my eyes for a long moment, hoping I’d just read the thing wrong. But reopening them dumped me right back into the
This is Your Life, Margaux Asher
lightning round—without the cool mushies to show for it.

Doug Simcox was a former second baseman for the New York Yankees—and the man who’d swept me off my feet for eight months, until dropping me with the thud heard ’round the world. In the process, he tore my heart out, tap danced on it for everyone to see, then handed back the remains in a banker box, along with everything else I’d left at his place—to which he promptly changed the locks. I’d handled my devastation and humiliation with the immaturity that fit my age, resorting to extreme tactics to win him back—including, but not limited to, attempts to take my own life.

Flash forward.
This isn’t then, girlfriend. You’re not that person anymore. You’re healed and adjusted—and best of all, you’ve explained all this in full to Michael already
. There’d be no fireworks of the gasping, dramatic variety from our corner of the ballroom this evening.

So why did he stare like I had sprouted another head?

“What?” I snapped.

“What?” He repeated it like stating I had a nose on my face. “You just stopped like you saw a ghost then gave yourself a cosmo bath.” His sarcasm vanished as soon as he stepped a little closer, gazing into me with his hazel intensity. “Are you okay? With that?” He nodded at Doug’s picture, splashed on a poster opposite the first, as if needing to give me more clarification. Seriously, people took the blonde thing too far sometimes—even him.

“Oh, come on.” I scoffed in the same direction. Doug’s press release photo was such a bad glamour job, I wondered what mall he’d gone to for it. So cheesy, bee tee dubs. “
I
am super great with
that
.”

“You’re sure?”

I shrugged—
one
shoulder, to emphasize how much I
didn’t
care. “My love, that is what they call ancient history.” I lifted my sticky hand. “Now buy me another drink while I get cleaned up then let’s go have some fun. What do you say?”

Michael smiled and kissed me, though flecks of doubt lingered in his eyes, bronze against the rich gold. Okay, maybe I was pouring it on a little too thick, but I was not about to let Doug Simcox get to me—especially in front of Michael, and especially after I had come so far.

I loved Michael Adam Pearson.

End. Of. Story.

Many more guests had arrived. Everyone milled around the room, socializing via the typical grip-and-grin. Michael and I checked out what was available in the silent auction area and even bid on a few of the items. Michael had his heart set on a signed
Terminator
movie poster. It was so
not
hanging in my condo, but we could worry about that if he actually won the hideous thing.

“Have I told you how stunning you look this evening, Miss Asher?”

I winked up at him. “Not in the last twenty minutes. You’re slipping.”

“Hmmm. I’d better think of a way to make it up. We have an entire limo to ourselves on the ride home. If your Bimmer’s back seat was big enough, imagine what we could do in the back of one of
those
bad boys.” He enfolded me in his warm embrace, smelling woodsy yet expensive in his tux, teasing me with the playful words while trailing naughty kisses up my bare neck.

“Okay, stud…you’d better stop or we won’t make it to the main course.” I wasn’t kidding and conveyed as much with another quick glance.

His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Is that so bad? These things are tedious, right? Admit it.” He added extra bribery with more kisses against my nape.

“Duly admitted—but they’re expecting our bright, shiny faces around here for a while longer. Plus, we dropped ten grand a plate, so let’s stick around and at least see what they’re serving.” I leaned into him, feeling his erection growing and pressing into my belly. I couldn’t help but giggle. He was always ready to go, and I loved having that effect on him.

“Fine. Play hard to get. It just makes you hotter, baby.” He pushed away with a dirty grin. “I’m going to get us another round, to make sure we have enough anesthesia for the pain of old Dougie’s speech. Why don’t you find our seats?”

“Yes, Headmaster.” I dropped it into a whisper for his ears only. It was worth the grin that spread across his gorgeous face as he headed toward the bar again.

The tables were lavishly set in an ivory and gold theme to match the ballroom’s décor. Each place was marked with an engraved name card and the event program. Quickly enough, I found our spots smack in the middle of the room. After sitting, I resorted to an old but harmless habit: nonchalantly checking out the other place cards at the table.

I didn’t get very far. An elderly couple took their seats directly across the round, so I smiled and introduced myself, explaining that my date would be coming along in a moment. Busying myself with the program was a safe choice after that, trying to find familiar names on the Arts Foundation Board—and pointedly ignoring anything that mentioned Doug.

In short, the program wasn’t very exciting.

“Excuse me…miss? Do we know each other?”

I didn’t recognize the voice, so I kept pretending to read. I was so not in the mood to be hit on, and Michael’s jealous side, even in its mild form, wasn’t pretty.

“Excuse me…
miss
? Aren’t you Margaux Asher?”

The guy had the balls to touch my arm. I jerked from his reach and looked up.

“I am Margaux Asher.” I stared at him with irked expectancy. I had no idea who he was, though couldn’t ignore the hint of familiarity now setting in. The refined angles of his face, beneath the world-weary creases. The distinct shade of his blond hair, though streaked liberally with gray. The intensity of his hazel gaze…

“Forgive me. You must think I’m rude, just approaching you like this.”

“Rude wasn’t the first word that came to mind.” Arrogant, maybe. Pushy, definitely.

“Ah, yes. I know you and you don’t know me. That
is
awkward, isn’t it?” His smirk reminded me of grease on water. “But you do look lovely tonight, my dear. Where is that handsome boyfriend of yours? I saw the two of you arrive. It’s not like him to let you out of his sight for very long, is it?”

I stood up, enabling me to address the stranger in a softer voice. “Listen, buddy. I’m not into making a scene. Whatever your play is, deal it. If you need to say something, say it. I’m feeling nice, so I’ll tell you right now—if you’re still lingering here in a few minutes, it’s going to turn into a bad night for you.”

There. Good deed accomplished, and no photographer the wiser. I’d definitely warned him, and been so quiet that only he and I heard the exchange. That didn’t diminish the full-scale creeps I got from him. If Michael didn’t end up being his escort out, I’d be sure that security was. On the other hand, maybe I
did
want a camera nearby. The man’s sinister smile sent chills up my spine. I looked around the room again for Michael, but still no sign of him.

“Oh, take it easy, Greta Garbo. You have a flare for dramatics, don’t you? Just like your boyfriend. He’s always been that way, even when he was a boy—making up tales taller than the trees he climbed around in. He was pretty damn cute, little Michael, finagling stories for his mother’s attention. Oh, and did she give it to him. Di’s sun rose and set on that boy’s word.”

For one crazy moment, his wistful tone pulled at weird parts of me. I was damn sure nobody spoke of my childhood like that, and I allowed myself to get caught up in the daydream he painted—