Free No Perfect Princess by Angel Payne, Victoria Blue Page A

point of dangerous—relationship.
    The time and distance I’d thought would save me? Backfired would be a kind assessment. Like an untended spark in dry brush, my thoughts of her burned more fiercely than before. To quote the worse cliché of them all, she was under my goddamn skin. I could no more fight it than I could explain it, only knowing that once my time in Julian hit the one month mark, I’d been no more ready for “getting back to normal” than I was before. I wasn’t sure I even knew what “normal” was anymore—only that if it meant rewinding life to the days when I didn’t have her at all, then I was completely content being abnormal for another month more. Then another. And another. And three more after those.
    And I still wasn’t ready. After six goddamn months, a handful of phone calls, and those let’s-dance-around-the-truth texts…I was still wondering when my turn in the “moving on” queue was coming.
    Under my skin ?
    Who the hell was I kidding?
    Somehow, this sorceress of a woman had burrowed into my spirit, my mind, and my body. Ohhh, shit , my body. I’d given up trying to reason it out, only knowing that even her texts were like butterfly kisses on my cock. And the phone calls, being subjected to the husky beauty of her voice? The wood between my thighs could’ve occupied an acre in the groves all by itself.
    Not an empty promise. I’d quickly learned that the groves were a great place to get alone for taking the edge off things.
    Fuck.
    Was there a twelve-step program for this shit somewhere?
    Hi, I’m Michael, and I jack off in the apple groves to thoughts of Margaux Asher. It’s been about five seconds since my last thought of her…
    I had to get over this.
    Like there was a “this” to get over. Six months had only driven the point in harder. We weren’t a “this” and couldn’t ever be. The woman was—
    Smart. Snarky. Sexy.
    Challenging. Charming. Sexy.
    Wicked. Wild. Sexy.
    And so fucking far out of my league…
    She was the hottest girl in school. The beauty in the castle tower. And yeah, I cleaned up well, but under it all, I was still the geek at the back of class, and the serf at the bottom of the hill…
    The apple farmer’s son, fallen for the girl who’d worn Prada onesies.
    Nothing seared that truth deeper into me than the next moment—
    When I actually saw her again.
    She paused at the end of the aisle, addressing the crowd like a princess acknowledging her subjects. One arm was hooked gracefully beneath the elbow of Killian’s brother, Lance.
    As they started walking again, a funnel clamped over my vision. Everything fell away except the awareness of her. The beauty of her.
    Christ. My knees were literally weak.
    I swayed.
    Paralyzed.
    Speechless.
    Not that anyone was asking me to speak up at the moment. But this stall into inarticulate…it was more than the words refusing to form on my lips. It was the thoughts no longer bridging in my mind, rerouting down different paths, past the typical roadmaps I’d used to keep her far away, locked high in her tower, still “safe” from the valley of my fantasies.
    As I stared—and stared—and stared —the valley fell away, too.
    Forget paralyzed. I was hypnotized. By everything about her…
    The strong elegance of her steps.
    The proud set of her head.
    The perfect lift of her lips.
    The ivory angles of her shoulders, rising from the strapless bodice of her dress—
    Holy fuck, that dress .
    Until now, I couldn’t get enough of how the woman rocked T-shirts, jeans, and boots when we went out for beer and darts. Cancel that order, boss. I had a new Margaux fashion favorite. Red. The crimson material fit her in every perfect way I could imagine, hugging her breasts, waist and hips before flaring into layers that were all romance, grace, and Ginger Rogers. Just enough ankle and leg showed with every step she took, along with a pair of strappy gold heels she was born to wear.
    I locked my gaze to those shoes.