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The three women charged up the path that led to the old terraced house they shared. The house was small: two bedrooms and a bath upstairs, living room and dining kitchen downstairs. The reason it worked for the three of them was that the owners had added a conservatory to the back of the house. They used that space as their living room, and Magenta claimed the room at the front of the house as her bedroom. That left one bedroom each for the twins, which was perfect, because no one would survive if they had to share a room.
The twins ran for the stairs. “Meet you back here in a minute,” Claire called over her shoulder.
“I need to get changed and grab my gear pack. Won’t be long.” Magenta threw open the door to her room and strode to her wardrobe. She had her dress halfway over her head when the door slammed. Squealing, she pulled the dress back down and spun towards the noise. Harry was leaning against her door.
His arms were crossed over his chest and his ankles were lazily crossed in front of him. If it wasn’t for the determination in his eyes, she would have thought he was perfectly happy to be there.
“Freaking hell, Harry, you’ve turned into a Peeping Tom now?”
“To be a Peeping Tom, I’d have to hide. Do I look like I’m hiding?” He spread his arms wide.
No. He was taking up far too much space to be anything but very, very visible. The sight of him in her room was enough to distract Magenta from her normal reaction—anger. She had to resort to faking it.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, and hoped it sounded genuine.
“You spent time in my room. Only fair I get to spend time in yours.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled something out and threw it at her. “Fido wanted his mummy.”
She caught the toy rat. Against her better judgment, a smile fought to escape. “Fido?”
He shuddered. “Better than Plaguemeister.”
A ruckus in the hall snatched Magenta’s attention away from Harry.
“You can’t do this,” one of the twins shouted.
“Breaking and entering. Vandalising a police officer’s house. Stealing a key from our mother. Attempted murder.” Matt’s voice was steel.
“Attempted murder?” someone screeched.
“You tried to kill Harry. He damn near had a heart attack.”
“No he didn’t. We watched the whole thing in the pub. There was no heart attack, but he did nearly pee his pants.”
The idiots giggled. Even Magenta rolled her eyes.
“Ow, let go, Don Don.”
“No. You two are going to spend the night in a nice cold cell. Might give you some time to consider a change in behaviour.”
“You can’t do this. I want a lawyer. I want my phone call.”
Matt laughed. “So you can call Mum and I can spend the night listening to her go on about how precious my baby sisters are? Nuh-uh, not going to happen. Come on, dumb and dumber. If you’re really good I won’t put the rats in the cell with you. The live ones. Not the toys.”
The voices faded as the twins shouted at Matt all the way to his police car. Magenta looked at Harry. “He can’t do that, can he?”
“Who’s going to stop him?”
He had a point. As they said in those old western movies—Matt was the law around these parts.
Magenta put her hands on her hips and glared at Harry, pleased to feel some of her irritation return. Obviously not all of her common sense was derailed purely by Harry’s presence. “So, genius, do you have a plan or are you going to stand there and stare at me all evening?”
She heard the lock turn before Harry pushed away from the door. The look in his eye was intense, focused and sent shivers she didn’t want to experience running down her spine.
“I have a plan. You’re going to get changed into your nightwear. I’m going to kick off my shoes and then we are going to climb into that bed and...” He stood in front of her, close enough to touch. “Talk. We’re going to talk.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “It’s long overdue, don’t you think?”
Magenta retreated. Being around Harry clouded her brain. She needed some space to think. She walked over to the window, where a small settee sat, deliberately keeping her eyes off her queen-sized bed. The image of Harry and a bed in her head at the same time wasn’t good for her sanity.
“I don’t want to talk. I don’t want you here. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”
He actually laughed. As in hard enough to double over and hold his knees. “That’s priceless. You want me so bad you can hardly think.”
“Wow, arrogant much?”
“Accurate much. You’ve wanted me for years.” The smug look on his face made her fingers curl into fists.
“I have not.”
He gave her a wicked smile. “I found proof. I found the scrapbook.”
Her world tilted. Her eyes shot to the bottom drawer of the Scotch chest where she kept things that were important to her—like a scrapbook full of news about Harry. Photos from their shared childhood. Pictures of his graduation that his mother had sent her, and the invitation to attend that Magenta had ignored. A pressed flower, a gift during a walk when she was twelve and Harry was messing around, calling her princess. Tickets from movies they’d seen together. Newspaper articles about his company and how brilliant he was. Everything that had anything to do with Harry was in there—right back to the very first Christmas card he’d given her when she was five. Even the black-and-white photo of him she’d kissed wearing pink lip gloss when she was twelve, thinking it was a romantic thing to do. Now the thought made her want to vomit.
She closed her eyes for a second as humiliation swept over her. He’d have seen the doodles she did when she was thirteen and he was away at university. She’d missed him so much and spent her time writing his name all over her books. Along with curly, girly repetitions of her wished-for future married name—Maggie Boyle. She took a deep breath. It was fine. It was all fine. None of it meant anything. She’d been a kid. She wasn’t a kid anymore.
“You are way out of line, nosing around in my private belongings like that. I don’t care what you think you saw. That stuff doesn’t matter anymore. I only keep it for sentimental reasons.”
Harry gave her a look that said, Yeah, right. He turned, grabbed a chair from her desk, plonked it in front of the door and sat in it. “Tell yourself whatever you like, but I know the real reason I rate a whole book full of mementoes.”
Magenta took a deep breath. She was about five seconds away from wiping that superior smile off his face.
“What would that be, Harry? Do enlighten me.”
His wide, wicked grin made her wobble.
“You’re in love with me.”
Her world stopped for a second before it resumed spinning again.
“In your dreams.” Damn, why did she sound so shaky? Why wasn’t she denying his claim? Her palms were clammy and her brain was fuzzy. It had to be Harry’s pheromones attacking her hormones, making her lose her mind to lust. Not love. Lust. It didn’t sound convincing even to her.
“No, baby, in your dreams, but I can make it reality. You love me, and here I am.” He spread his arms wide. “Here for the taking.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or gag at the cheesiness of it all. Undecided, she folded her arms.
“I think it’s time you went home,” she told him.
“I would, but my room is full of rats. I can’t go back there. Ever. Guess you have a new roomie.”
“Over your dead body.”
“I’d rather be alive. If I’m sharing your bed, I’d like to enjoy the experience.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“My bed is full of rats. Your bed is full of you. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to make the right choice.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“Yes, you do.” He looked so damn smug that it made her fists itch to strike out. “You want me here because you love me.”
“Argh!” She stomped over to the window as she fought the urge to scream loudly.
“Don’t even think about trying to get out through the windows,” Harry said. “I spent time jamming them when I first got here.”
She eyed her mobile phone, which was sitting on the desk.
“Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters?” He grinned, like this was the best entertainment he’d ever had. “That’s about your only option, seeing as the sole cop within miles is busy locking up your roommates.”
Man, sometimes it seriously sucked to live in a small town.
“Fine,” she ground through a clenched jaw. “We can talk. What do you want to talk about?”
His eyes narrowed. “Change first. There’s no way you want to sleep in that.”
“I said we can talk. I didn’t say we had to be in bed to do it.”
“We’re talking in bed. Where I can make sure you don’t run. Where I can hold you while we talk about some heavy stuff. So get changed, or go to bed dressed as a dominatrix. It’s up to you. But that doesn’t look comfortable to sleep in.”
Harry watched as each of Magenta’s emotions worked their way across her face. Anger. Anxiety. Lust. Longing. Fear. Pain. Anger again. Oh yeah, lots of anger. He made sure to guard his crotch while he watched her think. She was a spitfire, one that could go off in his direction at any minute. She was also sexy as hell in the head-to-toe leather she was sporting. Some guys he knew had a leather fetish. They dreamed of women in leather. Harry had always thought it stemmed from too much time watching Xena: Warrior Princess in their formative years. Seeing Magenta in her form-fitting dress that looked as smooth as butter, he changed his opinion. Leather—good. He almost purred at the sight. Leather really good.
“Stop looking at me like that, you perv.” Magenta placed her hands on her hips and scowled. It only enhanced the dominatrix vibe.
“I like the leather look on you.” He caught her eyes, daring her to look away. “I like any look on you.”
Her cheeks flushed and she licked her lips. He liked that. A lot.
“You’ve got two minutes to get changed, then we go to bed with you dressed like that.”
She didn’t move a muscle. Harry could have sworn she was trying to pierce holes through his skull with her eyes. Cute.
“Okay, time’s up.” He lazily stood, noticing that Magenta tensed. She was going to attack. That was not going to happen.
As quick as lightning, he bent over, thrust a shoulder in her stomach and scooped her up. Ten seconds later, he dumped a cursing Magenta in the middle of her bed and landed beside her. He rolled her to her side as she kicked and shouted. He wrapped an arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides and holding her tight, at the same time throwing a heavy leg over hers. She was immobilised, her back tucked tight against his front. He nuzzled her neck, knowing full well if he put any distance between their heads she’d use hers as a weapon. And Harry was fond of his nose the way it was.
“I am going to hurt you,” Magenta said. The words vibrated with anger. “As soon as I’m free, you are going to be in so much pain.”
“Better make sure I never let you go, then.” He kissed her neck, making her growl in frustration.
“If you think this is the way to get me to talk, then you’re insane. The last thing I want to do is have a heart-to-heart with you. You can hold me here all you like, Harry, but we are not talking.”
“Fine, we’ll snuggle instead.” He wriggled closer to her, feeling her tense even more. “I like snuggling. I can snuggle all night.”
They lay like that, in silence, Harry listening to Magenta huff and puff in annoyance, while the sun disappeared and darkness filled the sky. Magenta’s bedroom was bathed in shadows. Harry hoped the darkness would work in his favour, the way it had in the mine.
Hours passed as he waited for the most stubborn woman he’d ever met to let go of her anger. It was a long wait. At last he felt her body relax against him. He gave it another few minutes before he spoke.
“Why did you cut me out of your life when you were thirteen, Magenta?” His voice was soft and intimate. A whisper between lovers.
The tension surged back into her body as the question registered.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her tone was without inflection. It was as though she bit out the words.
“I need to know. I’ve been trying to talk to you for years. Every time I came back for a visit, I’d make an effort to see you and you always shut it down. This time I’m back for good, I’m not going away and you can’t ignore this thing between us.”
She growled, but didn’t deny his claim. It gave Harry hope. He caressed her hair with his nose, breathing in the scent that was purely Magenta. He didn’t know what the fragrance was, if he got the chance he’d raid the bathroom so he could find out. Right now, he loved that the scent was unique to her.
“Everything was fine until I went to uni,” he said softly. “I remember talking to you about it before I left. You knew how worried I was, scared to be starting uni when I wasn’t even sixteen. You told me not to worry. You told me that, no matter what, I’d come back to Invertary and you’d be there for me.” He took a deep breath and shook off the old pain of rejection. He was an adult. There was no room in his life for the anxieties of his childhood. He’d been devastated for a time, a long time. Eventually he’d come to realise that Magenta had a reason for what she did. Now he wanted to know what it was. It was the only way they could get past it and move on to the type of relationship he knew they were meant to have.
“I came home after the first term and you’d changed,” he said. “Your hair was black, your clothes were black. It was as though someone had sucked the colour out of you. I remember the pain in your eyes even though you were sneering at me at the time. I remember the words—You’re a freak. A loser geek, Hairy Boil. I was embarrassed hanging out with you, and now that you aren’t here I don’t have to pretend I like you anymore. I only pretended to be your friend because I felt sorry for you. Now you can make new loser geek friends in uni and I can hang out with normal people. Go back to Glasgow, where you belong.”
Magenta sucked in a breath. He heard the pain in it and knew he’d been right in thinking that saying those words had hurt her as much as hearing them had hurt him.
“I was devastated,” Harry whispered. “But I got over it. It took me about a year. Eventually I started thinking with my head and not my broken heart. You were the one person in the world who knew me well enough to know exactly where to hit to get me to back off. You used every one of my insecurities to get me to leave you. It took me a while to figure it out. To realise that there was pain in your eyes. To realise that you didn’t mean what you said.”
Magenta trembled against him. He held her tightly. “It’s okay. Really. The words don’t mean anything to me now. They don’t hurt or bother me. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult. The only thing that bothers me now is why you said that to me. I want to know why you pushed me away. I want us to move past this.” He took a deep breath. “You need to tell me why you did it.”
The silence was deafening. It lasted so long that Harry was beginning to fear that she would never talk. That they would never be able to bridge the chasm between them. That she was lost to him forever.
Magenta cleared her throat. Harry dared hope. He stared into the warm shadows, made by the glow of the orange streetlights outside, and waited.
“You are so smart,” she whispered. “Like, Stephen Hawking smart.”
She fell silent. He loosened his grip, enabling him to caress her arm, hoping that each gentle touch would reassure her enough to get her talking again. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t judge. That he wouldn’t hate her. He hoped she got the message from the way he touched her. He hoped she felt exactly how precious she was to him.
“I’m not smart,” she said at last in a small voice that broke his heart.
Although his need to refute her claim was strong, he didn’t say anything. He suspected she needed the silence to continue talking. Instead of verbal reassurance, he kissed her neck and held her tightly.
She took a shaky breath. “I mean, I’m really not smart. I made it through primary school, although I spent a lot of time in remedial lessons.”
Harry stilled, wondering how he could have missed that. But then, their time in primary school had been all about play, not what was happening in class.
“When I hit high school, things got worse. I couldn’t keep up with anything.” She let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t read properly, Harry. I can’t write properly. The kids in school thought it was hilarious. They called it baby writing.”
Harry closed his eyes and nuzzled her hair. The pain he felt for her was overwhelming.
“That first year in secondary school, when I was twelve and you were still there, was a shock. I failed at everything. I could understand the teachers fine when they were talking about the subjects, but as soon as I had to read or write anything, it became a mess. I did better in the practical subjects, like art and gym, but even then, when we had to write notes or read up on something, I screwed up.” Her voice hitched. “The kids called me Maggie the moron. They would throw things at my head in class when the teacher wasn’t looking. They stole my books because they said I didn’t need them. What’s an idiot like you doing with books, Maggie? You’re too thick to read them.”
Harry wished he could turn back time and make those kids pay. He didn’t ask why Magenta hadn’t told him at the time. He knew why: he’d been an outcast too because of his big brain and because he’d been applying to uni while most kids his age were struggling with basic algebra. They’d both had to deal with their share of cruel jibes and rude comments. The difference was that Harry also got a lot of respect because he was so bright. Magenta hadn’t had that.
“There was a teacher—Mrs. Adams, remember her?” Magenta sounded wistful.
He had to clear his throat because of the emotion blocking it. “English teacher. Young and pretty.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. She wanted me to be assessed. I don’t know what kind of assessment she meant, but the thought of it scared me. Mum went up to the school, and you know what she’s like.”
Harry grunted. Magenta’s mother did whatever she could to be the centre of attention. If that meant stopping her daughter from getting the help she needed, she’d do exactly that.
“Anyway, Mrs. Adams spoke to Mum about getting me assessed, and Mum refused outright. She said that I was fine the way I was. She told her that not everyone could be as clever as my sister Grace. She said they were putting too much pressure on me, expecting too much. Mum told me later that she was worried they’d take me away from her and put me in a special school. She’d heard about a school in Glasgow where all the stupid kids went. She was worried I’d be locked up with them.”
Harry clenched his jaw at the thought of Magenta’s mum’s wilful ignorance. “You know there isn’t a school like that, right? Your mum’s imagination got the better of her.”
“I know that now,” she said, although she didn’t sound convinced. “Back then I was worried I’d be sent away because I was too stupid for school.”
“You’re not stupid, Magenta, don’t say that.”
There was silence. Harry petted Magenta to soothe her, and hoped it helped.
“While you were gone at uni, things got worse. Everywhere I turned, people were telling me I was dumb. The kids at school. The teachers who tried to push me. My mum, who kept reassuring me that it was okay to be stupid. That she was happy that I would never want to leave her and go to college, like Grace did.” She scoffed. “Mum’s reassurance was a lot like other people’s bullying.” She sighed at the memory, and Harry clenched his jaw with the need to have a little talk with her mother.
“I knew I had to do something to defend myself,” Magenta said. “I had to learn how to care less about the fact I was so thick. I had to stop being a target for everyone. So I changed. I became Magenta. Magenta skipped school and flipped off the teachers when they tried to push her too hard. Magenta punched the kids who called her names. Magenta disrupted the classes she couldn’t cope with. I was particularly bad in English class, which made Mrs. Adams sad. I still see the tears in her eyes. I hated that look. I hated her for pitying me.”
“Maybe she was worried about you, baby.”
“Maybe.”
“When you came back after your first term at university, I couldn’t let you know how dumb I was. I wanted you to think well of me. I wanted you to think I was normal. I couldn’t stand the thought that you might look at me the way the other kids did, like I was nothing. If the normal kids noticed how stupid I was and thought less of me, then how would someone as smart as you feel about it? I couldn’t take the chance that you would reject me. It would have broken me. So I rejected you first.” She took a deep breath. “It was the right thing to do. We’re worlds apart. You’re a genius with a business that earns millions. You can hold your own with governments, academics and security specialists. You’re smart, kind, funny and confident. And you can kick ass with the best of them.
“I work in a lingerie shop. I never finished school. I don’t have an email account, or text people, because I can’t read and write properly. I’ve never read a book all the way through because the words jump around and it takes me a day to read a page. I struggle reading maps, signs and instructions on medication. I’m not funny, kind or confident. I pretend to be. Mostly I’m just prickly. I know, deep inside, with an unshakeable certainty, that I am not as clever as the people around me and that I’ll be ashamed when they find out. All of my energy goes into hiding who I really am—the stupid girl. The one that can’t even fill in a form. Even the twins don’t know how dumb I am.”
She wriggled in his arms and Harry let her turn. She lay on her back beside him, looking up at him. “You understand, don’t you? A relationship between us would never work. You would get bored being with someone like me. You’d get frustrated because I couldn’t keep up with you intellectually, or you’ll become embarrassed because I can’t do the basic stuff other people can do. Do you see why I told you to leave me alone all those years ago? Do you understand why nothing has changed?” She shook her head. “No, some things have changed. You’re even smarter, and now you’re sexy and respected too. But I’m still the same. I’m still here. In town. Wearing black and cheesing people off. You need to go back to London where you belong.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “And please take Executive Barbie with you. The town isn’t ready for her.”
Harry attempted a smile at her joke about Rachel. He gently brushed her hair back from her face, then caressed her cheek. It would be so easy to fall into those wide honey eyes of hers. So beautiful. So fragile. Although she’d beat him up if he told her so.
His voice cracked when he spoke. “You’re not stupid, dumb, dull, thick or even a moron. You’re one of the smartest people I know. You’re talented and skilled.” He kissed the end of her nose and watched as unshed tears pooled in her eyes, making them sparkle. “There’s a written test for becoming a caving leader, isn’t there? That’s why you haven’t taken the exam.”
She bit her bottom lip as she nodded.
“Oh, baby.” Harry wrapped her in his arms and felt his heart ease as she wound hers around his waist.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you, Harry?” she whispered against his neck. Her fear was like a knife to his gut.
Harry leaned up on his elbow to look down into her gorgeous face. She took his breath away. He gently caressed her cheek.
“There’s nothing to tell,” he said softly. “You aren’t stupid. You’ve had a lot to deal with and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you get through it.”
One lone tear escaped and trailed down her cheek.
“Magenta.” Harry pressed his nose to hers. “You’re perfect the way you are. Nothing could make me think less of you. Nothing.” He leaned back to look in her eyes. “You’ve got to know I love you, baby.” Her breath hitched. He saw a flicker of hope before she masked it. “I do. I love you exactly as you are.”
She started to shake her head. Denying his words.
“Sh.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “Don’t think about it. You don’t have to say anything. Nothing you can say, or do, will change how I feel anyway. I came back for you, Magenta. I might be years too late, but I came back. And I do love you. Believe that. I do love you.”
He lay on his back and pulled Magenta into his arms, where he held her close. For a long time they lay like that, listening to the silence, watching the shadows, until he felt Magenta fall asleep. Harry kissed the top of her head.
He’d help Magenta see that she was nothing like she’d described.
She was perfect.
And she was his.