Magenta Mine (Invertary 3)

“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.”