by Angel Payne
Into His Dark
The Cimarron Series, Book 1
By Angel Payne
Into His Dark
The Cimarron Series, Book 1
Copyright © 2015 By Angel Payne Writes, LLC
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 978-0-9910118-7-2
Kindle Edition
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Edited By:
Melisande Scott
Riane Holt
Tracy Roelle
Cover Art:
Rachel Rivera – parajunkee
www.parajunkee.net
Dedication
For Thomas…you gave me the courage to fly on this one.
And I do mean HIGH.
I love you so much!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Authors’ Note
Coming Summer 2015: Into His Command
W.I.L.D. Boys of Special Forces series
The Secrets of Stone Series
His to Take
Acknowledgements
Launching a new book series is never easy—especially with the stuff that lives in this imagination! Evrest and Cam never would have made it without the incredible love, support, listening ears and encouraging hugs from some truly amazing people.
THANK YOU ALL!
VICTORIA: You are there through thick and thin…even when I lose it in airport parking lots. I will not ever find the words to tell you how grateful I am.
ELISA: How can I express how amazing you are? Oh, wait! I Can! Cornelius Hackl!
(“But Mrs. Levi….!”)
Shannon Hunt: For being there at midnight, at 6 am, during the tears and heartaches and anxiety attacks…just for being there…you are, and always will be, so neurotically, awesomely, precious to me. Now let’s go have some issues!
Amy and Maxi Rudolph: You both fill my life with such naughty fun. Thank you for all the sweet packages, and for always playin’ it straight-up with me.
The Beta Reading Goddesses:
Lisa Simo-Kinzer
Angela Barrett
Leagh Christensen
Carey Sabala
To Paul and the team at BB eBooks: YOU ARE WONDERFUL.
Thank you for making it all look so great!
Chapter One
‡
If opportunity knocks on a Saturday morning, am I still expected to answer the door?
The question powered my glare at my cell, jingling its way across the kitchen counter. Technically, opportunity was ringing, not knocking—like that changed anything. There was still no reason to assume Harry Dane wasn’t dialing from the middle of another hangover. It would follow the pattern of the other times he’d called in the year since we’d graduated from Chapman U—three of them, not that I was counting—all of them on Saturdays, all revealing nothing except that he was still with Beth, living in a craptastic studio apartment in Torrance, waiting for Hollywood to notice his directorial brilliance.
In short, a good occasion to be thankful for voice mail.
There was a time when I’d have pulled triple backflips to be the girl in that apartment with Harry. The days when life was going to be him, me, and destiny. We were going to change the world, one meaningful, Sundance film fest winner at a time. Back in the days when I still thought we could all change the world by just believing we could.
The days before Beth.
Before I grew up.
Regrettably, my libido hadn’t caught up to reality. The girl parts still tingled when Harry’s face, a gorgeous blend of his Hawaiian mom and French dad, appeared in my phone’s window. A tiny piece of my heart still ached to think of how our kids would’ve turned out. A little girl in a hula skirt with his dancing brown eyes and my long black hair, or a little boy as intense as his dad, resolute chin joined to my turquoise gaze.
A couple more rings and I could shove all that away again. Forget about Harry until after I’d finished my good-for-me self-help book, my shitty-for-me cereal, and my congrats-you’re-a-human-again shower.
Which was why I reached across the counter and picked the damn thing up.
Too busy creating different ways to call myself an idiot, I forgot to greet the man properly. Probably why his voice came as a surprise. “Cam? You there?”
Wait. The surprise stemmed from something else. I actually understood him. Not a single sloshy word or half-blitzed burp.
“Hey. Hi. I’m here.”
Whoosh of breath from his end. Relief? Dread? I had a second of static to contemplate that before he gushed, “Awesome. There’s my rock star.”
Wait. Whoa. Gushed?
“What the hell?” I blurted.
“What the hell what?”
“You’re sober.”
“Uhh, yeah. I am.”
“You never call me unless you’re drinking.” So why don’t you act your age and drink more?
He chuckled. Dammit. His chuckle was still really sexy.
“Okay, so…”
“Yeah, uh…”
“Harry.” By the time it popped out, there was enough rebuke in it to remind myself of my own mother. Ish.
“Cam.” It was all he said. But in a way, all he had to say. The syllable was…serious. For that reason alone…strange. Unless he was behind a camera dictating a shot, Harry wasn’t serious about anything.
I stared at the marshmallow clovers still floating in the milk in my bowl, wondering if I was about to puke on them. “Harry?”
“Cam.” Again, it was all he said. If my heart wasn’t pounding so hard, I would’ve laughed at our exchange. This was so ridiculous it wouldn’t even fly as a rom-com script.
“You said that already,” I snapped. “What the hell’s going on? Are your mom and dad okay?” I hadn’t talked to Phillipe and Kalea Dane beyond emails in the last three months.
“They’re fine. Everything’s fine. Chill out, Camellia Diana, and that’s an order.”
I was about to rinse out my bowl and spoon. I left them behind in the sink, falling into a chair at my new Mission-style dining r
oom table. Normally, I’d caress the polished surface in adoration—but right now, barely noticed it.
“Shit,” I rasped.
“What?” Harry laughed again. I really was going to deck him.
“What? You don’t drop the ‘Diana’ bomb randomly, Dane. Spit it out. What kind of trouble are you in?” The money angle could be written off. Harry’s parents weren’t hurting. Even if they were, they’d sell their own limbs to help their son. “Ohhhh, crap. Beth—”
“Isn’t pregnant.” A smile tinged his voice. “Fuck. I knew you were going to go there.”
I took a turn for a giggle. The relief of knowing he hadn’t knocked up Beth—well, it wasn’t like “opposites attract” ever had a prayer of reality with him and me—but even thinking of Beth having that lock on him, forever and always, was—
Not worth dwelling on anymore.
“Shut up,” I razzed. “This is my logical deduction, not yours. Sober and serious. This means…you’ve either decided to really go for it and pursue the master’s degree, or—”
I nearly choked.
He’s never serious. Except when it comes to calling the shots from behind a movie camera…
“Come on, Camellia.” His coax rose with confidence, on top of the world in an eerily calm way. “You’re almost there.”
“Holy freaking cow, Harry.” It was damn near just a breath. I couldn’t manage more. “Did you—”
“Get permission from the royal honchos of Arcadia to shoot my movie on their island, then score a boatload of financing from Pinnacle Pictures right after that? The answer to both of those would be yes.”
“Holy shit!” A scream this time. “Harry! Seriously?”
His chuckle didn’t drive me crazy anymore. It filled the line, warm and celebratory—and wonderful. “Wish I could see the faces on those assholes now.”
He didn’t have to elaborate. By those assholes, he meant the assholes: a group of five guys from our film workshop class who’d always labeled Harry’s ideas as unrealistic, narcissistic, and way too ambitious for “the financial paradigms of the new Hollywood”. Harry had really brought on their ridicule when, during a class discussion about dream location shoots, he declared he’d do a picture on Arcadia one day. The assholes had been relentless in their laughter, before rallying the whole class in their merry quest. I’d remained silent but in some ways couldn’t diss their reasoning, a truth I felt duty-bound to state again.
“Isn’t Arcadia still an independent monarchy—with restricted airspace and sealed borders?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” Harry supplied. “I just happened to secure an exception.”
“An exception,” I echoed, “to bring in a whole film crew? To one of the most secretive societies in the world? Didn’t some tool in the press even name them the Amish of the Mediterranean?”
“Very good, Watson,” he drawled.
“Though I guess it’s not hard to enforce that kind of stuff when you’re an island.”
“Actually, it is hard. Arcadia’s been learning that lesson in some difficult ways over the last few years. Aside from a few strategic trade agreements for the island’s helium supplies, which have helped carry the island’s other economies, Arcadia has remained a shut-in from the rest of the world.”
“Which means…?”
“That the world has moved ahead and they haven’t.” Oddly, the bummer words were delivered with Harry’s growing excitement. “And I know it sucks ass for where they’re at now, but Cam…it’s been fucking awesome from a personal perspective. Everything happened the way I thought it would. You remember what I said that day in class, about the island’s old king being in such shitty health, and how he spoke of the changes his son would be ready to make once he died?”
I gave a wry hum. “How could I forget?”
“Well, my pecker hit that money solid.” His knuckle crack of victory popped across the line. “King Ardent knew he was up against an old-school government who would never be open to the changes Arcadia needed to continue in prosperity, but he always hoped his children would find themselves under different circumstances, dealing with more open minds. I’m sure it was why he ordered they be schooled in England and France, not by Arcadia’s tutors. I think one of them even went to high school in the states, somewhere near Boston.”
“The guy who’s king now?”
“No. Not Evrest. And he’s not a ‘guy’, Cam. He’s a man. A king.”
“Gah. Whatever you say, milord.”
Loaded pause. “You do know who King Evrest is, right?”
Equally loaded snicker. “King Kilimanjaro’s brother?”
“Crap.” I pictured him indulging a face-palm. “Not ‘Everest’ with three syllables. ‘Evrest’ with two.”
“Thanks. That clears everything up.”
“Shit, Cam. Don’t tell me you’ve been that far under a rock for the last year?”
“I’ve been working for the last year. As in, making the most of my scintillating double degrees in math and strategic comm. Concerned with shit like condo payments, groceries, health insurance. Being a grown-up. Any of that ring a bell?”
“Evrest. Cimarron.” He stamped the words like pointing out I had a nose on my face. “Okay, when you’re buying your precious groceries, do you ever glance at the magazines next to the register?”
“No.” Overtone of ew, activate magical powers. “Okay, sometimes.” Before he called me even more of a dweeb, I pulled over my laptop and tapped Arcadia King into the search string. “But seriously, I don’t pay attention or…”
Anything.
The word never made it to my lips. Because it vanished from my head. Another took its place, filling every inch of my consciousness.
Everything.
Evrest Cimarron was absolutely everything that turned me into a hot, gooey, disgusting, lusty, mess.
I recognized him now, of course. The American press didn’t call him by his full name. They’d borrowed parts of it for snappy expressions like Revvin’ Ev, Get Your Ev-Watch Here, and The Cim is Simmering. But I might have been completely wrong about those headlines, because the second I saw the man on any magazine cover I forced myself to turn away. Concentrating on celery, toothpaste, and Nutella was my only chance of banishing the image of him, all thick black hair, brilliant Sultan eyes, and sleek, sculpted body, into the darkest pit of my mind. The shadows only visited when it was time to bring the vibrator out of the nightstand—and my fantasies out of their cage. The images of his bronze hands against my pale skin…
spreading me
exposing me
then filling me
with himself.
Not happening. Not right now. Dammit.
But he still dominated my screen, taunting me with his burnished beauty, penetrating stare, regal strength…and something else, too. A strange echo in my pulse, as if a part of me actually recognized him…or at least the sight of him. With every moment I gazed, that cadence sprinted faster, commanding me not to look away though my libido screamed with the sensual torment of it.
Ohhh, shit.
Definitely wasn’t exiting this one unscathed. My dry mouth said as much. And my shallow breaths. And the aching throb between my thighs.
“Uh…okay,” I finally stammered. “Yeah. He’s…a little familiar. M-maybe.”
Wicked snort. A Harry special. “Ohhh, Cam.”
“‘Ohhhh, Cam’, what?”
“Hey.” I envisioned him holding up his free hand in protest. “I’m not hatin’. If I swung that way, he’d jump to the top of my dream fuck list, too.”
“Shut up.”
“You need a moment alone with your laptop, honey?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay, I have a better offer.” The pause he took was too long for my comfort. “How’d you like to meet him in person?”
I closed my laptop with a vengeful thud. Focusing on the action helped me stay rooted in reality—not the wild idea he’d seemingly just proposed. “Meet w
ho in person?”
His groan filled the line. “Maybe you’re the drunk one today, yeah?”
Deep fume. “No. I just can’t figure out what you’re getting at. What the hell?”
He repeated the groan, dropping a register. “His Majesty, Evrest Cimarron of Arcadia. What would you say about meeting him?”
I considered myself a straight shooter when it came to conversation. When I received the same from others, I usually appreciated it. But Harry’s turn at come-right-out-with-it didn’t come close to the target. My belly twisted tighter. My nerves were icicles. “I…don’t know what I’d say. I’m puzzled. Did you get invited to some event with him now that you’re going to turn his kingdom into a glamorous movie set? You need a date or something?” And if so, why aren’t you asking Beth?
Harry didn’t help things by chuckling again, piling on the indulgence. “No. I don’t need a date. I need a production manager.”
“Huh?” His words floated on my comprehension like leaves on water, refusing to sink in.
“And for that matter, a prop mistress, second unit liaison, accountant, and about six other job descriptions I won’t name now, in order not to scare you off.”
I took a turn to laugh. In disbelief. “Why would I be scared? It’s an impossible proposition.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I toyed with flipping the conversation to Face Time, bed head be damned. If he saw the glory of my incredulity, maybe he’d believe it. “Because I have a life now, Harry, that’s why. Responsibili—”
“Right,” he cut in. “Responsibilities. Like that family you have to take care of?”
“Dammit,” I muttered. He knew my parents as well as I knew his. Mom—aka Louise—was doing just fine, training for her fifth marathon and screening prospects for her third boyfriend in a year. And Dad? Well, Dad was…Dad, off in a part of the world where even if they had internet and cell reception, he wouldn’t care. Bones and relics, the older the better, were the man’s oxygen—likely reason number one behind Mom’s quiet request for a divorce during my junior year in high school.
“Cam,” Harry persisted, “you don’t even own a dog.”
