by Angel Payne
Hell.
Maybe, just maybe, I’d get lucky and King Built-Like-A-God would have some last-minute scepter polishing to keep him away all night.
The thought helped me sneak in a deep breath. Leif watched every inch of the move. “I had no idea you had such great tits.”
I choked, wishing I still had the water. Beth slammed her clutch against Leif’s chest and muttered wryly, “Nicely done, Sir Tact.”
“What? They’re nice.”
Stressed stare—right at my bodice. Dammit, it was what I liked best about the dress. A thousand tiny beads, iridescent with overtones of blue, adorned the area in swirling designs. Rosetta had stressed that bra straps would ruin the look. She’d probably been right but my heart rate neared aerobic nevertheless. “You can’t—see anything important—can you?”
“Of course not.” Beth gave my hand an encouraging tug. “Cam, you look awesome. I mean it. Like a modern-day Audrey Hepburn.”
“Only with great tits.”
I joined Beth in whacking Leif this time. “Are you even allowed to say ‘tits’? Doesn’t that violate your team’s code or something?”
“I can admire ’em, honey, just not lick ’em.”
Downhill. Fast. Even Beth emitted a combination of gasp and giggle, not sure how to save the awful plummet of the conversation.
With movie-perfect timing, fate intervened.
New energy flowed through the crowd like an incoming wave. Whispers grew in volume. Necks craned in excitement. If we were standing outside I would’ve looked to the sky, expecting fireworks.
“Well, well, well,” Leif murmured. “Let the party begin.”
“The Cimarrons?” I actually smiled about it now. I was so glad the conversation no longer revolved around my boobs, I’d be happy for the arrival of soggy hors d’oeuvres and a troupe of dancing monkeys.
“I imagine so,” Beth answered. She nodded as a stunning, petite brunette crossed the ballroom, stopping here and there to greet familiar faces or accept small bouquets of flowers. “Oh, yes. There’s Jayd.”
“She’s the youngest of the four sibs, right?” I asked.
“Yes. And the only female.”
“Wow.” Shock of shocks, that was all Leif had. I stole a look at him, wondering if he really was considering a team switch. Wouldn’t blame him for claiming the young woman as his catalyst. Her eyes matched her name, wide and honest and accentuated by lashes so long they made her seem an exotic china doll. The effect was enhanced by her heart-shaped mouth, graceful neck, and delicate steps in a pair of gold heels that were so killer, Louboutin or Blahnik was surely the culprit. Her dress, a variation of the traditional Arcadian gown, was a shade darker than the shoes. She looked every inch a true princess.
“And the guy a few steps behind her…” I stretched my neck for a peek now. “He has to be one of her brothers.” Not Evrest, but nearly as high on the oh-my-God scale. The man matched his sister’s natural grace but did it with a body that could grace a Paris runway as easily as this room. He was bad and beautiful, as arresting as James Dean crossed with an Abercrombie ad, with a touch of Jonathan Rhys Meyers thanks to the traditional amber doublet.
“That’s Shiraz,” Beth supplied. “Older than Jayd by ten months.” She giggled. “Guess those were busy years for King Ardent and Queen Xaria.”
“Whatever they did, they got it right.” Leif smoothed his hair. “Damn. I claim first lick.”
“No licking.” I fired it in tandem with Beth.
“Please.” Leif turned it into two syllables. “You think Dane’s going to send his art director home on a goddamn plane?”
Beth arched her brows. “Maybe not all of you. But I’d think testicles would ship nicely.”
I gave her props by way of a little smile. Dammit, I didn’t want to like her, but the sweet spirit and quick wit were growing on me.
At the moment, she confused me in another way. By popping her eyes open so wide, I wondered if a savage had wandered in from the rainforest. I turned my head, letting my gaze follow hers—
And instantly saw how close my guess had gotten to the target.
The next Cimarron to appear was caveman crossed with nobleman—literally. Though tall as Shiraz, he was bigger…everywhere to be seen. Joined to his proud, high chest and chin resembling one of the bricks in the walls, his flinty stare made total sense. Filling out his notable appearance was a dark russet mane of hair, groomed into a tidy ponytail and secured with a black leather thong. His doublet was also fashioned from black leather, with red suede breeches that clearly made him as comfortable as a real ape would be at a function like this. He was flanked by a couple of guys in the impressive crimson and gold of the Arcadian military uniforms. Their build—and their scowls—matched his.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
“Paging Jane. Tarzan has arrived,” Leif countered.
“He was doomed from the start.” Sarcasm threaded Beth’s tone. “Samsyn Cimarron. Second in line to the throne—a position he never wants to fill—thereby dictating his lifelong commitment to keep the island and his older brother safe. He oversees Arcadia’s military force, keeping them ready for anything from a Medicane to a terrorist attack.”
“A medi-what?” Leif asked.
“A Medicane. It’s what they call a hurricane through this region. As in ‘Mediterranean hurricane’.”
I didn’t say anything. Crap. Beth was beautiful, sweet, and smart. The complex I’d felt coming on was officially here. File this one under “inferiority”, kids.
Which didn’t hold a candle to my brain’s messed-up behavior in the next moment.
When Evrest Cimarron entered the room.
Damn.
Damn.
Damn.
While Samsyn oozed caveman, the king of Arcadia himself was pure alpha wolf. Every glance was a command, every stride filled with purpose. Leader, protector—and yes, threads of predator—I saw all of that in him, though another role was palpable in every move he made.
Lover.
Shit. Too many tabloid fantasies, Cam. The thought belonged nowhere in my head, nor did the flush claiming my face. Thank God Harry wasn’t around to witness how it got worse as I scoped out the rest of King Alpha Wolf. He was as tall as his brother and equally as broad through the shoulders, but his body tapered from there. A well-sculpted torso. A lean waist. And then—Oh God—black-clad legs, so long and defined and perfect, I wondered if they’d been custom-molded by some talented descendent of Michelangelo. His black doublet was open at the top, exposing a pendant shaped like a sun and bright as the real thing, in the hollow of his corded neck. It must’ve been the stand-in for his crown, which was a damn good thing. It’d be a crime to mess with the thick sable waves on his head. They were gelled into regal submission tonight, combed back from the features that made his face impossible to look away from. The high, strong forehead. The eyes, as brilliant a green as the sea outside. The slender but forceful nose. The bold juts of his jaw, making his face look narrower around the sensual curves of his lips.
I was a new commercial for butter-texture limbs.
Especially as he moved closer to us.
Closer.
Followed by at least a dozen women.
I noticed them the same moment Leif did. My eyes popped wide, curiosity taking hold. Wasn’t like we could ignore them, since they were all the epitome of classic beauty. All their gowns were the exact same shade of red, though were cut in differing styles. They were the only women in the room who wore the color, matched to the buttons and epaulets on Evrest’s doublet. It was the beginning of the theme. Not only did their clothes match the king’s, but their steps did, too. All the women paced themselves perfectly to him, starting and stopping their progress through the room as he did.
“Tell me I don’t have to explain who that is,” Beth stated.
Leif pffted her. “Give us a little credit.”
Without looking away from Evrest—unable to look away—I murmured,
“But who are…”
“The groupies,” Leif interjected. “She’s asking about the groupies in red.” He added in a stage whisper, “And does he know about them?”
Beth chuckled. “I would hope he does.”
“Why?” I so didn’t want to ask it. For some reason, anticipating the answer was a lesson in uncomfortable.
“Those twelve women are known as the Distinct.”
Leif snorted. “Sounds like a personal problem.”
“Far from it,” Beth countered. “They’re likely the most envied women in the kingdom right now. They were selected using an extensive screening and algorithm process as the women in all Arcadia best suited to become queen to Evrest. Every factor was taken into consideration, including genetics, upbringing, education, temperament…the list goes on and on. These twelve made the final cut. They were brought to court nearly two years ago so Evrest could spend time getting to know each of them before making his final selection of a bride.”
My instinct was right. I didn’t like the information. Still, I conceded, “Little better than a completely arranged marriage.”
Leif snickered anew. “Also sounds like great reality TV. Oh, if the walls of that man’s bedroom could sing.”
“Hmmm…nope.” Beth’s gaze emulated the knowing lilt of her comeback. “Don’t think so.”
I frowned. “Huh?”
“The people expect Evrest’s decision to be based on affection, compatibility, and the worthiness of the woman to be a proper queen, not sex or lust. Messing around with any of the Distinct, besides anything beyond second base, would make him a complete choad in his people’s eyes, less worthy of their respect and loyalty. His credibility as a leader would be severely compromised. The girl herself, branded a slut without any control, would be forced to give back her ruby of the Distinct—”
“Those are the stones in their pendants?” I queried.
“Exactly. Each was given one when first arriving at the palais. The gems are real, mined here on the island. No matter who Evrest selects, the necklace belongs to that Distinct for the rest of her life, unless she leaves the court in shame.”
“What about the girl who gets the proposal?”
“A matching ruby engagement ring is added to the booty.”
“Custom designed by the island jeweler, of course,” Leif inserted, “who gets to make a special guest appearance on the ‘we’re getting hitched’ episode of the show.”
Though Beth obliged with a giggle, I was still stuck on the part about choads and sluts. “But what if things just…happen?”
“Happen?” Beth’s frown belied confusion. “Like what?”
“Like chemistry. And passion. And romance. What if Evrest really does fall for someone, and the moment gets away from them? And what if he refuses to let them banish her from court for it?”
“Yeah.” Leif backed me with a cute scowl. “He’s the king, dammit.”
“I’m not sure it’s ever been tried. Arcadia is a young country by most standards. Only a little over two hundred years old.”
“And we’re not here to help him rewrite history.” I wondered why I wanted to jump my own shit about the words. Nervous and his pal Edgy simply wouldn’t leave me alone tonight, starting the moment Rosetta talked me into the flimsy underwear. The panties sure as hell weren’t accomplishing their task anymore. Every moment I stared at Evrest’s progress across the room, marveling at every confident step he took, made me feel more and more naked…down there.
And achier.
And wetter.
Oh my hell, I was pathetic.
“So what happens to the Distincts he doesn’t pick?” Leif asked. “Do they get to slink away in shame, too? Banished to the land of hawking jewelry on home shopping channels? Wait a second. ‘The Distincts’. Is anyone else thinking kick-ass girl group name? Maybe somebody just needs to introduce them to YouTube.”
“Actually, most of them remain here in court, serving as key staff members for the new queen or getting involved in island government,” Beth explained. “The pressure of being a Distinct is ample training ground for the positions. Of course, no group of Distincts has been together this long.”
I tossed a quizzing glance. “Meaning…?”
“That normally, the new king has selected a bride and gotten married by now. Evrest will be thirty in September. He’s required to have a queen by then, or be at risk of forfeiting the throne. It’s why they started the vetting process on his twenty-eighth birthday.”
“So why the heel dragging?” Leif charged.
“There’re a few theories. Number one, Evrest hasn’t had to hurry. Samsyn has made it violently clear he wants nothing to do with the politics of running the country. Since he’s not chomping to fill Evrest’s seat, the king hasn’t felt a need to defend it. Others believe Evrest has been too busy for courtship. Convincing the old guard Arcadians that saving Arcadia means opening it a little to the outside world…it’s been a full-time job.” Beth lifted a tiny smile. “And then there’s the most obvious choice.”
“Which is?” Leif obliged.
“The man’s simply not in love.”
My pulse stumbled a couple of beats.
No, it didn’t.
And those extra pretzels you snuck on the plane were calorie-free. And your origami panties didn’t just become the texture of a used paper towel.
Fine. So my bloodstream decided to throw a fiesta.
Ridiculous.
Stupid.
And utterly ill-timed, considering that King Evrest Cimarron lifted his gaze right to where we stood.
And clutched my heartbeat with the stab of his stare.
And tethered my limbs with the force of his attention.
And stopped everything else in the room as he stopped where he stood—then altered his path, walking directly over to us.
Chapter Four
‡
“Hello.”
I watched every mesmerizing inch of his lips move with the word, though the sound seemed to resonate through my heart, not my ears. On the other hand, nothing in the room moved yet, so it was easy for me to hear both the velvety syllables.
“Hi.” I didn’t push it above a rasp. I didn’t want to restart the world yet—though somewhere far away, a classical guitar and a harp blended in one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’d ever heard. It helped carry my soul’s plea to heaven.
Please don’t let this end.
Never.
Ever.
Please.
He reached. Slipped both his hands around mine.
And the certainty encompassed my heart.
I’d been waiting for this moment. For a very long time. Perhaps forever. The air in my lungs knew it. The very marrow in my bones knew it. The reaches of my soul knew it.
Why? How?
I didn’t know the questions had fallen out aloud—maybe they hadn’t—but as he branded his gaze deeper into mine, I knew he’d somehow heard. The corners of his mouth turn up a little, just enough to sluice all my nerve endings with high-octane awareness. Everything became him. Only him.
“Thank you for coming.” The words, while seeming rote and protocol, evoked more. There was a meaning beyond his meaning but I couldn’t grasp it. What are you trying to say?
I hoped my eyes conveyed the question because I couldn’t speak the words. Tiny crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, as if assuring me there was an answer to that, and he couldn’t wait to share it with me.
“I’m happy to be here.”
Nope. Please try your connection again. “Happy” was for free hot fudge sundaes on my birthday or a freak heat wave in January. This was something past happy. Something that didn’t have a word. Something twined to the completion of my hands inside his, my nearness to him, the electricity of my whole body in his presence.
“Are you certain of that?” His thumbs caressed the insides of my wrists, shooting rockets through my belly and fireworks through my brain.
&nb
sp; Fireworks? Seriously, Cam?
But it made sense. Weirdly, insanely, suddenly, everything just…made sense.
“It’s just hard to believe this is happening.” I’d caught the double meaning virus, too—and it felt pretty nice. Until now, the whole living-in-a-dream thing was confined to excitement about the movie and simply being here in Arcadia. That was before this. Before him. Before the bubble that lowered over the two of us, this strange and wonderful cocoon sealed by the bridge of our touch, the embrace of our stares, the lock of our spirits…
Not just meeting each other. Recognizing each other.
“I am Evrest.” He dipped toward me, an edge of bashfulness in his voice. So beautiful. I treasured every note, gluing the sound to my memory like a precious flower in a scrapbook.
“I’m…Cam.”
“Cam.” He extended the last letter, almost turning the word into a silken song. My lips parted as I imagined how it would feel if he did that against my bare skin, though I didn’t dare venture on what body part. Did it matter? His smile, parting wider, provided that definitive answer. Didn’t matter one damn bit.
“It’s actually—Camellia.” Yes. Go for the formality. Maybe it’ll hoist your mind out of the gutter. “Camellia Saxon. I’m the film’s production manager.”
“Is that so?” Like I’d just given him the coolest piece of trivia in the world. Damn, he was good. No wonder the gossip mag writers loved him so—and I yearned to splash right back into the gutter.
“Uhh, yeah. Yes. But—uhhh—call me whatever you like. Nobody really calls me Camellia, except my mother. And Harry, when he’s in a snit with me. Which is at least once a day.” I glanced away. “Shit; like you need to know that.”
I slammed my eyes shut and clamped my mouth. You did not just drop an s-bomb on the king of this island. At his state dinner. Less than five minutes after meeting him.
