by Angel Payne
Unless there was an over-coifed, fake-smiled slip of a Distinct who appeared at his side, her gaze sweeping over us like a blonde beauty queen sizing up the competition.
“Oh, no,” she crooned, slipping a hand to Evrest’s elbow. “Quel dommage. Have I missed a fun moment, chere?”
Yikes. To laugh or puke at that? The dilemma plunged my gaze to the ground, wondering how a grown woman could sound like an eight year-old crossed with Snow White. When I noticed Beth sharing my reaction, laughter won over vomiting. We stifled our giggles, each inspiring the other.
“Not at all,” Evrest reassured the woman. “You have arrived with perfect timing.” He placed his free hand over hers yet stepped back, giving everyone a view of her breathtaking blood orange party dress. The Greek-inspired bodice was secured by a broach matching the dove on Evrest’s cummerbund, and the multi-level skirt hung exactly to the middle of her knees. “It is my pleasure to introduce Tess, who generously offered to help with hostess duties for me this evening.”
“Bon nuit, everyone,” Tess murmured before giving Evrest a mocking slap on the hand. “Cease your silly nonsense about my generosity. It is my pleasure to be on your arm for this auspicious evening, Majesty.”
Stifled giggle number two. Her pleasure to be on his arm? Considering how many other arms the girl had likely chewed through to get there, she had every right to enjoy the experience—and celebrate that she’d said “auspicious” without a hitch.
Evrest addressed the group again. “I requested that Tess join me here, to help extend a special invitation to you all.” His expression warmed. “A troupe of our youth theater members have put together a short play depicting the story I just conveyed, about the roots of Arcadia’s creation. The children were excited about making certain I invited all the ‘Hollywood big shots’ to come see them. They are beginning the show in thirty minutes, in our palais amphitheater.”
Harry’s face rivalled the pyrotechnics in the sky. “We’d be honored, of course.”
“Wonderful.” Evrest’s face lighted, too. “Our children’s theater performances astound me with every—” He interrupted himself, looking like any dad back in the states caught bragging about his kids. “Well, I shall let you observe and decide for yourselves…but they are damn good.”
Everyone laughed while picking up their drinks, jackets, and lawn blankets. I turned from helping Dottie with her load to find myself forehead-to-chest with Harry. “Hey,” I blurted, hoping it made sense past my nectar-buzzed brain. Yeah, I know; one syllable—but if there was room for error, I’d find it.
“Hey.” He still looked giddy as a firework.
“What?”
He curled one of his you’re-not-gonna-believe-this grins. “So…at this little production thing…the seat next to Evrest is empty. And he’s invited you to fill it.”
I squinted. “Earth to Harry? The seat next to Evrest belongs to Frenchie McTessie. And I think she has every intention of filling it.”
“Earth to Cam?” he countered. “The other seat? It was reserved for his mom, but she just returned today from her grand tour of Europe and she’s wiped. Sent her apologies down to Evrest about an hour ago.”
“Or maybe she’s just allergic to Tess’s voice.” I really wanted to let a giggle rip now, but Harry didn’t crack composure, still as earnest as Cornelius Freaking Hackl. What the hell? “Harry, I’m flattered, but no. Please tell him thank you, but no thank you.”
I had stronger words but held them back. Harry didn’t need to hear how I questioned Evrest’s nerve in all this—though maybe I’d overreacted to what we’d shared in my office that first night and His Majesty thought he was only being friendly, not nervy. Didn’t matter either way. The booze fog already had my reservation for the night, and was turning down the bed for me. And right now, thinking of beds and Evrest in the same sentence, let alone being inches from the man in any way, shape or form…
Not wise. Not good.
Didn’t Harry see that? Even one bit?
Dude…don’t trust the tipsy girl with the king she’s got the lusties for.
That was the end of that. Or so I thought—until Harry ripped the blanket I’d just folded out of my grip. “Dammit, Cam. You aren’t Queen Xaria. You don’t just get to say ‘no thank you’ to our fucking host.”
I yanked the blanket back. “You’re right. I’m not his mother. I’m not one of his little harem girls, either. And I’m not even one of his subjects—nor, for that matter, am I one of yours. So with all due respect, Mr. Dane, kiss Evrest Cimarron’s ass on your own damn time. Don’t pimp me out for the job.”
Surprise, surprise. He actually stepped back, looking a little contrite—though in true dumb shit style, reached for my hand. In bigger dumb shit style, I realized he did so to steady my sway. “Cam? You okay?”
“Fine,” I spat. “Let go of me.”
He held on tighter. Didn’t relent until I lifted my gaze back up. “Okay,” he issued,” what I’m about to say cannot be repeated.”
“You want to lower the cone of silence first?”
I expected an eye roll. Never came. He swallowed hard, instead. I copied him.
“Evrest is considering the idea of letting us use the palais throne room for the wedding scene in the film.”
In an instant, I caught his case of fireworks brain. “Whoa.”
He grinned. “Yeah. Whoa.”
“Harry, that would be—”
“No shit.”
The opportunity would be extra-thick icing on the cake we were baking. We thought we’d be lucky to just see the throne room while we were here. The chamber was a gilt and gold work of art that had taken Arcadian craftsmen two decades to complete. Getting it on film would be not only a perfect enhancement for the film, but a coup earning us thousands of dollars in free publicity.
It was also why I pushed the blanket back at Harry with a resigned sigh. “Pimp away, Mac Daddy Dane. I’ll do it.”
Harry yanked me close and pressed a hard kiss to my cheek. “That’s my rock star.”
“Yeah, yeah. But just this once, dammit. And no way in hell am I making you a sammich too, so grab your food on the way to the theater.”
*
While Harry retrieved his dinner, I snagged another glass of nectar. Smart? Probably not. Necessary? Bet your damn ass.
I struggled like hell not to chug the whole thing as Evrest settled into his chair after handing Tess off to one of his guards for a trip to the ladies’ room. I damn near groaned as my heart took a round trip from my chest to my belly. Then again when it overshot the landing, crashing into the base of my windpipe. Maybe if I stared at the stage and said nothing, he’d forget I was even—
“Camellia.”
No luck. Not a shred.
I lifted my head in his general direction. Just focus on his chest. You don’t have to get anywhere near his face…or his eyes. His shirt is pretty cool. Look at how the buttons align with the diagonal zipper on the vest, and—
My gaze was pulled up like it’d been waiting for this moment for three damn days—meeting his like a ship being called home by a shore beacon. In that beacon, such incredible green light…piercing me, capsizing me, making me reach to him just to keep my keel straight, so the sea of my senses would stop spinning,
spinning,
spinning—
Make it all stop again. Please.
Holy shit. How had my hand gotten coiled so tightly around his arm? Mortified and barely hiding it, I yanked back. All of his court had to be here tonight, attentions honed on him. He had to select a wife in six weeks. Curiosity had to be running high about tonight’s featured candidate for the role…
…who was in the bathroom, and would be back any second.
“This was a bad idea,” I rasped. “A bad, bad idea.”
Silence from him. Too damn much.
“Why did you do this? Why did you ask for me? Here? Now?”
He swiveled his head so slightly, outsiders probabl
y thought it a simple act of polite concentration. Only he and I knew the truth. With the realignment of his head, he mated his stare with mine—and didn’t let go.
Shit. I was in trouble. Incredible tourmaline depths of it. Demanding my truth, no matter what he asked.
And yeah, he asked.
“Why did you do this?”
Hmm. The simple stuff first. Or so I thought, until my reply spilled out. “Because Harry made me.” Not so fast, honey. Now the rest. “And…because it felt nice to have him need me instead of Beth. And to help the production. To help him persuade you about filming rights in the throne room, and—”
He silenced me with a finger across my lips. I pulled back, fingertips instantly on the surfaces he’d somehow exposed to raw electricity.
Shit. Could we add any more hokey clichés here? The only thing we were missing was his dork soap opera line. Ssshhh, baby. Don’t talk.
Instead, he stated, “The throne room is yours. Does that make things easier?”
I felt my stare narrowing. Well, shit. What had my drunk head left out? “Huh?”
“The issue is settled.” He glanced away to nod at a passing couple. The man wore one of the fancy sashes denoting him as a High Council member. “Contact Musette on my staff tomorrow afternoon. Her office is in the south wing; the switchboard can put you through. She supervises the schedule of all our government chambers. She can coordinate a shooting date that will work with your schedule.”
“Oh.” Jaw in the same shape. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Huh?”
“No. Problem.” It was clearer this time. And harsher. “That is the catchphrase you all use to wrap things up in America, correct?”
“When there’s really not a problem,” I clarified. “But you,”—I jabbed him in his stiffened shoulder—“obviously still have a problem.”
“I have no problem.” His voice slid low as the fires in his gaze raged higher. “But if you still do, even after getting what you came for, then you are free to go, Miss Saxon.” His jaw worked back and forth as he dropped that hot stare over my face, neck…into the V of my cleavage. “I selected you because I thought you would enjoy this show—”
“You sure about that?”
Ohhhh, damn.
This definitely beat the s bomb drop during the state dinner reception—made doubly horrid because of its truth. He’d absolutely gone for the gawk at my breasts. And I’d absolutely liked it. Result? One heaping pile of snark, my best and finest coping mechanism.
What the hell would he do now? The blazes in his gaze were unchanged. He still leaned toward me, fanning that heat across every inch of exposed skin he could get…
“If you are uncomfortable being here…there are no handcuffs binding you to that chair.”
My breath hitched. I knew he heard. A retaliation rose in my throat, ready to barrel past my filter—thank you, nectar binge—becoming the cherry on top of my oh-no-she-didn’t sundae. “Do you wish there were?” Yep, I did. Hell. I needed to be horrified, to at least recognize that come tomorrow morning, I’d be paying the price for the words with more than a hangover, but Evrest’s reaction negated it all.
I loved causing the catch in his breath.
“Handcuffs.” I clarified it in a silken murmur, drawing out the moment on purpose. Damn, this felt good. “Do you wish there were really some here? And if I decided to stay, would you use them?”
“Enough.” His voice was the growling opposite of mine. I savored every note of it. Slid him a tipsy smile, heady with my power.
“Awww. Sorry. Just wanted to be sure we were clear. You see, I’m a little drunk, Your Majesty. And probably full of a lot more questions.”
I should have known he’d detect my serious intent beneath the boozy charm. Despite the primal tension still pouring off him, the rest of his face sobered. “Then ask them.”
I notched my chin higher. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
I hesitated for a second, but kicked the insecurity to my mental curb. Vroom vroom. Hit the throttle, Vin Diesel, the opportunity is now. There wouldn’t be another moment like this, with my inhibitions stunted and his “hostess” in the bathroom. I squared my shoulders and firmed my chin. “All right. Number one. Did you approve Harry’s location shoot request because he was a Chapman grad?”
He earned props right away for not feigning that the query was an insult. His shoulders squared, his gaze meeting the determination of mine. “I wondered when you would come around to that.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Well, it wasn’t like I was thinking coherently the other night in my office. And strolling into your office is out of the question, so—”
“Why?” His brows crunched, blatant with puzzlement. “You know where my office is, yes? You can come find me anytime you need me, Camellia.”
My tongue flicked across my lips before I could help it. Define ‘need’. I longed to demand it simply to hear him say the word again.
“And you know that’s not a good invitation for me to accept.” I hitched up my own posture. Hell, yes. I could be mature, even in my condition.
“Why?” Buuut, he wasn’t going to let me enjoy the victory. Persistent bastard. He finished with a little smile, affecting my body like a real caress. “We could simply talk. Like friends.”
And live on Mars while we do. “Really? You think we could do the friend zone, Evrest? You and me?”
“Why not?”
“All right…what are you thinking about? Right this second?”
The parting of his lips and the flare of his nostrils were clear enough answer. His thoughts were consumed by the same image as mine. The two of us in his office, tangled together. Maybe it was on his desk or maybe I straddled him in his kingly office chair, but the puddle of our clothes on the floor stayed the same. And the lock of our lips. And the thrusts of our bodies…
He looked away and muttered something under his breath. The word was unintelligible but the grit wasn’t. Dammit, even Arcadian cuss words were alluring on his lips.
“Okay, let’s put this thing back on the rails.” Yes, I went for the slang just for the treat of his confused stare. “I’m distracting you with safer conversation.”
A wry laugh. “The last minute has shown me something, Camellia. I am truly not certain you and ‘safe’ will ever share the same space in my head again.”
I steeled myself. Hell. He made profanity sexy but turned my name into a high art form. Yeah, right there in the art museum of my mind…next to the flawless nude statue of him.
“You’re not making this easy.”
He dipped close again. “Nor are you.”
“I’m simply sitting here!”
“And your point is…?”
Uggghh. Laugh at him or hit him? “With all respect, you haven’t answered my question yet. About Harry’s Chapman cred?”
Though his posture remained stiff, his features relaxed back into suave monarch mode. “Ah, yes. The question.”
“And now…the answer?”
“Of course. A two-part process, mind you.”
“Now things are getting interesting.”
“Not as interesting as the thoughts I had about entertaining you in my office.”
I blushed and glared. Well, tried to. “Behave.”
He inhaled slowly. Let it out steadily. “Your answer, Miss Saxon, is yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Mr. Dane’s ties to Chapman swayed my decision about granting him the shooting rights.”
I blinked. Several times. I hadn’t ruled out the revelation but the residual squirm factor was higher than I anticipated. “What’s the second half of your answer?” I prayed for something logical.
“I said it was a ‘help’ toward the decision, certainly not the entire—what is the expression?—game changer.” So much for the royal neutrality. His gaze got heavy and his energy more charged as he went on, “And I truly never expected you would be part of t
he Creator’s blessing for the decision.”
“Because you Googled me.” I smiled softly. “Just a few times.”
“Not lately.” He said it so simply, I knew it was the truth. “As far as I knew, you were happy and employed and settled. Never, in a thousand years, did I think to enter the ballroom three nights ago and find lightning had struck my world twice.”
His finishing smile was both bold and bewildered. I felt my lips mirroring the move. Giddy rush, this magic of being near him. Joyous tumble, diving into his stare. Breathless awe, basking in his concentration…
I swallowed hard.
So did he.
I licked my lips again.
He watched every inch of the action.
“I have another question now.” Amazing. The words sounded normal but felt so different. As if I’d meticulously planned every syllable. Or dreaded them.
He couldn’t have looked more pleased. “Of course. I remain at your service.”
“Maybe not after this.”
“Fortune favors the brave, Camellia.”
I looked away. Fortune favored the brave, but what about the curious who were stupid about respecting boundaries? I didn’t have to ask this one—
“Are you really not sleeping with anyone in the Distinct?”
Annnnd did, anyway.
And would probably regret the hell out of it.
I couldn’t help peeking back up. Both his brows hit the high jump but the corners of his mouth headed the same direction. I stared a little longer. Wow. Amusement really suited his face. Warmed its harder angles and emphasized the sensuous curves of his lips.
At last, he lifted his chin a notch. “Yes. It is true.” Weighted pause. “Does that alter what you think of me?”
The question—well, the hesitation in it—was tough to decipher. Though his face didn’t surrender an inch of confidence, the query itself said something. But what?
Despite his caginess, I answered honestly. “It makes you more fascinating, if that’s what you mean.”
