by Angel Payne
“Fascinating?” It wasn’t rhetorical. He truly didn’t understand.
I was in super direct mode—yay again, magic nectar—so a laugh spilled. “Oh, God. Guess I backed myself into this one.” I glanced up, the giggle gone. “But you’re not going to make me explain it, right?” His concentration only deepened. Lovely. “Evrest, come on. Ugh; all right. So…you are getting those needs met…yes? From someone, somewhere? It’s not like you have to tell me. I was just a little curious about who the lucky wench is. Or maybe…wenches.”
“Wenches?”
Finally his expression changed—though it wasn’t any more readable than before. Did that strange grimace mean I’d insulted him or confused him?
“Sorry if that rankled. But you have to get it.”
He looked around as if “it” was a real item. “Get what?”
“I meant you have to understand what I’m referring to.” Hell. Honesty was going to be my only way out of this—again. “You’re the walking justification for girl wet dreams, okay? You’re like sex on two legs. Two really nice legs, I might add.”
His brows furrowed. “Thank you. I think.”
His perplexity made me more curious. And utterly beguiled—though I forced myself to ignore that part. Forced. “Tell me you know all this, too. You grew up in a vacuum but you didn’t go to school in one. Someone has told you all this before, right? Maybe a few hundred someones?” When his reaction returned to the valley of inscrutable, I sighed. And prayed. Oh God, save me from this landmine of a conversation. “It’s really none of my business. So—”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Is it none of your business?”
His voice dropped as he spoke it. Descended right back to that intimate murmur he’d used with me that first night in the ballroom, a tone that felt modulated for me alone. Silly fantasies. Dangerous thinking. Stop it!
I’d get right on that…right after watching, mesmerized, as the man casually opened his program as a guise for covering my wrist with his long fingers. And right after he found my pulse point, then tripled its tempo with just one brush of his thumb…
“Evrest—”
“What if I want it to be your business?”
I swallowed again.
So did he.
And inside an instant, took over everything again.
My plane of vision. My pounding blood. My lungs, my limbs…my sex. It all careened over me, through me, consuming me—
Until he stopped the world again.
For me.
With me.
Yes. Yes…
“Miss Camellia?”
A fairy-sweet voice jabbed our beautiful bubble. I jerked away from Evrest like he’d turned into a cactus—then attempted to focus on the adorable little girl standing in front of us. Not an easy feat after a handful of peeled shrimp and five glasses of nectar, but the cutie made the effort worth it. She was about five or six, with a head of black ringlets topped by a little blue satin tricorn sprouting a yellow feather. She wore an enchanting 18th century costume to match. For a second, her face shimmered and doubled in my drunken vision. After a couple of blinks, I was able to return the smile she beamed, exposing a toothless gap in the front.
“Well, hello there,” I greeted. “What’s your name, sweet one?”
“Carissa,” she replied. “Oops; I mean Lady Renata of Paris.”
I held out my hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, milady. I look forward to your performance tonight.”
“Well…” She toed the ground and bit her lip. “That is why I am here.” During her small pause, Evrest’s soft chuckles peppered the air, somehow contributing to my stomach’s squirm factor. “Our opening sequence is the Grand Fête Danse. During it, we get to invite special guests from the audience to come and waltz with us. I have chosen you as my guest, Miss Camellia.”
“Why?” Ugh. Note to self: kick yourself later for pulling a Miss Hannigan on a six year-old. “Er, I mean—milady, there are so many other ladies of the land present here tonight. Look, Lady Tess is returning right now; why don’t you—”
“Lady Tess talks like a constipated dolphin.” While Evrest laughed harder and I worked on pushing past my shock, Carissa went on, “And she doesn’t make my cousin smile the way you do.”
“Your cousin?” I questioned. “Who’s…” My voice trailed off as I followed her nod—back to Evrest.
“Come here, imp.” He said it while pulling her onto his lap, slipping something into the pocket of her gown as he did. When her blue eyes lit up, he murmured, “That is our secret, Riss. If your maimanne learns I am sneaking you chocolate again, she shall flay me like Sunday dinner catfish. Already, we know how she prefers Shiraz to me.”
Carissa had a giggle ready. “That is only because Shiraz says nice things about her shoes. You are the king now, Ev. Everyone has to love you.”
He grunted at her and pushed at me. “Go. Dance. Both of you.”
I was about to protest again—until I allowed myself to behold his whole face. Only one word came to mind. Joyous. His eyes sparkled like sea foam in the sun. Deep dimples dented his cheeks. I swore his grin reached to his ear lobes, and it was beautiful and dazzling and white—and meant just for us.
Then his expression softened a little—darkening with desire.
As he turned it to me.
For a moment—just one—I let a fantasy bloom. We were here, reigning over the festivities as king and queen. Everyone in our kingdom was deliriously happy, just as we were. Evrest was going to watch me dance with the children before pulling me away to our chambers, where he’d watch me dance again—while I got naked for him, layer by delicious layer.
Watch me dance for you, my king…
My nectar buzz helped the dream cling to my mind as I walked up on stage. The music began, grand and dramatic. I let the fantasy stick around just a while longer, as I swirled and laughed between snickering boys and giggly girls. We “danced” through choreography that was less an actual waltz than a semblance of a party.
After a few minutes of that, I realized why the kids had been so squirrelly. The action of the play was blown apart by a gang of adolescent “revolutionaries”, wielding prop dynamite sticks and bayonets, ordering that everyone at the “dance” be captured and taken to the Bastille for their trials. Along with the dozen other grown-up guest actors, I fell to my knees, held up my hands, and play-acted my screams with the prayer that my laughter wouldn’t spill out, as well. No-go. By the time the “attack” was over, I lay on the stage with Carissa, joining her in fits of laughter—
Dying in my throat as soon as I looked again to Evrest.
And kicked myself at once for letting the fantasy take such deep hold.
Of course I’d noticed Tess hurrying back into her seat as the show began. Had even seen her tucking her arm beneath Evrest’s, re-staking her claim. Should’ve gotten the damn clue then, especially when it was clear she might not stop there. Wouldn’t be surprised if her next move was swooping a leg over into his lap, to use her toes on his balls.
I just didn’t expect him to enjoy it so much.
Fine. It was a snap conclusion, likely prompted by my spinning vision and roiling gut. It was why I flipped to my stomach to reassess the situation.
No dice.
If anything, everything sharpened. Painfully. The twinkle in his gaze, visible even from this distance. His hand on Tess’s forearm, fingers dark on her pale flesh, probably pressing into her wrist…turning every inch of her body into fire…
Dammit.
I knew the feeling.
Had known it.
And sure as shit didn’t want to know this one. Chest tightening. Teeth clenching. The squall in my stomach now turned into a storm—especially as he threw his head back on a laugh in reaction to something Tess whispered into his ear. When she was done, she lingered. Their faces were just inches apart…
“Yay!” Carissa screamed it in my ear while jumping on my back.
“That was trés, trés epic! Thank you, Miss Cam. Thank you!”
“Uh…okay, sweetie.”
“Will you come back next year and do it again with me?”
Oh, God. “A year is a long time, Carissa.”
“Just say you’ll try.”
“I’ll—I’ll try.” My gasping smile was genuine, but I prayed my duty was done. No more trés epic. Please. My head swirled, equilibrium taking a tumble. My emotions were chaos, allowed to run too damn wild tonight.
Idiot.
What the hell had I been doing, drinking this much when knowing the probability of seeing Evrest tonight?
What the hell was I thinking, indulging that damn fantasy?
What the hell was I expecting, accepting the invitation to sit next to him—and the woman who now spread her fingers against his jaw, pulling his stare back down to her with only one message on her face?
Kiss me.
Tess’s gaze proclaimed it louder as Evrest leaned toward her with hooded eyes. His jaw tautened beneath her touch as she pulled him closer…closer…
I tore my gaze away.
Didn’t help.
As the carotid of my spirit bled out, I all but rolled off the stage. My head spun. My gut heaved. My face burned. Surely everyone in the place bore witness to my mortification, too. Though logic jumped in to declare it was only the hooch at work in my blood, I didn’t listen. Ducked my head, plowing toward the exit gate in a sea of dizziness—and yeah, a little heartache, too.
Maybe more than a little.
Shit.
I softly groaned with each step, though some saint took pity on me, lending me strength to keep composed—or so I thought. When Dottie’s face appeared in my vision, the concern on her face confirmed how little I’d really kept it together.
“Cam? Sweetie? You all right?”
“I think so.” But as soon as the words were out, I wobbled. Laughed. Stopped in place, watching the world careen, before laughing again. “Okay, maybe I don’t think so.”
She wrapped an arm around my middle and hustled me out the gate. “You need to sit down.”
“I need another drink.”
“No way. You need five gallons of water then your bed.” Before I could even start a protest, she let out the most impressive girl growl I’d ever heard. “Don’t think about going back in there, either. I’ve already sent Harry over to Evrest with the message you aren’t feeling well. Won’t exactly be rough for the man to buy. Anyone looking at you knew something wasn’t right.”
Another laugh. Louder. Harder. “Well, Evrest wasn’t looking at me, so—”
“The hell he wasn’t.”
A thrill took wing in my spirit.
My raging heart shot the bastard down.
Get the hell over this. Over him. He’s not just off-limits. He’s the king of off-limits. You don’t get to stay and change the world when you step into off-limits. You don’t get to keep your credibility with Harry, either—like, for forever.
“Cam?”
Dottie’s voice barreled in again. I yanked back, craving a long wallow in my agony. And why the hell not? I was drunk. Nectar was my new bestie because it was my perfect scapegoat. No one would ever discern the real reason for my moroseness. Nobody would guess I’d fallen into the most stupid emotional trap ever, joining the ranks of lonely cyber-trolls and delusional boy band groupies, buying the bullshit that I actually shared some mystical “bond” with the damn king of this place. On top of that, I had a damn fantasy about the man—in public—while he sat with a woman who might be pregnant with his child by this time next year.
Epic fail, thy name is Cam Saxon.
“I have to go.” It was the only thing that made sense, a viable solution for everyone. Without waiting for Dot and her inner mama tiger to respond, I whirled and headed down the nearest empty corridor, letting the cadence of my steps wrap me in its steady hypnosis.
Fleeing. Stumbling. Just get one step in front of the other. I didn’t care where I went as long as it put distance between Evrest and me.
Closed doors. Ornate furniture. More closed doors. Little atriums full of flowers—pretty; let me look; no!—all brightly illuminated at first, but dimming as I kept going.
A weird panic set in. Was the nectar taking its toll? Was I so sloshed I was set to pass out in the middle of the hallway?
Oh, hell. Though it didn’t officially qualify as “fraternizing with the locals”, I was damn sure demerits in the Book of Harry were also in order for a blacked-out production manager in the middle of—
Where the hell was I?
This part of the palais wasn’t familiar. None of this existed in the north wing. The décor, while in the same luxurious Mediterranean style, was nicer. A lot nicer. None of the doors here were labeled, either. Big problem. I really had to pee.
My guardian saint for the night swooped in just in time. The whoosh of a toilet flush sifted into the hallway. I ducked behind a giant potted palm as a palais housekeeper emerged from one of the doorways, humming and carrying a box of bathroom cleaning supplies.
With hands clasped in gratitude, I glanced heavenward. “Quick pit stop,” I whispered to Mystery Saint, “then I’ll get the hell out of here.” Wherever here was. Best not to ponder the answer for too long. I was drunk, not clueless. I was clearly somewhere I didn’t belong, having likely zigged instead of zagged in my frenzy to get the hell away from the amphitheater—which had landed me somewhere in the south wing.
Freakin’ great.
I tried to hurry through my business. The bathroom obviously wasn’t meant for the general public. There was only one toilet, contained in a little closet formed of cobalt marble walls. The rest of the chamber contained a huge vanity formed of the same luxurious marble, accented with toiletry accessories stored in cut crystal containers. In a small room at the back, there was a chaise that would put a lot of full beds to shame, made of dark blue velvet and piled with half a dozen pillows in various shapes. I gazed longingly at the thing while running my hands beneath the polished gold spigot.
But froze the second I turned the water off.
Footsteps clattered in the hall. Louder, louder, closing in on the bathroom door.
The doorknob rattled. I whooshed in relief. Guardian Saint, better than Allstate—and reminding me to lock the door, even in the booze fog.
A woman swore softly. At the same time, keys jingled—as my gaze fell on a cell phone on the far side of the counter.
“Crap!” Of course the housekeeper was one of the progressive Arcadians. And Guardian Saint had decided to take a lunch break.
There was no way to hide in the stall. Even then, I’d likely run into the woman while doubling back. There was only one option. Glad for my noiseless flats, I retreated into the anteroom with the chaise. After sliding between the swagged curtains behind it, I prayed the maid wouldn’t notice a strange lump in the thick damask fabric.
The door swung open. I listened to the maid, humming classic Madonna to herself while stepping to her phone. The device chirped with a text message. I switched up my prayer, including the plea that she not answer the damn thing here and now.
Denied.
I allowed myself a single huff. Sweat trickled down my face as I pressed back, yearning to become one with the wall.
Be careful what you wish for.
The wall ceased to exist.
Whhaaat?
I questioned the sensation, wondering if my drunken senses had turned the world upside down again, but when I reached back for the curtains, my hand closed on nothing but air.
Scream. You should scream. Really.
But my shock washed out the bridge between my brain and vocal cords, especially when a flood of fear joined in. I was pushed back, spun around, then thrust forward again, plunged into instant darkness. Alice down the rabbit hole, though not nearly as fun I remembered from girlhood. Had I blacked out? And if that was the case, did a whacked-out tea party with a fussy rabbit await now?
Wait. I was still conscious. My nose made me aware of that fact. Wherever I was, it was not the bathroom, with its jasmine and orange blossom freshness. This cave—corridor?—tunnel?—brought a “special” mix of damp and moss, infused with a third element I could only qualify as old. And damn, it was cold. The temp had plunged by at least twenty-five degrees.
“Hell. If I’d known there was going to be a cave dive tonight, I wouldn’t have gone for the cami and half sweater, guys.”
My snark didn’t yield my hoped-for comfort. It only emphasized that I wasn’t in some cute little castle hidey hole, but a significant cavern of some sort. Strangely, I wasn’t freaked out. Hey, a constructive use for the booze in my blood, after all!
As a matter of fact, I almost giggled. A castle with hidden tunnels? Hell, yeah. I might have even been up for exploring around down here, if it wasn’t so cold. And dark. And creepy.
Freak-out time didn’t come until the next moment.
I pushed back on the wall just as I had before. Nothing budged. Pulling out my phone as a flashlight, trying to find a hidden “return trip switch”, was also unproductive—and confirmed I’d been spun into a cell reception black hole. A one-way ticket underground, accessible via the bathroom. There was a really good joke somewhere in that statement, but I think my guardian saint was telling it over his three-martini lunch.
A swing of the light around the chamber revealed the area as clean and well-maintained. I chose to be grateful for that fact instead of considering the reasons why, since the only exit now seemed to lie in going forward. More inspection revealed the chamber to be a wider space as part of a corridor that stretched to my left and right. It was a crap shoot on choice of direction, since the wild ride of the trap door left me clueless about where I was.
I picked the right and started walking.
And walking.
And walking.
“And if you think the pool is impressive, let me show you the tunnels.” I adopted a nasally voice that had once been an inside joke between Harry and me. We’d dubbed it Desperate Realtor Lady. “Once you see those, you’ll be begging me to get an offer in for you. Begging.”
Again, the sarcasm didn’t help. I gulped against more fear, trying not to liken myself to a rat in a maze. Shudder. No more thinking about rats, period. My luck had held on finding all the tunnels critter-free, but how long would that last? How long would I last?
