by Angel Payne
Oh, God.
Last night.
Before I’d turned into a slumbering zombie on him. Probably a drooling one, too.
I stopped in the middle of the hallway. My scuffs echoes against the Travertine walls, perfect cover for my horrified groan.
“What the hell do you do now?”
The tiles taunted my whisper back at me. No escape, little bird. Try to find another window out.
Riiight.
I shook my head. Even Google wasn’t helping me with this one. I highly doubted any advice column, Cosmo Dude included, had dealt with something like this.
Dear Cosmo Dude: I got naked with him, screamed through two orgasms, then fell asleep and drooled on his chest. What now? And oh yeah, and my boss will cut off my nipples if he learns I slept with the guy. That’s about all. Thanks! XOXO.
I started walking again.
Normally, I could’ve handled this with a couple of careful texts. But this sure as hell wasn’t normal. Even if I had his number, the risk was too great. Lesser statesmen had been destroyed by texts in the wrong clutches. He was a freaking king.
A handwritten note? Snort. Rinse. Repeat. Delivered by whom? Harry was the only representative from the crew allowed into the south wing, and his clearance was required for anyone else. Wasn’t like I could cross that line with Evrest’s “toodle over and see me anytime” coupon. I didn’t know anyone on Evrest’s immediate staff, much less someone I’d willingly trust here and now.
I paused again, just outside my office.
Sighed. Again.
Maybe three days away from Sancti—and him—was the best plan right now. Clean break, pull a Katniss and disappear into the wilderness—without the kill-or-be-killed thing. Before last night, I’d actually been looking forward to the adventure we were bound for on Asuman Beach. Surely that excitement hadn’t gone too far away, no matter how hard Hurricane Evrest had struck. Since Harry let me handle crew accommodations again, I’d even confirmed that most of us would be “glamping”, sleeping on elevated foam mattresses in semi-permanent structures along the beach. It was damn near the comforts of home…if we all squinted tightly enough.
Feeling much better, I strode into the office with new purpose.
And halted hard again.
“Uh…hello?” I stammered to the uniformed Arcadian woman in front of my desk—pushing my piles around on it. Miracle of miracles, I was cordial about it. I’d left things in a distinct order before leaving for lunch, along with standing directions to the daily housekeeping staff assigned here. Nothing was to be tidied, dusted, or moved unless I was in the room. Everything in here was too damn valuable to lose.
“Ah! Merjour, Miss Saxon.” The woman’s Carrie Underwood voice accompanied a June Cash hairdo, making me wonder when she’d snuck onto the island via Nashville. That surprise was trumped when she stepped back, revealing a crystal container brimming with a stunning flower arrangement. “I am Orchid. From the palais floral design department.”
“Oh.” I tried a little laugh. Guess that made sense.
She motioned to the flowers. They were incredible, an array of cream, gold, and white, featuring a lot of flowers I didn’t recognize—but one I did. Star jasmine, one of my favorite flowers from back home. “Is the arrangement placement acceptable?”
“Errr, yeah. Sure. Of—of course.” Wasn’t like I could bitch at her about the papers now. Just when I didn’t think the Arcadians could blow me away more with their hospitality, they literally sent flowers. “They’re lovely. I feel awful that I won’t be around after tomorrow morning to enjoy them.”
“Well, His Majesty’s instructions were that they brighten your work space this afternoon and this evening. He mentioned you would likely be laboring late, preparing for the location shoot at Asuman.”
Keep smiling. Keep smiling. It’ll keep your jaw off the floor.
“His…Majesty? Ever—err, King Evrest told you to bring these?” When she nodded as if I’d merely confirmed the sun was out, I charged, “Why?”
Orchid shrugged. “Why not?”
“So he does this for everyone who—”
Barely sidestepped that pile of doo-doo. How the hell would I have finished it, anyway? Clearly, Evrest had hand-picked Orchid for his mission, understanding her innocence about the implications of his action.
Smart. But still really stupid. A huge damn risk…
“He asked me to leave this note for you as well, Miss Saxon.”
Forget the risk. He’d just barreled into insane.
“Ah.” Dignified smile. How the hell I managed it was anyone’s guess—though Orchid likely noticed my shaking fingers while accepting the envelope. Shit. The flap was even secured with a red wax seal depicting the entwined dove and hawk of the Cimarron family crest.
I tore into the thing as soon as she left the room.
He’d written the note himself. I knew it as soon as I beheld the bold, regal cursive.
For dancing with Carissa.
And me.
Merderim…thank you.
EC
My chest began to ache before I noticed I’d stopped breathing. Even then, I resisted letting the air back in. I lifted fingers to my wobbling lips as the sweet, sexy simplicity of his words washed to the same depths he’d opened last night. The world didn’t stop again…but it slowed into a moment I longed to savor as long as I could.
I woke myself up with a harsh shake of my head.
You’re not in Wonderland anymore.
And this is really dangerous.
All right, I’d known that from the start. Only my focus had been the fear of Harry sending me home, not the ramifications of what this would do to Evrest. All I’d lose was a job—not even my main job—but the risk to him?
He’d lose everything.
My fingers trembled harder.
Between one breath and the next, my priorities leaped from one plate on the scale to the other—powering me with the nerve to turn around, leave the office, and head straight for the south wing.
Chapter Nine
‡
My obsession with GPS’ing everything had a bizarre side effect. When I didn’t have the tracker turned on, awareness of directions became an obsession. Thankfully, it worked even at six in the morning with a nectar hangover, meaning I was able to backtrack to Evrest’s offices in less than five minutes.
But there was a huge difference now, as opposed to the situation at the butt-crack-of-dawn.
Make that six huge differences.
The red-uniformed giants of the Royal Guard clearly took their job seriously. Though their varied skin and hair coloring kept them from looking like the Stepford Guards, it was clear they’d all been sucking the same hustle-the-muscles protein drinks—and reading passages from Chicken Soup for the Ogre’s Soul to each other.
“Shit.” I paced the other end of the hall while biting several fingernails. Best tactic on this? Sweet and nice or official and professional? Maybe just a boldface lie, pretending I had an appointment. Crap, what if he already had an appointment?
Where the hell was my Arcadian Guard Magic Eight Ball when I needed it?
Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.
Maybe I needed to beat feet back to the wing I belonged in. I could have done this over the phone. Not mastering the palais inter-office phone system yet, as archaic as it was, didn’t constitute an excuse.
But when I looked up, a large portrait on the wall consumed my vision. The four royal siblings were in gorgeous formal outfits, the men in black and Jayd in gold, smiling from some breathtakingly ornate room. Evrest’s lips, serene and sensual, tilted with the same smirk he’d used last night when we sat together in the amphitheater.
Fortune favors the brave, Camellia.
I glared. “Dammit. Fine. Message received, lord and master.”
I turned. Marched toward the ogre posse. In a minute, this would be over. One or all of them could issue their most daunting Arcadian version of shoo and I could
retreat, grumbling at his portrait that at least I’d tried. Maybe it’d be less than a minute. One of them touched a finger to his ear, likely activating a comm piece, accepting the throw-her-out orders from someone who’d seen me from the dome cameras in the ceiling.
“Good day.” I made it as professional as I could. “Am I able to inquire with someone about—”
The guards closest to the doors swept them back. One of them gave an efficient nod. “Fascha will take care of you inside, Miss Saxon.”
I walked forward, not certain whether to relax yet. The office lobby didn’t help. The only other time I’d been surrounded by this much marble and gold was during a high school field trip to Hearst Castle, in San Simeon. Word to the spirit of Rosebud.
Behind a reception desk with stained glass insets and gold trim was a woman with ink-dark, slicked-back hair, a perfect style for showing off the purple tint—seemingly natural—in the strands. She had matching indigo eyes, set into a heart-shaped face. I didn’t even ask if she was Fascha. I’d never met a woman who matched her name more.
“Miss Saxon.” She rose and smiled from lips glossed in bright pink. The shade would’ve turned me into a clown but simply added to her exotic beauty. “How lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you.” I tugged at my sweatshirt, a faded thing left over from a rock band shoot I’d helped Harry on. Nine Days of Bacon, even in an elegant scroll, looked ridiculous next to Fascha’s crisp linen suit. What the hell had I been thinking, coming over here like this?
The answer wasn’t pretty. I’d been reacting, not thinking. The choice was likely to bury us deeper beneath last night’s mistake.
“His Majesty has cleared an audience for you.” If Fascha had an opinion about the Bacon boys, her expression didn’t betray it. “Right this way.”
I followed her to another set of double doors. Shit. I really should have called first. He’d “cleared an audience”? What did that mean? I suddenly felt like an intruder, making him shove aside the business of his country just for my angry snit.
No. Not angry.
I was terrified.
Resolve returned. As diplomatically as possible, I had to teach the man about boundaries with a woman he never should’ve gotten naked and horizontal with.
Clearly—and adorably—he thought he was doing the proper thing. One glance at the walls in the harem hidey hole were proof that I wasn’t the first companion he’d enjoyed there. Orchid had likely been delivering variations of that flower arrangement all over the kingdom. But I was a different case than my predecessors. Very different. The sooner we set that straight, the better.
I lifted my head. Strengthened my steps.
Up to the point I entered his office. For the second time today.
I’d barely glanced at everything this morning in my haste to get the hell out of here, so I looked more carefully now. Directly ahead was his desk, massive and grand, centered in front of a picture window overlooking the palais waterfalls. Adjoined to that was the room with the ocean storm mural. I saw now that it was a “man parlor” of sorts: leather couches, broad low table, full wet bar with decanters aglow from backlights. Evrest sat on one of those couches, leaning over blueprints that took up most of the table and speaking to someone on the phone in fluid Arcadian.
Damn. His voice, speaking his native language…it was like the water on the rocks outside, fluidity and strength mixed. The sight of him was just as mesmerizing. He sat in a shaft of sunlight, appearing an earthbound angel followed by heaven’s favor. The light cascaded over his dark waves, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders beneath his white shirt and pinstriped vest.
Damn.
Yes, it bore repeating.
If Henry the Eighth was half this beautiful, it was no wonder women got themselves beheaded for him.
Remember why you’re here. You like your head.
I stepped a little closer, finally catching his attention. The all-business scowl on his face transformed to a soft smile. He stood, beckoning me nearer with his free hand. Crap, crap. His fingers…so long, so masterful…yeah, there was my Kryptonite. And dammit if the man hadn’t somehow figured that out.
After I sat, he spent a few more minutes in the conversation. The subject seemed intense but he finished with a few laughs. As his mood lightened, so did his formality. By the time he disconnected the call, his touch had traveled all the way up my arm. I went goose bumps when he brushed the bottom of my ear. The bumps turned to throbs when he murmured with pure silk, “Hello.”
Deep breath. Relax.
Fat chance.
“Hi.”
Okay, I’d lost the skirmish. Regrouping was my specialty. Adapt and overcome. You really like your head. You really like your head.
His gaze fell to the note I still clutched. His smile grew. “You received the flowers.”
“Yes,” I murmured. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
His fingers trailed upward. Combed the errant wispies off my forehead. My eyelids got heavy. Won’t do any harm to close them…to lose yourself in his warmth…for just one more moment…
“Then I am glad.”
“They’re also unnecessary.”
“I disagree.” He spun the silk into firm command.
“That doesn’t matter.” I really needed to pull away. Now. But dammit, even the tips of his fingers felt so damn good…the spell of him, more difficult to resist by the minute. “They’re really unnecessary. Listen—Evrest—”
The rumble from his chest chewed at my composure without mercy. “Mmmm.” He tossed the phone to the cushion behind me while sliding closer. “My name on your lips…it is magic.”
“No.” I shook my head as he tangled fingers in my hair, stripping another chunk of my resolve. But not all. “No more magic. No more flowers. No more notes. Evrest—”
“Mmmm.” A growl this time, low and decadent.
“Shit.” Strong. I needed to be strong. It helped me push away, until I was sitting on the damn phone. I grabbed the device, flung it to the table then slammed my hand into his chest, nodding with pride. This was strong. This was clear.
This was also effing torture, because my fingers now pressed at the sculpted perfection of his sternum. But I’d made this damn bed, so—
Great. Did I have to go and even think of beds and this man, together again?
Stick to the plan. Then get the hell out of here.
“We’re not in the crypt of carnality anymore, okay?” I locked my gaze to his, forcing him to accept my resilience. “We’re in the land of rules, mine and yours. We can’t keep ignoring them, and we sure as hell can’t keep breaking them.”
Like I was doing just by being in this room. Like he still didn’t seem to comprehend, if his twitching lips were any proof. “Wait. The crypt of what?”
“You heard me. Furthermore, you understood.”
“Of course I did. But a crypt?”
“Fine. We can go with the harem hidey hole if you want.”
He stopped snickering. Jerked up both brows. “The—harem—”
“Hidey hole.” I lifted my chin, openly preening. “It was my first choice, anyway. Probably more accurate.”
He reared back. Seriously—as if I’d just flung burning coals in his face.
“I’m sorry.” I twisted hands in my lap. “That probably stung. The truth sometimes does, but it wasn’t my intention.”
His jaw hardened to the texture of solid bronze. Hell. I’d really slammed on a nerve—but my follow-up of guilt wasn’t fair, either. I wasn’t the one with a secret den of sin under my office. You play, you pay, mister.
“Is that what you think you are to me, Camellia? Part of a…harem?”
“Sheez, Evrest. Breathe. I’m not wigged. Your life is what it is. You have to have some freedom in some ways, and if that’s what toasts your rocks—”
One second, he had reared back, pissed. The next, he was in my face—and pissed. “So that is also what you think last night was to me? A way of �
��toasting’ my ‘rocks’?”
I gulped. Slid back until my spine slammed the couch’s armrest. “Okay, okay. Your rocks didn’t get the burn. I’m sorry about that. I’d had a lot to drink, and then you made me—well—”
He followed me right over to the edge. Pressed in against me, grabbing my nape, forcing my gaze to confront the slicing green glass of his. “I made you…what?”
“Do th-things,” I stuttered. “And feel things. Lots of—things.”
He loomed closer, making me lean back by default. “You mean I made you come? Hard? Two times?”
“Yes,” I retorted. Dammit. Could he get any closer? I had to ask. He found a way, surging in with his addicting heat and broad shoulders, until I had to grab his vest just to keep myself upright. “Yes. You made me come, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
Okay, screw staying upright. Or remaining in any respectable position with the man. He kept pressing, incessant and huge, until he had me prone and damn near beneath him. “I like hearing everything you have to say,” he uttered. “But tell me more about the orgasms. Were they good, sevette?”
Deep, shaking breath. No damn help. It only made me more aware of everything about him. Everything. His spice and sandalwood scent. His rugged, beautiful face. His heartbeat, now lined up directly with mine. “You—you have to stop calling me that.”
He demanded in a low snarl, “And about the orgasms?”
“All right! Yes. Yes, they were good. Right before you massaged me until I fell asleep, making it impossible to reciprocate, which has turned me into a neurotic mass of guilt, and—”
The man—and his insistence on interrupting me with mouth-crushing kisses—now straddled the line between infuriating and addicting. I weathered waves of both as he pried my lips apart with his, rolling our tongues, shooting a thousand points of fire through my chest, belly, and lower.
Yes. Lower…
Resistance was less of an option when he raced both hands up my arms—then forced them over my head. “Neurotic mass, be gone,” he rasped, curling a conspiratorial grin.
