Into His Command

by Angel Payne

  “When do we rendezvous?”

  “As fast as we possibly can—”

  “Fuck, yes. Copy that.”

  “—as soon as we’re done with dinner.”

  His extended grunt spurred my burst of a giggle. “Sorry,” I repeated. “I really am, big guy. But we have to. It’s protocol.”

  “You want to know how much of a shit I give about protocol?”

  “A big one.” Stiffened spine. Not an easy feat when one’s husband had just turned their body into a puddle. “It’s part of the territory, Your Majesty.”

  After smoothing my clothes, I re-extended a hand to him. As Mishella had informed me earlier, that lovely protocol also dictated that we enter rooms together with hands clasped. There were lots of other rules about which hands went where, how we should look and not look at each other, and even what our pace should be, but for right now, the basics would have to do.

  Annnnd, maybe not.

  As soon as our palms touched, Syn hauled me back against him. Secured me there by pushing our joined hands into the small of my back. The pose was open but controlling…and aroused me in at least a dozen new ways. Wow. As in…wow.

  “‘Your Majesty’,” he repeated, gaze dropping to my lips. “So that is the way of it for now?”

  I pressed my other hand to his chest. Despite the new moisture in my panties, lines had to be drawn—somehow. “Yes…Your Majesty.”

  He lowered his head. Stopped his mouth inches above mine. “Maybe I shall simply have to imagine it more…muffled.”

  The sensual suggestion of that last word could’ve made a nun horny—and dumb. I was good-to-go on both accounts, barely managing to stammer, “M-muffled?”

  “Mmmm hmmm.” His gaze intensified. The dark beast awaited his prey. “As you scream it…and twist your thighs against my face.”

  I let him punctuate it with a kiss—if that was what the teasing touch of his lips could be called, giving me more breath than pressure, causing a needy mewl to curl from deep in my throat before he was done.

  As he finally let me go, using both hands to steady my awkward stumbles, he took his own turn at an indulgent chuckle—and I seized the chance to get in the last word on our game plan for dinner.

  “I’m ordering the kitchen to speed up dinner service.”

  *

  I FOLLOWED THROUGH on that promise.

  Like it helped things one damn bit.

  Four exhausting courses later, as Tahreuse mountain coffee was served and dessert declared on its way, I strived to enjoy the beauty of our surroundings instead of yearning—again—to be in bed with Samsyn.

  The setting really was beautiful. Out of respect to Evrest and Camellia’s “memory”, we dined on the candlelit terrace of the high couple’s receiving room, instead of the formal royal dining room. The surroundings were as opulent but as comfortable as I remembered, though it was strange to think I’d been up here for the first time just yesterday. So much had happened since. Moving into Samsyn’s suite. Getting the first of my queenly crash courses from Mishella.

  A lifetime in an hourglass.

  Wasn’t the first time the feeling had struck lately, and deep instincts told me it wouldn’t be the last. Syn had to be feeling the same way—or maybe he was used to it. Life as a royal was definitely…full. His castle in the boonies made more sense now. Perhaps the Tahreuse digs were the only place he could let his hair down, in all senses of the word.

  I logged that curiosity into my brain, along with the other thoughts and questions I’d developed during the day. It came as a shock, realizing I knew Samsyn in so many deep ways…but still knew so little about him.

  Yesterday, having months with him had seemed like enough.

  Today, it felt like a drop of water in the desert.

  I couldn’t wait to be alone with him again.

  So much for not thinking of my husband. And bed. Oh yeah…that. All of it. The way the sheets molded around his torso, cutting him off just when the twin trails of muscle started to get good. The way he could pitch those sheets into a beautiful “tent” when I reached below, cupping him…there. The way he groaned out wicked things in Arcadian as I began stroking, and—

  “Do you not agree, Brooke?”

  “Uh—shit. I mean excuse me. Yes, of—of course I agree.” Ugh. Out of all the times to phase out of the conversation; just when Xaria began talking about—

  What had she been talking about?

  The airport. Yes. And the flight arriving tomorrow morning, carrying Camellia’s parents. They’d be grief-stricken and full of questions about the hunt for their daughter’s “killers”. It would be one of the toughest parts about this operation, despite knowing we could fill them in on the truth once they’d been escorted to a secure Palais vehicle.

  Tough—but necessary. No way could the truth be entrusted to emails, texts, or even phone calls.

  “Perfect,” Xaria intoned, gracefully letting my profanity slide. “So it is settled.” She smiled up at Mom. “Veronica, you have my thanks for volunteering to handle the tarmac greeting with Brooke and myself.”

  “Agreed.” I sent a heartfelt smile to Mom, wishing Xaria and her cleavage weren’t separating us. The woman had fantastic boobs, but who was she trying to impress? The only explanation, that she’d expanded her “offside hobby” to include the Palais banquet wait staff, was not worth broaching for another second. “Thank you, my awesome maimanne.”

  Mom leaned toward Xaria but checked herself before completing the move. The queen mother’s formality was as hard on her as me. Mom was a hug whore—her words not mine—but Xaria had been raised to be a queen. Stories abounded about the days following her selection as one of The Distinct. Many of the remaining girls of that chosen set had simply not bothered traveling to Sancti. Ardent had selected her in less than a month.

  How long had it taken him to start cheating on her?

  Another question never to be raised again. Mom’s comeback made that easier. “It’s the least I can do, Your Majesty. It was Samsyn’s kindness on the tarmac that made our first steps in Arcadia so much easier.”

  Ardent, seated on the other side of me, took ear to Mom’s comment. “Syn has always possessed the drive of a fighter and the soul of a diplomat.” He dipped his head toward Samsyn, though finished by raising his glass. “If anyone can fill his brother’s boots, it is him.” Then higher. “Long live King Samsyn.”

  “Long live King Samsyn.” We all repeated it, adopting our best tones of respect and acclaim mixed with shock and grief—well aware that the walls really did have ears. No less than twenty Palais staff members lingered within earshot, any one of them bribable by the Pura, meaning none of them could know the truth we were hiding. When Evrest and Camellia made their “miraculous return” in a few months, all of us would be just as “shocked” as the rest of the country.

  The charade was going to be exhausting.

  It already was.

  A beautiful slice of chocolate molten cake was placed in front of me—but even as the server drizzled vanilla bean crème over it, I couldn’t summon a yayza even for a bite. Brooke 2.0 suddenly felt like Restless 1.0. My clothes itched. My shoes killed. My head hurt from approaching its tenth hour of Ps, Qs, and the rest of the etiquette alphabet. The lie was taking its toll.

  Luckily, the chocolate and caffeine loosened the ambiance around the table. Mom and Xaria, learning they shared a love for gardening, started talking mulch, water, and worms. Ardent did his best with me, bringing up the conditioning benefits of training in the mountains, but lost me at the carbs versus protein debate. Thank God for Dillon, who hadn’t lost his ability to read me like a gypsy with tea leaves. He jumped right in, occupying the king father about the progress on the telecommunications tower in Tahreuse—exciting Ardent five times more than healthy pasta options.

  I folded my napkin and pushed out my chair, hoping to sneak to Syn for a few moments of whispered dirty talk—but his phone rang. Wagering it was Jagger and hi
s crack timing, I rose anyway. The only protesting body parts were my toes, stuffed back into the trendy pumps, but they were overruled by the bliss from the rest of me, able to finally stretch again.

  Holy hell, I needed a workout. A merciless run supervised by Jag, followed by a session on the mats that would leave bruises. There’d be no chance of the latter for weeks, but I was hopeful about talking Jagger into a morning run on the beach soon.

  In the meantime, if only for a few minutes, I needed some fresh air.

  “Are you all right, dear? Not a bite of your dessert is gone.”

  Xaria’s prompt tugged my gaze back down. Surprise, surprise; my exhausted-but-you’ll-never-know-it smile came right back. “Of course,” I murmured. “Just needing some air. I’ve been inside all day. I’m going to take a few minutes in the gardens.”

  She nodded. “But of course. Do not stay out too long, though. The night winds off the sea can be punishing on one’s skin.”

  “Will do.” There was no point in stating the obvious. The night winds in the mountains were five times worse than the breezes down here.

  I caught Syn’s eye long enough to point toward the door, informing him where I’d be. With any luck his call was a quick one, and I’d soon be letting his stubble “punish” my skin along with the sea air.

  I’d made a good call. Pore wrecker or not, the briny blast off the Mediterranean was the perfect cleanser for my sanity, and I told it so with a sublime sigh as soon as I stepped onto the garden deck—

  Invaded by a stunned grunt, as soon as I attempted to walk one of the pathways to the fountain. Even packed dirt wasn’t a worthy foe for my tapered heels, caked with the stuff into which they’d sunk.

  “Well…shit.” My mutter was carried away at once by the wind, proving to be my friend in more than one way tonight. Go ahead, it seemed to say. Let me have another. Well, if we were playing that way…

  “High-fashion fuckers,” I mumbled, yanking off the shoes. The wind rasped in agreement.

  “Holy mother of fuck.” Not as original but damn accurate, especially as it spilled on my orgasmic moan. After ten hours in the heels, sinking my bare feet into the cool grass qualified as a sexual experience.

  “Fuck yes…fuck yes…fuuuuck yesssss…”

  I broke off into a giggle. Guess I’d needed a break for my favorite slang as much as the fresh air.

  I curled toes into the turf as my stare lifted to the sky. The tops of the cypresses swayed like ballerinas against the stars, making me hum a snippet of Mendelssohn as I walked. After each bar, I yanked a pin free from my hair. Soon, it filled with the breeze too. This was good. So good. I’d needed this reverie about, oh, nine hours ago.

  “Well, look who’s smiling.”

  I jumped.

  Nearly out of my skin.

  The disruption hadn’t been Samsyn’s. Instinct already told me that. My body always kicked into hyperawareness when he was around. Now I recognized that like everything else between us, that sensitivity had gone supersonic—especially now, in its absence.

  At least I could stand down on the ready pose. My shoulders fell by two inches as I slackened my posture and freed relieved air. “Sneaking soldask! What the hell, Jag?”

  “Nice to see you too.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on the phone with your commander?”

  “Why is that?” He approached on steps as even as his tone. He was dressed for duty, black cargo pants over a black T-shirt highlighting his lean but ripped frame. Jag had been recruited by Syn right off a Tahreuse alley, where he’d been fighting the world in one form or another since the age of twelve, when he’d decided the streets were a better gamble than alcoholic parents. That edge seemed more prominent in him tonight. Not a shock. Everyone would be more on their guard until they’d tracked and captured the two remaining men from the break-in on Evrest and Cam’s quarters.

  “We were at dinner,” I explained. “Then Syn’s phone rang with impeccable timing. Naturally, I thought it was you.”

  “Timing?” he echoed. “Impeccable? Me?”

  “Shut up.” I socked him in the shoulder.

  “No. Seriously. Tell me what I supposedly interrupted. Was there something fun going on? Was Ardent ‘tasting’ Xaria for dessert?”

  “Shut up!” With a laugh, I moved to punch his other shoulder—with my left arm. “Damn. Damn!”

  Stars of agony. Grimaces, fighting it. Jag steadied me until the dizziness passed. When I nodded, able to move again, he guided me to one of the benches near the fountain. The wind kicked higher, turning some of the cascading water into a fine spray. I angled my face into them. The cold pricks of moisture felt wonderful.

  “Shit.” Jagger hung on to my right elbow. His other hand wrapped to my nape and rubbed gently. “Are you okay?”

  “It’ll pass.” I hiked up my skirt, dipped my head between my legs, and waited for the tidal wave of nausea to roll by. With my good arm, I jabbed an elbow back at him. “I blame you, dirty Foxx. You mentioned Ardent and Xaria…like that…and—oh God—”

  “Wait.” His hand stilled. “You…you know?”

  “You know?” I pushed back my hair to get a good stare at him. “How?”

  He flashed a wry smile. “Part of the job, Badger girl. Anyone who has served close to the royals knows.”

  “But Evrest, Shiraz, and Jayde don’t.” I huffed in response to his businesslike nod. “How is that even possible?”

  “By Samsyn’s decree, that is how.”

  I frowned. “I get that, but don’t get it. It’s understandable that he won’t call his parents out and publically ruin the family honor, but why does he shoulder the secret entirely by himself? Why won’t he let his own siblings help?”

  He turned his head, looking up at the fountain. When the wind kicked up again, water droplets alighted in his light copper stubble. “Who says they would believe him? And if they did, would that change anything? Is it not easier to appear as one happy, loving family, if a good portion of the participants are not acting?”

  I thumped backward into the bench, feeling decked in the chest. “So Syn keeps force-feeding everyone a steady diet of dysfunctional, while he barely trusts his own shadow.”

  “Annnnd, welcome to your new family.”

  “Gawd.” I let my head fall back. “But I’m just here on the visitor’s pass. I’m not the miracle surgeon on this one, right?”

  When Jag said nothing, I lifted my head. Found his own cocked at me, a new sheen in his bronze eyes. “Do you want to be?”

  Strangely, my heart pumped hard against my ribs—as a single word blared across my brain.

  Busted.

  “You know how I feel about him, Jag.”

  A lie. Jagger knew how I used to feel. He’d seen my girlhood crush then my silly infatuation, given a positive spin by my dedication to fight training. Somewhere along the line, it became evident I was good at it. I understood it, honored it, and used the mental preparedness behind it to understand Samsyn better. And while it had all helped, it also hadn’t been necessary. My heart, my soul, my spirit, my body…were destined to love Samsyn Cimarron. Reciprocation was unimportant—and irrelevant. It didn’t, nor wouldn’t, notch the compass of what I’d been brought to this island to do.

  Love him. Period.

  For right here, for right now, I’d do it in person—and be grateful for every touch, every kiss, every magnificent moment in which fate had given me to do it. And once we pulled off the rings and I moved back to Tahreuse, I’d do it from afar—and be grateful for all those moments too.

  “Brooke…”

  I held up a hand. “No. Don’t say it. You never have, Jagger. Please. Don’t.”

  “I never have, because—”

  “Because I’ve never been married to him?”

  “A sham!”

  His rasp was so violent, my jaw fell open for a second. I recovered by swallowing hard—and leaning away. The gleam in his eyes wasn’t so friendly anymore.


  What the hell was this? What was he getting at?

  “He spoke those vows to you—lied those vows to you—as a tactical move, Brooke. A public relations necessity—”

  “A sacrifice for his country!”

  I bolted to my feet. He did too. Wasted no time rushing in my wake as I spun and headed back across the grass toward my discarded shoes.

  “A sacrifice.” He caught me by my good hand, vising it inside his. “Marrying you should not be a fucking sacrifice.” He braced his other hand to my face. His breath punched from him in harsh bursts. “A gift. That is what it should be. Brooke Allison Valen…you are a gift.”

  Insight. Me. Collision.

  Dread. Regret. Carnage.

  “Crap,” I finally choked. “Crap, crap, crap. Jag. Ohhhh, Jag.”

  I shook my head, lost about how to do this. He’d been such a good friend. Had kicked my ass when I’d needed it. Had hugged me when I’d needed it. Had simply been there when I’d needed it. Now, was I really going to boot him in the ribs for his feelings? Feelings I’d known nothing about. And I thought I’d been good about keeping things on the down-low about Syn…

  There had to be a kinder way. I scoured my mind and heart for it. Even prayed for it.

  “Dammit, Brooke. You deserve more than what he can give!”

  “Jagger.” I twisted my hand free. He simply shifted his hold to my waist. “Jagger. I don’t have a choice.” I drew in a huge breath. Here went nothing. “I’m in love with him.”

  He circled his grip tighter. “And I’m in love w—”

  “No. Don’t say it, dammit. Don’t!”

  His stare turned to twin blazes. A determined tick vibrated in his jaw. “Then I shall show you instead.”

  I was still thrown so far from the blast of his first bomb, I didn’t see the second incoming—

  Until it was too late.

  Until he funneled his hand into my wind-tossed hair, pulled my face up to his, and took my mouth in a hard, consuming kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

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  SHIT.

  Holy shit.

  I should’ve just drop-kicked him.

  Instead, short of kneeing his balls, I had to struggle against the lock of his mouth, the press of his body, the tenacity of his desire—