Into Her Fantasies -- A Contemporary Romance: The Cimarrons: Royals of Arcadia Island (The Cimarron Series Book 3)

by Angel Payne

  Just like this. Snarky, smart-ass, silly, passionate, kinky, weird little me.

  She was pretty fucking cool.

  And now, I even believed it too.

  Shiraz Cimarron had given me so much—but most of all, he’d given me that.

  And somehow, I’d find a way to keep honoring him…by cherishing her.

  Starting now.

  Forcing my lips into a soft smile, I took one more step back. For some reason, this one was harder than the first. Could’ve had something to do with how Shiraz watched me do it. Like I took his legs with me.

  Dammit.

  “Lucina?”

  Dammit.

  “I have to go now, gorgeous.” I let him reach for my hand. Even let him take it—though when he tugged to draw me closer, I resisted. “I have to go.”

  For a second, he grimaced like I’d taken his legs and broken his nose. Yep. He’d gotten my meaning, all right.

  I swallowed a lump the size of this whole island.

  He gripped me tighter.

  The lump grew, pressing up my throat. Swelled against the back of my skull then at the backs of my eyes, shoving tears forward. I trembled, fighting them back.

  Stupid. This was so damn stupid. Every time we’d touched, every time we’d kissed, every time we’d fucked, we knew it would come to this. I’d have to go back to my world. He’d have to go back to his. I’d plan happy-ever-afters, and he’d pretend to live one.

  No.

  I refused to think of it that way, and I swore he wouldn’t, either.

  “I’ll be okay, Shiraz. And you will be too.”

  He let my hand drop. “With all due respect, Miss Fava, fuck the hell off.”

  Good thing I had the hand back. Made it easier to ball it up, along with the other one, then drive both into the stubborn slabs of his chest. “With all due respect, get the fuck over yourself.” I stood my ground, despite the scary fire in his retaliating glower. “This is how it has to finish, Shiraz. What the hell did you expect? We don’t get to do Casablanca. We don’t get to do The Bridges of Madison County. Nobody gets to pass the Kleenex and rewind the playback so they can keep bawling for us—which means we don’t get to do it for ourselves.” Deep breath, deep breath. Wasn’t happening. I swallowed the goddamn lump and pushed on. “This kingdom needs a new fairytale, and you’re up in the casting rotation, buddy. And you’re going to do it right—with the woman who’s on her way here right now.”

  He wheeled away. “Who had me tracked here!”

  “Probably because she was worried about you?” I backed off that one as soon as his skeptical glare stabbed me. “All right, maybe not worried in the traditional sense of the word…”

  Which meant Ambyr’s concern had started running to other things.

  Things that would lead to me becoming that public skank now. And wouldn’t that be just dandy for so many aspects of both our lives. Him, having to stay and deal with the PR fallout—and Ambyr’s wrath. Me, having to confront the clown costume for months of kids’ birthday parties—and Ezra’s wrath.

  Shiraz’s mind clearly hadn’t gotten that far. He dug hands into his hair, yanking it back from his Italian fresco face. His eyes glimmered with sharp cobalt pain. “This is not acceptable.”

  My hands curled at my sides. I focused on the stabs of my fingernails into my palms to avoid rushing into his arms and kissing away his torment. “My prince of perfection, life rarely is acceptable.”

  He pushed out a bitter chuff. “Make this easier. Just call me the prince of pricks.”

  Here came the lump again. The pressure, too great now, knocking all the tears loose. “No. You’re the prince of my dreams.”

  He locked his hands at the back of his head. As his arms flexed in flawless striations, his face crumpled in visible pain. “That helps even less, my princess.”

  My princess.

  He might as well have clocked me.

  I actually wondered how I stayed upright instead of ass-down in the dirt, but thanked my feet for keeping it that way. The rest of my body sure as hell wasn’t helping. My extremities sizzled. My lungs pounded. My mind reeled.

  My princess.

  The echo didn’t make it any easier. I doubted a thousand echoes would. But the recognition of it brought at least one blessing in disguise. The acceptance, sudden and sure, of the most merciful response I could give him…before turning my back on him for the last time. God please, for the last time.

  “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‡

  “And then he held your hand during the whole flight back here?”

  As soon as Jayd sighed out the question to Crista, I had to suppress a giggle. I was the same age as the princess, but in many ways it seemed like years separated us. Had her sheltered upbringing made her that much younger, or had life hardened me into someone older? Maybe a combination.

  Maybe I just didn’t want to know.

  I was getting good at that mental shutoff thing lately—especially when it came to not thinking about the three days that had passed since stepping away from Shiraz in the palm grove. This private room in the Palais infirmary wasn’t anywhere close to that setting, but those last moments, buffeted by the wind and speared through by his pain, were as sharp and agonizing as if they’d happened three minutes ago…

  The biggest part of the problem wasn’t hard to pinpoint.

  I was still here, dammit.

  Wasn’t like I hadn’t tried to rectify the situation, even a few hours after the “my princess” bombshell, but the status at Sancti Airport had become the plot of a damn disaster movie. Bad went from worse to shitty to we’re-just-fucked. After the debris had been cleared from the tarmac, they’d prepped King Evrest’s private Cessna to run through a trial take-off, as a re-test for the communications equipment. The plane never hit the air—after its wheels sank into the runway deep enough to flip the plane over. Though the three crew members were unhurt, nobody was happy to learn about the swath of asphalt that’d been compromised by the storm’s torrential rains. Now, a couple of helicopters had to be pulled off rescue duties for simply transporting the necessary repair materials from Athens.

  In short, my departure from Arcadia had been moved waaaayy down on the priority list.

  I’d been too tired to go the snarky bitch route in reaction. Would it have altered anyone’s stress factor one skitch? Besides, this glass-half-full approach was kind of cool, long as it didn’t brim into totally cheesy. For starters, I was able to add some cheer to Crista’s healing process. Even met her whole family too. Holy crap, I’d been to Dodgers games with less of a crowd—though Forryst and Fawna, who looked like Mini Me’s of their big sister, stole the show with a little song about their “medicane adventure”.

  Second, the weather had turned epic—this time in all the good ways. Days of golden sun gave way to nights filled with fragrant breezes, moon-dappled seas, and skies full of stars. I began to understand why so many movie production companies wanted to film here, and I’d only seen the ten-mile radius surrounding Sancti.

  Third—and best of all—Shiraz made it a definite point to keep his distance.

  Significantly.

  Thoroughly.

  Damn near creepily.

  But it was still a good thing. No. The best thing.

  I just had to keep telling myself that.

  Despite everything—everything—that wanted to keep pounding me with the opposite.

  The daily delivery of sunny flowers to Crista’s room from him. The hint of Creed cologne I’d catch on the air, even in empty Palais hallways. That sparkling, sizzling feeling I’d get out of nowhere, pulse racing and neck hairs tingling, for no damn reason…followed by that feeling, somehow, of being watched…

  And dammit, how I’d always tried to watch back.

  Only to peer into empty shadows, empty corners…

  The emptiness of my heart, without him near.

  No.

  Don�
��t go there again.

  I let the mandate kick my consciousness back to the present—and listening in real happiness to the black-haired fairy in the bed. Crista had been thrilled about this surprise visit from Jayd, and seeing her happy did the same for me, no matter how torturous it was not to steer Jayd toward even a fly-by mention of her brother. Just so I knew he was doing all right…

  No.

  Because even knowing that would re-catapult my thoughts into a mach five flight full of lust—and he was still too close to resist.

  Because maybe I didn’t want to know the scarier answer. That he was doing just fine by now, thank you very much…

  “Shai insisted on being in the helicopter crew that lifted me out of the ravine,” Crista explained to her wide-eyed princess. “They did not know if they could even fit the rescue basket into the space I was wedged in, so he came down on a rope and got me.”

  Both Jayd’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Like Tarzan? Or Captain Blood?”

  There was no helping my laugh now. Fortunately, Crista broke out into a simultaneous one—though probably not because the princess had just invoked a pirate from a 70-year-old movie. A classic, but still…

  “No, arkami,” she chided good-naturedly. “He was in a harness. It was rather business-like, actually.”

  Jayd bounced in her chair. “But he saved your life!”

  Crista’s mirth turned mysterious. “Well, the whole experience was not like that.”

  “Ah.” More bouncing, though Jayd kept it to a dull roar now. The infirmary walls were modern drywall, not the thick stone and stucco we could count on in many other parts of the Palais. “Yes, yes,” she eagerly prodded. “The hand holding! Get to that part.”

  “And…the parts after that too?” Crista’s grin turned kittenish.

  “There were after parts?” That one actually came from me. This was getting even more interesting, perhaps even a chance to forget the-Cimarron-who-would-not-be-named. “I’ve been here visiting for the last three days. You never said anything about an ‘after’ part.”

  “Désonnum, my friend,” Crista murmured, coloring a little. The blush was great to see, since she’d been so pale until this morning. Hypothermia, three cracked ribs, one broken leg, and immeasurable exhaustion had an odd way of doing that to a person. “I was waiting for my mind to clear from all the medication, just to be certain it was not a dream.”

  I lowered one thigh to the bed and nodded my head like an approving professor. “That good, hrrmm?”

  Crista’s lips twitched. “Perhaps. Yes. Probably.”

  “Well, tie me up and make me scream.” Jayd’s joyous gasp had my jaw plunked so hard to the floor, I barely noticed the choirgirl handclasp with which she finished. “Captain Shai Storm. Who knew? We probably all should have known. The reserved ones are always the hottest ones. Milord gentleman on the outside, devil with a dick on the inside.”

  “Devil with a—” I laughed but let my stare go wide. “And he had time to get out the pitchfork…when?”

  “Pssshh.” Jayd waved an impatient hand. Brought it down to take up the ends of Crista’s fingers. “All right, dinné, we will hear this entire tale now. No details spared. I am assuming lips met? And tongues too? Did Shai try to…hold you…anywhere else?”

  I laughed harder. “She was in a lot of pain!”

  Crista giggled. “Not enough pain to ignore that.”

  “Aha!” Jayd went bouncy toy again. “There was tongue!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Four words—ice bucketing all four corners of the room, in a voice just as chilled. As soon as I joined Jayd and Crista, whipping my head toward the door to determine the source, the rest of the space turned icy tundra on us too.

  How appropriate, then, that Ambyr Stratiss wore a dress in icicle blue, with a svelte silhouette to match. Her demure V neckline was accessorized by one strand of pearls. Her fitted skirt ended below the knees, finished by dyed-to-match shoes. Flats. Pointy toes. Of course.

  “Miss Stratiss.” Disgusting, that the person in the hospital bed had the stones to speak first. “Uhhmm…bon sabah.” Crista’s greeting was damn near a question but that was okay. A fast glance at Jayd confirmed my belief about us all wondering why Ambyr was here.

  “Bon sabah to you as well, Crista—but if you call me Miss Stratiss once more, I may have to just turn tail and leave.”

  Do it, Crista. Please.

  Too late. Before Crista could reply, Ambyr stepped forward, dropping into a short but graceful bow, murmuring. “Your Highness Jayd. How lovely to see you here. And Miss Fava.” The Cleopatra in her gaze jetted to the North Pole upon regarding me. “What is it that they say in your country? ‘Great minds think alike’?”

  I let my eyes give up a little shrug. “They do say that.”

  Ambyr rang the red courtesy phone of smiles. Once. For a second. “Well, then. I brought some cheer.” Directing her attention back to Crista also had her clacking across the floor in order to set down a large vase of flowers—next to the container bursting with Shiraz’s blooms. Her arrangement, a dazzling display of orange and blue, looked perfect next to the shades of gold and yellow in his. I fought—and failed—not to take that as a great-smelling sign from the universe. They’re already a beautiful couple.

  “Merderim,” Crista said to Ambyr. “They are lovely.”

  Ambyr’s lips curled up. “And look. They are perfect next to His Highness’s.”

  Way to rub it in, lady.

  The slight narrowing of Jayd’s gaze didn’t escape my attention—or my ego. I noted the development with a secret and shameless glee. Let it grow a little as Jayd issued with a tight smile, “What brings you this way, Ambyr? Deciding to slum it in the infirmary?”

  Crista burst with the beginning of a giggle. Quickly bit it short. “Deepest déssonum.” She lifted her taped-up arm. “They pulled out the IV but an hour ago. The drugs must still be—” Another laugh spurted. “Yes, well. The drugs.”

  “Of course.” Ambyr shifted, clasping hands in front like one of the Von Trapp Family kids about to ask for more champagne. “I do apologize as well, Crista, for not stopping in on you sooner. I assumed you needed your rest, of course—”

  “Of course.” Jayd’s interjection took the terse up a notch.

  “—and have been, perhaps, just a bit…distracted.”

  If she’d strip-teased out of the icicle dress and revealed a body bomb underneath, we all wouldn’t have been more stunned. Crista noticeably frowned. Jayd openly glowered. I wasn’t able to monitor what my face did, since the exploding grenade in my chest was a bit of an attention hog.

  “Distracted?” Thank God for Jayd and her royal ability to put a veneer of propriety atop a mountain of suspicion. “By what?”

  Or whom?

  I forced aside my mind’s auto-add. There was no damn validation for it. If Shiraz had rebounded from my fuck-off by fucking in to Ambyr, I had nobody to blame but the girl in the mirror. He’d sure as hell not made it official yet, since she didn’t make it a point to flash her ring finger with every other word—but my belly knotted with a strange certainty that it was a foregone conclusion now. There was something about Ambyr’s energy, oddly confirming exactly that. The regal upturn to her chin. The way she coyly brushed a toe on the floor. The return of Dolores Umbridge to the edges of her smile.

  “I have been working on…a secret project.” The woman’s eyes gave away the mental trumpets she’d inserted into the middle of it—quashed by Jayd’s unimpressed answer.

  “Oh. A project.” If her tone were any flatter, we’d have to peel it off the floor like a wet pancake. “How…nice. Like what?”

  The toe swishing stopped. Tough to swish when a girl was busy bouncing on that toe instead. “A party.” Ambyr beamed at the other two women. It hadn’t escaped my attention that after her initial hello, she’d all but dismissed my presence. “A celebration of romance, to give our people hope and cheer!”

  Jayd rose. He
r ebony curls brushed her shoulder as she cocked her head. “A…what?”

  Ambyr blinked, clearly bewildered. “A party, Your Highness. Taking place this Saturday night.”

  “This Saturday night.” Crista’s echo carried the fog of someone who’d slept through a lot of the last few days. “Errr…when is that?

  “Three days from now,” Jayd supplied, gritting it hard.

  “Whoa,” I kicked in, beneath my breath.

  “It shall be an engagement party, Your Highness.” Ambyr beamed. “To celebrate the love your brothers have found—”

  “Two of my brothers,” Jayd injected.

  “Yes. Of course. For now.” The woman had to be given credit for turning catty into an art form—as well as redirecting the spotlight of a conversation in seconds. “It is going to be…spectacular!” She fanned her arms, fingers outspread. “The Altor Ballroom is being prepared as we speak!”

  “The Altor Ballroom?” Both Jayd’s arms dropped to her sides. Her fingers twitched, as if craving to form into fists. “That is…impressive, indeed.”

  Ambyr practically preened. “I know.”

  “There is a full staff preparing it?” Jayd pressed. “Polishing the gold inlays? And buffing that huge floor?”

  Ambyr nodded. “Happily so, Your Highness.”

  Jayd’s lips thinned. “Does His Majesty Evrest know about this?”

  “The queen mother and king father do.” It was better than a yes, and we all knew it. Even as an outsider, I knew Evrest capitulated to his parents about social events, with the understanding that the kingdom’s government, military, and operations were his jurisdiction.

  “The entire evening will be broadcast live to the whole country,” Ambyr went on excitedly. “Several entertainment shows from around the world will also be carrying the feed. It shall show off the best of the best about Arcadia!”

  A blast of breath burst out of Jayd, visibly startling Ambyr but not Crista or myself. To be cliché but accurate, the fuse had been smoldering for at least five minutes. “I would think, at this juncture, that would be our ability to get the internet working, the homeless sheltered, and the streets dry.”