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

by Angel Payne

  “His Highness, Prince Shiraz Noir!

  Okay, the court crier accompaniment might get to be a drag.

  Only that part happened to be reality at work, confirmed by the thunder of a cheering crowd from outside.

  Outside?

  “What the hell?” I added to that beneath my breath while padding across the room. Just before clearing the couch, I stealthily slipped my shoes and phone to the cushions. Not that anyone in that throng—I stuck in the assumption, based on the volume level—was going to hear a damn thing I did.

  On cautious steps, I snuck closer and closer to the terrace. Halted a few inches inside the partly open sliders. If I took another step forward, it’d mean the risk of getting hit by the floodlights. And yeah, it was floodlights, cranked so high the lawn looked like it had time-warped from ten at night to ten in the morning.

  “What the hell?” I repeated in a rasp.

  A drop to my knees became a quick crawl across the terrace, to a shadowed corner enabling me to peek out. Glimpsing the TV reporters and cameras was a blatant explanation for the extra wattage. The cameras needed the illumination for the best shots out here. What I didn’t know was why out here? The party itself was supposed to be contained to the ballroom—or so Ezra had told me, during his last update on what he liked calling “the daily juice on bitch honey’s soiree”.

  The official name for the events was the Fête de Yan, an expression loosely meaning “Celebrate the New” in Arcadian, and Ambyr had more than accomplished her goal of making it the hottest story of the week for American celebrity media. According to Ez, all reports were that everything would take place in the ballroom, with the exception of a private reception for the “Citizen VIPs” in Evrest and Camellia’s private garden, followed by a tour of the Palais from Camellia and Brooke. Imagine that.

  Finally, after civil unrest, a royal abduction, bridge bombs, and a raging medicane, Arcadia had scored a win. Ambyr Stratiss had to be several galaxies over the moon by now.

  Though no one would know it beholding the woman’s face.

  I let a gape take over my own as I studied her, standing to the side of a red-carpeted riser, around which the formal-attired crowd had gathered. A podium was placed in the center of the stage, decorated with a drape displaying the Arcadian country crest: a dove with sunbeams as wings. At the back corners, giant urns brimmed with red and gold flowers. Everything was regal and luxurious, everything Ambyr had hoped for, but her expression was pinched and impatient, her skin paler than the shimmery ivory sheath draping her elegant Grecian figure. It didn’t make sense. This was the night she’d waited for. She should be glowing and hopeful, the kingdom’s next perfect princess, just minutes away from taking her place on that stage…

  Maybe she was just nervous. I sure as hell related to that one. If that was me down there, waiting to have a ring slammed on my finger, a crown rammed on my head, and expectations shoved down my throat…

  But it wasn’t me, thank God, so I could tell the cold sweat to go away now.

  The herald finished presenting the royal family. Seemed they were going with the “countdown of importance” thing, so Shiraz had followed Jayd, who took each step with pronounced caution. I winced, hoping her satin and chiffon production of a gown held together until after this ceremony—or whatever the hell it was. After Shiraz, Samsyn and Brooke were introduced, then the queen mother and king father, until at last, Evrest and Camellia took the stage, buffeted by the longest and loudest cheers of the night.

  As the ovation grew louder, my smile stretched wider. “Shit,” I whispered, even swallowing against a telltale burn behind my eyes. How was this possible? How could I be battling tears at the sound of those Arcadian cheers and chants? How had just a week in this country equated into this swelling pride on its behalf?

  But the truth was a medicane blast in my brain—and just as impossible to ignore. This island had spun its magic around me, nearly as completely as its mystery prince.

  No.

  He was a mystery no longer.

  He was the clearest, brightest part of my heart. The most indelible light in my soul.

  The best thing that had ever happened to me.

  Thoughts I forced myself to stow, as the crowd fell into sudden silence. Another peek, and I saw why. Evrest had stepped to the podium, arms raised in stately welcome. Holy shit. The serene and commanding thing certainly ran in the DNA. The man was, from his head to his toes, every inch a king—

  Surpassed in hotness only by his youngest brother.

  To be fair, all the Cimarron men were stunning tonight, clad in the modernized brocade doublets befitting their status, paired with tailored black trousers tucked into gleaming Hessian boots. But Ardent, Evrest, and Samsyn came nowhere close to filling their regal wear like Shiraz. He was beauty and masculinity, elegance but confidence, serenity meshed with strength. As his long fingers rested against his black-clad thighs, my mind surged with a parade of items around which they’d wrap perfectly. The stem of a wine glass. The hilt of a sword. Both my erect nipples.

  My breath snagged painfully.

  Not just because of the fantasy.

  Because the second it slammed me, it slammed him.

  No. It was a thorough coincidence, even a careless slip, that I’d been so fixated on him, my head had risen beyond the “just peeking” position—and that in the same second he’d looked up, burning his stare at the very spot I crouched in.

  Total coincidence. Nothing more.

  And everything more.

  As our gazes latched. Held. Connected.

  Grieved.

  Even then, I couldn’t stop looking. Despite the pain…perhaps because of it. Needing the jolt, to remind me of the reality. It hadn’t all been just a fantasy. It had all really happened.

  He’d really happened.

  I’d fallen for him this hard.

  We were forced back to reality when Evrest’s voice flowed out through the loud speakers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the foreign press, my fellow Arcadian Court and High Council, and of course, my honored guests of island citizenry…karsivoir en Arcadia.”

  A milder spatter of applause had the king pausing and smiling.

  And again, Shiraz lifting…and staring.

  “Those words are the highest welcome of our land,” Evrest went on, “extended to all of you, as our honored guests at the Palais Arcadia this evening—a night in which we rededicate ourselves to putting aside the challenges of our past, to celebrate the shining hope of our future. I am happy to announce that the first step of that future commences construction in two days: a new, modern air terminal, supporting our new, operational plane tarmac.”

  He lifted his voice on the last syllable, to compete with the motorized roar suddenly splitting the sky. Everyone looked up, breaking into exhilarated yells once more, as the Cimarron Cessna dipped over the lawn, the crew members tossing handfuls of shiny confetti.

  The crowd cheered louder.

  Red and gold danced on the air.

  I saw only cobalt blue, pierced into me once more. For minutes this time. Long, wonderful, agonizing minutes.

  When the confetti finally settled, Evrest continued.

  “It is a bright future—but not one without lessons we have learned from the past—most importantly, that we are part of the world’s community now. With that community, we must also respect and revere our national security. We can no longer expect the western world to do it for us,”—the king straightened and jerked back his shoulders—“which is why we shall go to the western world to teach us.”

  An audible murmur sprinkled through the crowd along with the dissipating confetti. I focused on the puzzled faces below as an excuse not to acknowledge the one already staring at mine. Again.

  “I have spoken with the leaders of several major countries, the United States and Great Britain included, about clearing select members of the Arcadian armed forces to join their special operations teams, to learn better ways of
protecting our beautiful land in hands-on training situations. This process will take approximately six to eight months, and only involve select members of our military.” Evrest cocked a brow toward the cameras and reporters, pressing in for dramatic effect as they live-fed the announcement to the world. “I promise you all a formal press conference tomorrow morning, with more details forthcoming then—but tonight, we are focused on celebrating our future. On all the new, incredible things in that future.”

  He reached backward then, beckoning for Camellia. A nod brought Brooke to her feet, dragging a grumbling Samsyn with her. Obviously, the big warrior enjoyed the spotlight as much as he would a root canal.

  “Last year, as most of you know, I worked to dissolve the tradition of The Distinct in Arcadia,” Evrest pressed on, sliding a hand against the curve of Camellia’s waist, which was hidden beneath a Roman-style gown in ivory chiffon. “My reason for doing so is not a secret to anyone. She is here beside me, the woman the Creator truly destined for me, the keeper of my heart and the love of my soul.” His smile grew. “She stands here next to the sister of her heart, the warrioress who has, unbelievably, turned my brother into a tolerable person at times.”

  As the crowd snickered, Samsyn groused, “Do not push it, rerda.”

  Brooke, dressed in a more contemporary gown of black-accented ivory, gently nudged her man in the ribs. “You like being pushed.”

  While Samsyn ducked his head toward Brooke’s ear, growling something only she could hear, Evrest turned his attention away from the familial ribbing and back to the crowd. A long breath expanded his chest. Defined portent sharpened his tourmaline gaze.

  The biggest announcement of the night was on its way.

  A disgusting truth confirmed—as I looked to where Shiraz stood, and beheld only empty space.

  I didn’t look for where he’d gone. I couldn’t.

  I didn’t search for him next to Ambyr. I wouldn’t.

  I didn’t wait to watch him grasping her hand, gently tugging her toward the stage, opposite hand already digging in his pocket for the engagement ring there. He’d have made sure the stone was what she wanted. In short, it would be the size of Half Dome.

  Didn’t care.

  Couldn’t care.

  I crawled back into the shadows of Jayd’s apartment. Huddled myself against the back of her couch, digging fingernails into my curled knees, funneling my attention on one desperate, urgent mantra.

  Don’t you dare fucking cry.

  The crowd settled into expectant silence.

  Don’t you dare fucking cry.

  Evrest cleared his throat.

  Don’t you dare fucking cry.

  “Now, it is my inexplicable joy to announce…”

  The tears gushed, heavy and hard and silent.

  “…that six months hence, Camellia shall be your queen in the fullest sense of the word. As we speak, Arcadia’s next sovereign has begun to grow in her womb.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‡

  For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

  Mostly because I didn’t know whether to keep sobbing or not.

  In a knot of twisted-up tension, hands now bunched into fists between my knees, I listened to the hugest explosion from the crowd so far. Damn accurate description. If a stranger entered the Palais right now, they’d think the night was ending in a full-on rock concert.

  Complete with the pyrotechnics.

  Voilà. The enigma of the location shift to the lawn was made clear, in the bursts of lush color consuming the sky over the sea. It took me a second to realize the fireworks were synched to a soundtrack—the alt-rock song Change, by Moon Taxi, was one of the best choices I could imagine—and the uplifting strains of the song helped me at least struggle to my feet again.

  For a few seconds, I let the magic of the scene bring a smile back to my lips. And yeah, it was magical. No snark this time. Just inwardly joining a few ooohs and aahhhs of my own to those of the crowd, thankful for the realizations of the last tumultuous minute.

  Arcadia wasn’t just going to have a new princess. They were going have a baby—a new life. Because of the latter, maybe I’d get lucky and not have to hear the former come to pass. Maybe Shiraz had dragged Ambyr off to a secluded shadow, choosing to start their story with a moment of private romance. She wouldn’t be completely happy about that but still had a few hours to make up for it, flashing the engagement rock to everyone at the party.

  Shit I didn’t have to witness.

  Which left taking care of Jayd then getting the hell out of this wing.

  Then tomorrow, with the air strip functional again, I could finally get the hell off this island too.

  I watched as more rockets shot into the sky. The crowd gasped and clapped, totally entranced. If Jayd was smart, and I knew she was, she’d use the distraction to scoot her hiney up here for the wardrobe repair. I could be done with the gown and gone before the show even—

  “Lucina.”

  —ended.

  I spun around. On a rush of wild breath, blurted, “Shit.”

  Before saying goodbye to the air in my body again.

  Perhaps for good.

  Dear, holy hell. He looked even more incredible from just ten feet away, with his presence altering the air, his height more magnificent and majestic. From here, I could also see the fine blue threads worked into the black brocade of his doublet. The shade was perfect, as brilliant as the fireworks bursting against the stars, but as rich as the new intensity of his gaze.

  Way more intense than it had been from the distance of the stage.

  What a difference twenty yards made.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Tupul—”

  I stopped him with a slash of a hand. Not that, goddammit. Anything but that. “Wh-where’s Jayd?”

  “Lucina—”

  “I’m waiting for her. She’ll be here any second, Shiraz. She had a problem with her gown. Ambyr’s using her seamstress, so she called me.” Though my snark was still on vacation, seemed the inner Chatty Cathy was still ready to rock. “Ambyr,” I stressed, as that oh-so-special revelation took hold. “Where’s Ambyr?”

  Shiraz stepped toward one end of the couch. “I have no idea.”

  I rushed toward the other end. “Why don’t you know? And why aren’t you with her right now? Proposing with Half Dome in your hand?”

  He shook his head. Let out a combination of laugh and sigh. Fuck. That soft, sultry sound, on the rolling hills of his incredible lips…I was so close to letting it undo me. And dammit if that didn’t look like he intended exactly that.

  No. No.

  “What the hell?” I was finally able to get out. “How did you even know I was—” Logic began tapping, incessant and alarming, at the edges of my psyche. “Where the hell is Jayd?”

  “She is not coming.” Shiraz released a measured breath. “This is my apartment, tupulai, not hers.”

  “Huh?” I darted a glance around. Well, shit. That explained some things—elements I should have pieced together, if I hadn’t walked in here skittish of my own shadow. The decidedly masculine furniture. The splay of guy-tastic video games on the end table. And the air, filled with his confident, decadent scent—even stronger now.

  I needed to be pissed about this. And I was. Maybe. A little.

  Why wasn’t I more pissed about this?

  “She never was.” He turned back the way he’d come. Damn man, with his shadows-and-smoke moves. He infuriated me. He mesmerized me. “Her dress is fine. She sent those texts because I asked her to.”

  “What?” I shuffled backward—only to realize my shoes and phone were still on the cushions halfway between us. Dammit. “And—and Jagger—”

  “Helped as well.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you have come if I openly asked to see you?”

  “Damn good point.” I managed to snag the phone. The flip-flops, lying closer to him, might just have to be collateral damage for the greater goo
d. Translation: getting out of here without succumbing to touching him. A harder exertion by the second…

  “I’m not proposing to Ambyr.”

  I froze. I had to. It meant conceding some space to him, but hiding the utter elation from my face took significant priority—

  Until logic stepped in.

  “Okay, wait.” I sliced a hand, palm down, on the air. “Not proposing tonight, right? Because of the announcement about the baby?”

  “Lucina—”

  “That’s really sweet, mister.” I folded my arms—as he kicked up the speed on his re-approach. “But in the end, it changes nothing.”

  “Dammit, Lucina.” He rumbled it from a place inside, a part of him matching the dark granite of his face. More colors burst in the sky, illuminating those bold angles, firing into the brilliant depths of his eyes. For a moment, I could do nothing but stare, praying his stark beauty was scorched on my memory forever—

  Before forcing myself to move again.

  Bolting for the door.

  For freedom from the perfection of him.

  For escape from the pain of him.

  From the heat in my throat, the fire in my veins…and ohhh fuck, the pressure in my sex. The need, crawling through me like electrical lines hit by that damn lightning, sparking and sizzling, wild and out of control…

  Then captured.

  Trapped against the wall between his guy-tastic video gamer set-up and the door that would have been my freedom.

  Freedom I no longer wanted—or cared about.

  Yeah, just like that.

  Yeah, just that perfectly.

  This. I just wanted this. Being caged by his big body against my back, his arms against the wall, and his hot, heavy breaths against my neck…

  Yeah, just like my best fantasies.

  “Do you still not understand?” he grated into the shell of my ear. “Everything has changed. Everything was changed, from the moment I first saw you.” He dragged a hand along the front of my body, fingers spread. “And touched you…”

  As he came back up, it was skin to skin, fingers searching beneath my tank. He squeezed both aching swells of my breasts, tugging at the taut nipples until I moaned, before splaying fingers across my sternum.