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

by Angel Payne

  I did it. I really curled up a fist and socked Prince Samsyn of Arcadia in his huge, arrogant shoulder. Didn’t matter that it felt like punching a lead pipe or that his whole form shook with his answering snicker. I felt better. A little.

  “Well,” I finally muttered. “You sure as hell found a good way to pay me back for the boba.”

  He stood, still smirking, though reestablished his military stance. Even re-parked the sunglasses over his eyes. “No,” he stated while pulling a crisp white envelope out of his shorts pocket. It was definitely for me. I spotted my name in swooping letters. “This is proper payback.”

  I took it from him—with shaking fingers. “Wh-what is…”

  “Just look at it.” His tone was back to military mode too. The commanding officer part. “And as you do, know two things.”

  I arched a brow while sliding a thumb under the flap. “Two things I want to know?”

  I was pretty sure, beneath the shades, his ice blue eyes executed a perfect barrel roll. “Number one: I have some meetings up at Hueneme today, and will not be leaving from LAX until tomorrow morning.”

  Okkaaayyy.

  Curiosity. Spiked.

  “What’s number two?”

  “The training team is on a few days of leave.” He paused before stabbing me with the inevitable conclusion to that. “Shiraz is enjoying it at home, in the Palais.” He added a blatant grimace. “‘Enjoying’ being a relative term for my brother right now.”

  The man actually made that his parting shot.

  In a little disbelief, I watched him cover the walk back to the parking lot with wide, sure strides. A group of women in business suits, enjoying an early lunch break in the park, boldly gawked as he strode by. Their faces fell when his wedding ring glinted in the sun. There went another Cimarron man, shattering libidos and hearts in his wake.

  The thought would’ve likely spurred a laugh—if I wasn’t so terrified of what this damn envelope contained. I looked down at the expensive vellum inside the flap. My head throbbed. My heart played a drum solo against my ribs. I felt like Bella Swan, splashing across an Italian fountain on the way to her possible doom.

  I took a huge, long breath.

  Tugged at the paper inside.

  “Time to get wet, Luce.”

  I’d had to say it.

  Because the next moment, I turned it into prophecy. New tears burst, drenching my cheeks, as my eyes skimmed down the imprinted text inside, and zoomed in on the hand-written note at the bottom.

  Lucy:

  Please come.

  We all need you here.

  You are family.

  Jayd

  Everything mushed together. The words on the page. The sun and the grass and the waves. Hard, stupid crying had that effect on the world, I guess.

  So did the power of six dumb little letters, formed into a word that had never meant a thing to me.

  And now meant everything.

  Family.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‡

  “I’m wondering if I should pinch myself.”

  It was an honest confession, murmured to the princess with the black curls and opaline eyes, who rewarded me with a soft giggle.

  Had it been only three days since my visit to the beach in LA? 72 hours and my life had careened in a way I’d never expected—or dreamed. Ergo, the whole pinching-myself-as-a-viable-option line, enforced by a brilliant Arcadian afternoon. The sun was golden and warm, the wind salty and bold, the air fragrant with lavender, orange, and eucalyptus.

  So maybe the pinching wouldn’t be happening—despite the direction I knew this dream was soon going to take.

  Oh God oh God oh God.

  I had no idea what I even prayed for. The guts to see the dream through…or the hope it happened like all my other weird dreams, with a pool full of chocolate, a diving board, and Henry Cavill waiting for me in the shallow end?

  Only lately, Henry had taken a hike. For the last four months, it had been Shiraz in the pool.

  It was Shiraz…everywhere.

  Jayd squee’d in delight, joined by an equally effusive Ezra, jolting me back to the moment at hand. Their swoons blended with similar sounds from the group gathered in the private royal garden for Camellia’s baby shower. The area, usually a scene of Renaissance-inspired tranquility, had been turned into a lush jungle for the occasion, in honor of the nursery décor picked out by Evrest and Camellia for Leo, the royal firstborn on his way. A giant prop elephant helped Camellia preside over the event. An aviary of tropical birds was decorated with red and gold bunting. There was even a pair of “rhinos” peeking from the waters of the Elizabethan fountain.

  The crowd’s enthusiasm was on theme too. Camellia, an image of glowing and healthy pregnancy, held up the latest item she’d unwrapped from the mountain of presents. A baby-sized safari outfit was accompanied by a jungle-themed playmobile.

  “Holy shit,” Ez murmured. “Cuteness in khaki.”

  “Right?” Jayd shoulder-bumped him, confirming the instant friendship I’d predicted before Ez and I even disembarked the plane yesterday.

  “I’d rock that outfit.” Ez bit into a leopard-spotted cake pop. “Just sayin’.”

  “That settles it.” Jayd raised her voice, announcing it to the whole group. “Everyone lock up your daughters. My nephew shall be the hottest-dressed male in the land.”

  As the crowd laughed, Brooke wagged a saucy finger on the air. “But not the hottest in other arenas, sister.”

  Jayd scowled. “Is this a new entry in the ew zone, B?”

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  The new comment made everyone twist around, slamming Brooke’s corner of the garden with a flood of feminine interest. That was what happened when one’s mountain of a husband appeared on the scene—then sidled up behind her and began nuzzling behind her ear with brazen intent.

  Brooke giggled then batted at Samsyn. “All right, big guy. Behave.”

  He grunted. “My ability to…behave…was not what you just bragged about, woman.”

  “Okay,” Jayd interjected. “Now this is an ew.”

  I would have joined in the new round of laughs at that—except for recognizing, courtesy of the dark bergamot scent on the air, that Syn hadn’t crashed the shower alone. I breathed in deeper, just to be sure—and dared a single look back, farther into the shadows of the portico behind Samsyn.

  Oh God oh God oh God.

  It was him.

  More perfect, sleek, elegant and magnificent than even the chocolate dreams had formed of him. And dammit, despite the balmy day, he’d picked black as a fashion statement. He was breathtaking in black. His long-sleeve polo hugged his torso, more defined by the months in the field. His black fatigues were tucked into scuffed, rubber-soled black boots covering up to his calves, undone laces draped over the front of his legs. But that wasn’t the finish of the look. That came from his eyes, solemn as ink from Poe’s own pen, staring without feeling from atop his angled cheekbones.

  Shit. Samsyn hadn’t been exaggerating.

  Shard of glass. Midnight lake.

  I dug my heels into the grass, fighting the longing to run to him.

  Stick to the plan.

  Samsyn knew what he was doing. He’d delivered as promised, actually getting his stubborn brother here. I just had to wait until he guided Shiraz over to this side of the party. My chair was on the way to the food table. Wasn’t that where the guys ended up at something like this?

  “As usual, Jayd has called the play perfectly.”

  Everyone turned once again—in glaring curiosity. I had to admit, I joined them. The commentary wasn’t Samsyn’s or Shiraz’s—or even that of Jagger Fox, who stepped out from behind Samsyn’s far side. The line had come from a fourth man, rocking the long legs and burnished skin of a Cimarron, only with whisky-colored hair and blunter features. He was attractive but not stunning, but maybe that had more to do with his lounge lizard swagger and his shark bite smile.
/>   Fish are friends, buddy, not food.

  Thank fuck Jayd clearly shared the conclusion. “Tytan,” she issued through tight lips, her nod emulating the energy. “How…gracious…of you to make an appearance in Sancti.”

  Ezra emitted a soft hum. “Ooooo, honey. Need a little ranch dressing for that bitter subtext?”

  “How about some battery acid?” she gritted back. “To toss on his smug face?”

  She barely veiled the glare as Tytan Cimarron slither-stepped closer—an event I would have taken more keen notice in, except that it set Shiraz into motion too. In full big brother mode, he followed just steps behind his cousin. Focused protectiveness was stamped across his face.

  Until his gaze descended on me.

  Locked on me.

  Narrowed on me.

  Burned into me.

  Destroyed me.

  One damn second—and time dropped away. One damn second and we were back in his apartment, clutching each other in the goodbye I’d forced, clinging to my stubborn dictates of “what was best for him”. One damn second and he was back on his knees in front of the bed, rasping harsh pleas into my ear, drenching my face with his heartbroken tears…

  One damn second—

  I’d made him endure all over again.

  He was not happy about that. Showed me so by dropping his gaze to my feet—and looking like he might just spit on them. By letting the fists at his side unfurl into long-fingered daggers—with which he mentally impaled me.

  By wheeling from me in one fierce sweep, marching his gorgeous ass toward the small semicircle of lawn in front of Camellia.

  Mentally, I forecasted the rest of his path. He was headed toward the gate on the other side of the garden, the one leading directly to the Palais staff stairwell. Though the flights extended down the cliff and eventually to the beach, they also had landings at every level, with doorways leading inside the building—leaving no mystery about his new plan. Even if I gave chase, he’d lose me after just a couple of turns in the labyrinth of back hallways. With my shitty sense of direction, they’d have to send search and rescue dogs after me in the maze.

  I couldn’t let him do it.

  I wouldn’t, dammit.

  The entire journey here, I’d agonized about what to actually say when I did. Such stupidity. One moment being near him again, and I already knew. One second seeing his pain and I was resolved.

  One look at him walking away from me, and I was crystal fucking clear.

  I never wanted him to do it again.

  “Shiraz.”

  It was doomed to be a sob from the second I opened my mouth, but I didn’t care. My anguish cracked the air like a whip, stilling everyone at once. In short, continuing his retreat would scoot him into contender position for World’s Biggest Asshole—though I was damn sure he still considered the risk even as he stopped, scuffing into the grass with his sexy untied boots.

  As I stepped into the clearing with him, nobody said a word. As I moved even closer, even the wind stilled. It all seemed like a damn movie, but hell if I could name which one. This wasn’t even Samsyn’s plan—and I owed he and Camellia glances of apology for wrecking the plan—but no way was I letting my stare fall now. No way was I deviating from the one thing I’d traveled back here to say.

  And, God help me, the love I’d come to save.

  So get your shit together, woman—and say it.

  “Turn around.” Every tremble of my voice was like an airhorn blare in the thick silence. I took a deep breath anyway. Pressed closer to him, so only he could hear, and whispered, “Please, Master. Turn around and look at me.”

  Shiraz jerked back. But in inches of movement, stiff and fierce, he finally came back to face me. In huffs of breath, harsh and heavy, confronted me.

  In one low, ferocious growl, told me exactly how pissed he was about being played. “You and I do not share whispers anymore, Miss Fava,” he followed to it. “If you have something to say to me, you shall say it out loud, right here, before my family and friends,”—he yanked up his head, throwing a damning look at Samsyn and Jayd—“who shall answer to me later about conveniently ‘forgetting’ your name was on this party guest list.” All too quickly, his glare dropped back to me—and the force of his snarl took over again. “Well?” he prompted. “What the fuck is it?”

  Before I could control it, a flinch took over. He nodded tersely, almost as if expecting it, getting halfway through a new whirl before I curled a hand into his shirt, forcing him back. “No!”

  He ripped away from me. Spread his arms wide. Leaned in, bellowing, “Then what, Lucy? What the hell do you want from me, because there is not a great deal left here!”

  I avoided the flinch. Barely. Began shifting from foot to foot instead, trying to focus on the Zen-like squish of my spikes into the grass. Ladies and gentlemen, Buddha has left the garden. And had left behind a throbbing headache for me. And muddy shoes.

  And the drowning, debilitating force of Shiraz Cimarron’s fury.

  I didn’t care. I couldn’t. If this came out all wrong, then it just fucking would. If I hiccup-sobbed through it, then I just—

  fucking

  would.

  “Shiraz.” I shot up my chin. No more whispering. No more weakness. I was proud of what I had to say. If he wanted me to scream it from the top of the north tower turret then I would, dammit. “I—I was wrong. And…I’m sorry.” It dissolved into a sob. I still didn’t care. “I’m so…fucking…sorry.”

  He took half a step closer. It was tentative and abrupt—but at last, oh God at last, he was moving in the right direction. “Wrong.” He nearly stuttered it out too. His lower lip trembled. The corners of his bleak, beautiful eyes tightened and creased. “Wrong about what?”

  “About what?” Unbelievably, I laughed—but it wasn’t easy, because it was real. Sincere. Totally snark-free. Simply, utterly me. I had no idea who this person was. I didn’t know the first thing about being her…about being this naked while still standing here in my clothes. But I wanted to try. God, how I wanted to try. “About—all of it, okay? I was…such an idiot. Such an ungrateful bitch, to the universe itself.” Another laugh, even more painful, broke free. “And a hypocrite. Oh, God—I was a hypocrite even more than a bitch! Did you know I gave Ambyr a speech about becoming a better woman for you? When I should’ve been looking in the freaking mirror…”

  For a moment, the gritty lines on his face succumbed to a full gape. “A speech? To Ambyr? When?”

  There’d be time to tell him later—I hoped. Time for talking to him about so much more. I hoped. It all came down…to this. To what I had to confess to him, and mean it.

  “I should have been giving myself the damn speech,” I said through the tears. “I should have been becoming better for you…myself. That means being braver for you. Being here for you. And loving you—by starting with loving myself.”

  Just saying the words took away some of the fear. Not all of it, but maybe in time, I’d get better at this self-acceptance shit. I’d learn I really was good enough. Hell, the hugest part was already handled. I’d fallen head over heels in love with the prince.

  I let the courage fill me up—at least enough to reach forward, both my hands wrapping into his—

  And letting my heart burst open as he crushed his fingers around mine.

  And letting my soul explode as he shoved his big, untied boots against my muddy, four-inch Diors.

  And letting my blood race as he dropped his bold, strong forehead right down onto mine. “Fuck,” he gritted. “My tupulai.” One of his hands slid up, cupping the back of my neck. “Merderim, my sweet woman. Thank you.”

  My lips lifted. A lot. Got wet all over again as more tears broke free—this time, infused with just a little happy hope. Not a lot. Not yet…

  “I love you too, Lucina Louise Fava.” He angled his face up, in order to press a fervent kiss between my eyebrows. “And I know this is so damn hard for you.”

  I let out another ha
lf-delirious laugh. It was either that or pull a chicken shit on the rest of this plan—and I’d come too far for that now. Across my country. Across an ocean. Past all the cliffs of my own fears. Beyond every boundary of my fantasies.

  Into the dream-come-true of loving him.

  The man who was going to understand if I had to get a little snarky about this.

  “Hard?” I slid out a sideways smirk, while purposefully stepping back a little from him. His face, breathtaking in its perplexity, studied my every move…

  As I knelt before him.

  With both our hands entwined once more, and my gaze lifted to meet the vast lakes of his gaze, I spoke once more—making each word heard throughout the garden.

  “Shiraz Noir Cimarron…you are the destiny I never thought I’d find. The miracle I never thought I’d believe. The fantasy I never knew could be fulfilled. You are the honesty of my soul, the essence of my spirit, the passion of my heart, and the joy in my life.”

  Salty drops on my face again—this time, rained from above. “Lucina. By the Creator…pahaleur armeau…”

  “Let me finish,” I sobbed. “Please. This is the important part.”

  He laughed now too. “All right.”

  I took advantage of the moment to get in a deep breath. “I’m not perfect, Shiraz—but dammit, I’m the perfect one for you.”

  “Halle-fucking-lujah,” Ezra exclaimed.

  “Creator be praised,” Samsyn growled at the same time.

  “On those special notes,” I cracked, slanting my perfect prince an utterly imperfect grin, “What say you, my love, about the idea of…marrying me?”

  Shiraz fell silent. But in that silence, I saw absolutely everything. The force of his adoration. The strength of his acceptance. The power of all the passion he offered—now, and for the rest of our lives.

  His grip pulled tighter around mine—preparing, I assumed, to bring me back to my feet—only to stun me by being the one to move instead. Sweeping down…to kneel next to me.