Bold Beautiful Love -- A Temptation Court Contemporary Romance: Temptation Court: Passion in New York (6 page)

I don’t.

And don’t even want to.

The woman has done me in. Killed me off in all the best damn ways—only to resurrect me as a grateful wraith to her voodoo, ready to take on any kind of craziness this existence has yet to throw at me. Yeah, even now.
Especially
now. As long as she keeps haunting all my forms, I don’t give a crap what this existence—or the eternities after it—have in store. We’re going to face them together, and nothing else matters.

One glance at Samsyn, and I already know he’s spinning the same thoughts about Brooke. A soft smile appears through his dark beard, before he breaks free with a small jerk of his head. Slides another inspection back at me.

“I am honored by your assessment, Cassian Court,” he states. “But know this: I do
everything
right. So if I find out you have lied to us about your ignorance with these contractors—”

“Lied. Right. And
that’s
why I brought all their information straight to you on that laptop?” I sweep a hand toward the device, resting on top of the ornate wooden table inside the room—which, creepily, looks like a piece imported from the Holy Inquisitions. “
You,
not even my own government?”

That one sends an impact. No shocker. Samsyn is a warrior, and lives by the codes of such. My action wasn’t a step in front of a gun barrel, but it
was
a risk in the name of doing right—and earns the respect now gleaming in his ice-blue gaze.

“Perhaps I like how you handle things too, Court.” He turns fully to me, wielding a grunting chuckle. When I respond with a frown, he assures, “
Rahmié
, my friend. Apologies. At times like this, my levity comes at strange times and places.”

Curious glance across the terrace. “And this is such an occasion?”

“Would you not say the same in my place, if looking at
your
sorry backside, having to tell Fortin and Selyna Santelle you have proposed to their daughter?”

I grunt. He pretends to cough but chortles into his hand.

“Karma’s a bitch, Cimarron.”

“But not before you become
theirs
, Cassian Court.”

I say nothing. Sometimes, there’s just no arguing with the truth.

*

Mishella

A fresh breeze
gusts into the room, smelling like salt and hibiscus—

And feeling like him.

Cassian.

The rush of expectancy is no different—perhaps even sharper—than the first time I saw him in the vestibule just a few levels below us. He’d walked in, tall and proud and golden, the sun and wind themselves tagging along in his shadow. He’d blasted through my senses in the same cataclysmic way…

Exactly like now.

Though utterly different than now.

I rise from the chaise, my body responding to our tether of energy. Just like before—only not. Like then, every inch of my skin longs to be flush against him—only now, it
has
been, and knows exactly what that heaven is like…exactly what paradise it craves more of. I do not just want him now. I need him.

Also like then, I am conscious of how Mother and Father regard his every step. The push-pull of their assessments—
should we trust him or should we not?
—only now, reached for utterly different reasons. Instead of wondering how much money they can broker in a contract with him, they are wondering if he had anything to do with the plot to blow up the Grand Sancti Bridge—and how they can leverage more money from him because of
that
.

As the realization hits, the rage does. Rationally, I realize it is the next stage of the fear from what happened at the airport. More logic pounds in the fact that Cassian can more than hold his own with my parents—both at once, even—but dammit, forces beyond logic were what brought him into my life to begin with, and what pull me up from the chaise, back to his side now. As I do, words echo in my head. Oddly, they are those of his brother, given to me just yesterday…

My boy wonder of a little bro certainly found himself a female of quality.

I will be that female now. Prove it to myself
and
Cassian by pressing up to his side, raising one hand to cover the heart I treasure so deeply. “Welcome back,” I murmur, lifting my gaze to meet his hooded regard.

“I didn’t go very far.” That sage smoke enters his eyes, betraying a craving to kiss me, but his stance is stiff, deliberately holding back.

“That is not the point.” I do
not
hold back, pretending we are simply back in New York, in our living room at Temptation Manor, and he has arrived home from a long day at the office. As I expected, it unplugs jolts of new energy from
Maimanne
and
Paipanne
—though they are different, missing many of the normal threads of disapproval.

“Daughter?”
Maimanne
steps forward first—of course.

“Yes, Mother?” My purposeful use of the English attracts even jolted brows from Brooke—but I have no remorse about the choice, or hesitation about using it again. I used a tone of respect, signifying my continued loyalty to my heritage, but employed the subtle change to demonstrate my devotion to my future.

Father moves forward, taking over the exchange. “We are jubilant to see you, Mishella—and, of course, pleased you returned so quickly.” He eyes Cassian and me with even more shrewd attention. “But is the tragedy at the Bridge
all
you have returned about?”

Brooke, having greeted Samsyn in similar fashion, breaks from him like a kitten with a fresh ribbon. She circles back around, indeed stepping like a watchful cat, gray eyes wide. “Mishella?” Her syllables are strung together on a good dose of what-the-hell-woman.

Cassian only escalates her agony with a good-natured wink—before grasping my hands like a groom reaching for his bride.

Brooke gasps.

But before
Maimanne
can, Cassian declares, “Fortin, Selyna…perhaps it’s best the three of us speak privately.”

His tone does not invite conversation about the matter. Nevertheless, Father mutters, “Yes, of course.” Mother mumbles something similar in Arcadian. It occurs to me that the two of them really
are
shocked by the “development” of things between Cassian and me. Can that even be possible, considering they bloody near sold me to the man to begin with?

Pondering the answer to that is not a consideration. As I watch them both leave with Cassian, resignation sets in, bringing a strange kind of peace. My parents have made their choices about their priorities and dreams, but
their
selections don’t have to define
mine.
I could swing for the cavalier with the explanation of that—
I’ve seen the world and you all haven’t
—but even if two months in New York City
feels
like seeing the world, it is not.

And even then…New York did not change me.

Cassian did.

Empowered me with the force of his passion. Lifted me on the wings of his trust.

Transformed me with the magic of his life.

Yes, even all its darkness, and the ghosts who live there.

Incredibly, he wants to share that life with me. And I cannot tell him yes too many times. Or in enough ways. Or how much our future together is the glue binding me together right now, jetlagged and heartsick and still a little sleep-deprived, as sadness clings to the winds of my homeland…

Yet as I watch my man’s toned backside disappear around the corner, I want to hug myself from giddiness.
Me,
the staunchest non-self-hugger on Earth, wants to simply spin in a circle in the middle of this room, then indulge a nonstop squeal—

Until the option is snatched off the menu by another hug—better qualified as a broadside sack. The squeal is ripped from me too—though admittedly, Brooke gives the duty much better lip service.

“Are you
freaking
kidding me?” She exclaims it while setting me back at arm’s length. “Wait. That
did
all mean what I thought it did, right?”

I bat my eyes and bite my lip. “Wellll…”

“Welllll
what
?”

“That depends.”

“On
what
?”

Playful chin tap. “Am
I
correctly thinking what
you
probably thought, to infer it meant what everyone
else
thought—”

“Wench,” she grumbles, as I dissolve into giggles. While dragging me again to the chaise, she chatters, “Ohmigawd. You
have
to tell me everything. When did he ask? And where? And why didn’t you call me the
second
you said yes?” She purses her lips. “All right, maybe not the very second, but at least in the same hour.”

My laughter fades. I shake my head. “I did not call because three minutes after he asked, Doyle and Damon ordered us out of bed to watch the news alert about the bridge. And then—”

“Out of
bed
?” Saucy waggle of brows. An impish toss of her blonde curls. “
Very
nice—as long as he didn’t propose while still giving you the New York salami.”

I should have known not to go for a sip of water. The straw pops out of my mouth as I choke, “By the bloody powers, Brooke.”

“What? Girlfriend, even you know that rule. No fair putting a ring on it while there’s still a condom on…
it
.” She points to her crotch, waggling her brows. For a woman pale and blonde as a Norwegian elf, the woman expresses herself better than a full-blooded Italian.

“Not that it pertains to this conversation, because we were merely resting on the bed in
all
our clothes, but we took care of
it,”
—I use the same motion to rope
my
crotch into the exchange—“quite a long while ago.”

She claps her hands. Just once. Very loudly. “
That’s
my responsible girl!” Leans forward, eyes aglow like moonstones. “Responsible and…well-satisfied, hmmm?”

“Creator’s feet.” I slam the water glass down. It is abundantly clear now: rehydration will
have
to wait.

“
What
? Sweet baby Jesus, M, I’m curious. My best friend is getting the naked pony from Cassian freaking Court. Or is he more a stallion?”

My face, likely a mild shade of red before, has to be a lovely dark chartreuse by now. “How do you think I would even know?”

“Because you were just as fascinated as
me
by Vy’s dirty internet searches?”

And
there’s
the sentence tossing this whole conversation into ice water.

The moment Brooke drops her head, I grab both her hands. Squeeze hard. She huffs, continuing to beat herself up, though we both know the slip could easily have been mine. Cutting Vylet out of our chatter is like taking Rock from Paper and Scissors. It simply does not work.

“We will help her get through this, Brooke.” I mold my other hand atop hers. “We will not let her get away with anything else. You know she would do the same for either of us.”

Brooke does not say anything. Not verbally. But in her bleak gaze, I read the words she refuses to give aloud.
This is going to take a lot more than a gallon of ice cream and a long walk on the beach—especially if nobody convinces her Cassian was not involved with blowing up the bridge.

Finally, she rises. Her movement is slow again, almost cautious—but when she turns and smiles, her face is full of nothing but the generous love and boundless friendship she has always gifted to me. “Come on.” She extends a hand. “You must be exhausted, especially after the gauntlet you had to endure at the airport.”

I dazedly blink a few times before realizing she is right. “
Merderim
,” I stammer. “I suppose…I could do…with more rest.” But where? Our departure from New York and our flight here were so rushed, I had no time to think of making any arrangements for where Cassian and I would stay.

“You’re coming up to the suite.” Her nod is as adamant as her dictate. “Syn and I have tons of room in the second bedroom. You more than anyone knows that.” She hooks her arm through mine. “Besides, we’re probably the only couple in the land who won’t mind the noise.” Fast wink. “We like making plenty of our own.”

I stop dead in my tracks. Fitting, since death-like exhaustion creeps over me. “Was
that
a visual I needed?”

“Did I refer to ‘visuals’ at all?”

“Did you
have
to?”

She poises the other hand on her cocked hip. “Suit yourself. If you’d prefer to stay with your parents…”

I whirl and yank at the link of our arms. “I cannot wait to see the suite again.”

She grins and tugs back. “It’s been damn empty without you. But seriously,”—she stops and sobers so fast, I actually feel my own frown forming—“lately, Syn and I have been fond of the second bedroom from time to time, for its…errmmm…architectural merits. So if you and Cassian decide to take advantage of the toys in the closet,
please
turn up the music so we don’t have to listen.”

I really do scowl now. “The…toys?” Change out my confusion for a good dose of saucy, as recognition sets in. “My sister-friend, thank you for the offer, but we brought our own vibrator and lubricant, and—”

“And you have
no
damn idea how happy it makes me to hear that.” She curls an impish grin. “But I didn’t see luggage for either you or Cassian big enough to hold a leather swing or suspension rig.”