Bold Beautiful Love -- A Temptation Court Contemporary Romance: Temptation Court: Passion in New York (8 page)

“You’ll have plenty to stay busy with, Fortin.” I drain as much of the sneer from it as I can. “Take up golf, man; I hear it’s fun. Go catch some Pokémon, or have fun investing your money the
honest
way. You’ll only have mine for a limited time, anyway.”

That certainly perks Selyna up. “Excuse me?”

“Ohhh, right.” I snap my fingers. “Forgot about the fine print, didn’t I?”

Her glare darkens. “
What
fine print?”

“You see, the fund for your stipend will be dissolved and distributed to a number of drug rehab non-profits upon my death. If that death ‘just happens’ to occur sometime soon, and is deemed to be at all suspicious, my legal team already has instructions to unseal the contents of the file I wrote up during the flight. In it is all the information they need to share with the Arcadian
and
American authorities—connecting the two of you, in some shape or form, to every single one of Kavill’s shell companies.” I hitch a corner of my mouth. “Remember, all those contracts were executed in New York City. So if, by some weird circumstance, they’ve turned the traitor’s pit into an herb garden, we have a few fun tourist spots for you to visit in the States too.” Finally, I push from the wall. “You’d rock an orange jumpsuit, Selyna.”

For at least three minutes, the only sound in the room is the peaceful cascade of the waterfall out in the garden—a clash to the gears I imagine grinding in both their heads.

In the end, it is Fortin who fortifies his stance—but that isn’t the most surprising twist of the moment. That comes in the form of his glare, burning at me with the force of a pale blue flame thrower—

The exact same color as his daughter’s.

“Send your fucking contract, Court.”

I push up from the wall. “It’s already been emailed, sir.”

“Fine. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

*

Mishella

The sun is
warm, the breeze is light, and I’m running on the beach, holding hands with Vy and Brook. They trade sarcastic Americanisms, and right now, I am too happy to even care.

The sea washes over our feet, leaving foam that sparkles like crystals in the sun. I look down at it, and see a shell lined in the most incredible, iridescent, shade of green—like Cassian’s eyes.

I need him.

And just like that, he is there.

Rivaling the sun. Defying the power of the air itself.

I hand him the shell and he smiles, tucking it into the pocket of his white shirt, which is unbuttoned all the way, revealing his sculpted pecs and rippled abs. Samsyn and Alak, joining hands with their women, are dressed exactly the same way—

No. they are not.

Alak…is not.

His shirt is red.

Stained that way…from blood.

Blood that will not stop.

It flows and flows, the stain growing then the blood dropping, spurting across the sand then spreading into the sea, before he turns to walk into those crimson waves. Vy sobs, reaching for him. Screaming for him. But he does not stop.

And then is followed by Samsyn…

then Cassian.

“Nooooo!”

My shriek jerks me to consciousness between my lungs’ frenzied pumps. I bolt up in bed, scraping a hand back through my hair, staring around wildly.

Before I can kick the covers free, massive muscles band around my waist. “Ella.” There is not a note of sleep in Cassian’s voice, though he was more exhausted than me when we finally fell into bed, lulled by the crashing waves on the shore just beyond the terrace.

Or was he?

Was all of
that
just a dream too? Maybe we are still back in New York, and everything from the last forty-eight hours is just a massive, crazy tangle of my imagination…

“Ella.” He lifts a hand to my hair, pushing it off my face. “It’s all right,
armeau
. Ssshhh. I’m here.”

I swallow hard as the last tendrils of sleep fall away. “Wh-where are we?” My head lifts as a wave slams the sand outside. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“It was not a dream, was it?” A sob bursts free. “Even the part about Alak.” The images invade my mind, so vivid now. “That—that means—” Even the part about Cassian following Alak into the water. “Oh!”

Cassian grunts as I twist, launching myself against him. He reacts quickly, easily absorbing my weight then wrapping me close. “Hey…whoa. Ella…baby…”

“Do not let me go.”

“As long as you breathe for me, okay?”

I comply with a long breath. Twist desperate fingers into the ends of his hair. Find myself eagerly indulging the next inhalation, since it is filled with the sandalwood and ocean scent of him. I suck in another, letting it inundate every corner of my senses—though it does little to help the weak squeak of my voice. “Do—do not leave me.”

He answers before a beat can go by. “Never.” Tightens his hold until his fingertips clutch opposing sides of my rib cage. “
Never
.” After we are like that for a few minutes, and our heartbeats slow in tandem, he murmurs, “Want to talk about it?”

I keep my death grip—dear powers, what an awful expression—on his neck, but slide my head back, so he can see me shake it. “I just…really need to find a way to Vy.”

He nods as well. “Okay.”

I try to let it reassure me. When this man gives his word, he means it. His hundreds of business partners and thousands of employees know it.
I
know it.

My heart is still troubled. Off-balance.

“We were only girls when we met, Cassian. Twelve. In this horrid class where we had to…
run laps.
I hated it. I was so bloody formal and serious—”

“You don’t say.”

I tug on his hair to retaliate for the tease. “She was so…everything I was
not.
Sassy and funny and beautiful…”

He loosens his hold in order to slide a finger forward, pushing up my chin. His gaze is waiting for mine, intense as the fireflies dancing over Sancti Lagoon. “Do you really
not
see how you are all those things too?”

Heavy breath. “Because Vy taught them to me.”

“Because they were inside you all along.” He raises the other hand to the side of my face. “Vy just granted you the freedom to show them to the world.”

I gulp again. Soak in his words as the precious truth they are. “But now she refuses to let
me
in, to help
her
.” Vocalizing it is supposed to help—but the conflict in my chest just cracks open wider. Out of that fissure, tears escape. Not a huge flood, for this sadness is more crushing than that. More soul deep.

“Everything is so different now, Cassian…” I turn my gaze out toward the terrace. The moon on the waves is like the diamond bracelet on my wrist: a representation of so much more than refracted light. In the waves, the moon finds magic. In the circle of my bracelet, there is a symbol of this man’s unending love. Even now, in the middle of the night, he waits for me with quiet but alert patience. I have to find more words for this…to give him. “I have come back here, feeling so much stronger than when I left…”

He cups my shoulders and squeezes. “Because you
are.
”

“Then why do I feel so damn helpless?” I hate the pathetic rasp of it. Even more, I hate the bitter truth of it. “What have I returned for, if I cannot assist with anything?”

“
Favori.
” He kisses me gently. “It’s temporary. You know this. The situation on both banks of the river is chaos right now. Samsyn isn’t even allowing Brooke to go down there, and
her
bad ass still works for him.”

I pout. “
I
am bad ass too.”

“Damn straight you are.” He adds a growling undertone, injecting the leonine energy into his next kiss. “But you still can’t traipse around Sancti without a security escort. Not right now. Things will start to normalize as soon as Evrest addresses the country on the news tomorrow.”

Rough huff, take two. “So…I am just supposed to sit around here, watch the flowers grow, and have my nails done?”

He dips his head, capturing my left forefinger between his playful lips. “Your nails are beautiful, just like your huge heart.”

“I do not want to be beautiful. I want to be
useful
.” My words are now close to pleas. They agitate me, driving me off the bed. Here, in the land which has always meant
home,
the only thing feeling close to that is literally the shirt on my back. Cassian’s faded Fordham U T-shirts have become my sleepwear of choice—when the situation calls for things like that. “But I cannot rebuild a single strut of that bridge. I cannot bring back Alak for Vylet. And I cannot step foot outside this Palais, much less help Samsyn in the hunt for those
bonsuns
responsible for all of this!”

I halt in front of the open terrace doors. Breathe deeply again, all but ordering the ocean wind to permeate my rioting spirit.
A
for effort;
F
for success. The refrain is becoming all too regular in my life.

Helpless, as that thug in Bryant Park unloaded three bullets into Cassian.

Helpless, waiting for Doyle to arrive after Cassian punched out his shower.

Helpless, watching the Grand Sancti Bridge get blown apart by a terrorist’s bomb.

Helpless, standing here, beholding the beauty of a vast, sparkling sea—unable to let any of its glory into my grieving heart.

I hunch into myself, ordering the pity party to stop. It just seems to get worse—

Until Cassian presses up behind me.

And the very air I breathe is altered. Empowered. Made better simply from the force of his presence…the power of his warmth…the subtle shift of his mien. The very pores of my skin drink in his new energy, absorbing the sizzling lava flow of his intent.

I sure as hell am no calmer now. But for much,
much
different reasons.

“I know a way you can help Samsyn.” He utters the words into my hair while skimming his fingers along my shoulders, down my arms. I do not hide the shiver he induces…how he wakes up every inch of my body simply by raking his touch over me.

He trails fingers over my hands then underneath, lightly scratching my palms. The contact zips fire back up my arms then inward, tingling my breasts…punching into my nipples.

“Oh?” I battle just to get that out. As the magic of his touch takes over, I forget where I am…while never being more aware of everything around me.

“Mmmm hmmm.” His rumble resonates through us both. He steps closer, sliding his feet against the outside of mine. Nearly molds himself around me… “By keeping
me
sane.”

“That sounds…” I gasp as he twists fingers into my hair…then uses the grip to tilt my head to one side. “Like an interesting proposition.”

“We call it indirect procurement.” His lips move along my neck with smooth, seductive intent. “It refers to valuable…services…that benefit internal stakeholders to an organization, so they are empowered to help clients better.”

My eyelids grow heavy. The feeling settles through my muscles before throbbing deeper, gathering into a hot lead weight in my sex. Dear Creator, how I want him… “And I am such a…procurement…for you?”

Cassian’s lips part. His teeth nick the skin beneath my ear. “Best fucking asset I ever added.”

His voice is a rough rasp. His words, filthy and possessive. As the strong woman he has helped me become, I should be considering how best to circle and slap him for them—but as the woman he has fallen in love with, I absorb them, crave them. They are his worship of me. His pledge to always bring me everything I need, crave, desire…

Which, when all is said and done, only circle back to one sole thing.

Him.

Surrounding me with his heat.

Melting me with his touch.

Roping his way into my mind with all his illicit words…

“So will you service my…internal needs,
armeau
?” It is fire in my ear…then every shred of my nervous system. “Empower me, so I can help Samsyn in every way that I can?”

“Yes.” I hear myself say it through the haze he swirls and thickens over my senses…my body. “
Yes
, Cassian.”

A slow growl emanates from him. “Will you give me all of this?” He drags his free hand beneath the T-shirt, exploring my belly, my rib cage, the erect points of my nipples “And all of this?” Descends that hand, dipping into my panties, cupping my quivering mound.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Oh, Cassian…”

“Uh-uh.” He pinches my inner thigh, making me yelp. “You’re the asset now, Miss Santelle. That means you’ll refer to me as Mr. Court.” A swift pinch on my opposite thigh. “And you’ll give me exactly what I want right now.”

Oh, dear
Creator.

He does truly know me.

Every depraved, dirty, filthy, feminine corner of me.

But best of all, he will not hesitate to fill me there.

Beginning this moment.

With a harsher coil of his hand in my hair, he angles my head up and back. My eyes flare open, succumbing to the surprise of it—and the glory of the submissive pose he has invoked. My vision is filled by his face, hard angles and burning lust branded onto his tawny skin, surrounded by the sleep-tossed mess of his hair.