Pretty Perfect Toy -- A Temptation Court Novel (Temptation Court, Book 2) (23 page)

“Yyeesss, Mishella DaLysse?”

Somehow, she accepts the ribbing but maintains her earnest authority. Her chin doesn’t waver, and is joined in the effort by a firmer set of her shoulders. She has no idea how the plan may backfire on her—how even her shoulders are enough to get me hard, especially when their golden angles are set as if her cleavage disappears into a satin ball gown instead of my chest.

I wrestle my gaze up to her face.

“I need you to think about something for me.” Regal training or not, her tongue sneaks out to nervously wet her lips.
Goddammit
. So much for the refocus. “Just—just
think
about it, all right?”

I narrow my gaze. Consider the option of diffusing her effort once more with something in the key of smartass, but the seriousness is like a damn aura around her now. “You already know I will.”

Her tongue retreats. From the set of her lips, it looks fitted to the back of her top teeth, giving her a look of determination I’m only used to confronting from opponents on the other side of conference negotiation tables. Only not with those shoulders—or that cleavage.

“The next time things like this surge inside of for you…” She reaches for my bandaged hand. “Do not go punch a wall.” Her fingers curve in, meshing with the exposed tips of my own. “
Or
a shower door.”

I hook my forefinger in, latching it with hers. Give her a little finger shake of commitment. “I won’t. I promise.”

She doesn’t let me go. “That’s not all of it.”

“Hell.”

“
Listen
to me, Cassian. You cannot heft the world on your shoulders!” She dips her head because I do. “Though they are very
nice
shoulders, that is not the purpose for which they were designed.”

“Whoa.” I was right in saving the smartass.
Much
better here. “Are you slingin’ bullshit on this barbecue, because
I
thought—”

“I know what you
thought
.” She clearly doesn’t enjoy the colorful visual. “But that is not we are discussing here.”

“Ah.” I drag it into a knowing drawl. “I suppose it’s about
feelings
. Is that it?”

A huff rushes from her—as she sits up again, taking the damn sheet with her once more. Not that I’m complaining. Never in my life have I thanked myself more for spending insane money on imported Italian sheets. She has no idea that her areolas and nipples show perfectly through the diaphanous fabric—a view nearly as perfect as her nude flesh.

But not half as amazing as the sight of her untamed arousal.

Or a dose of her unreserved laughter.

Or a hit of her unpretentious honesty.

Or a slam of her unrestricted love.

Christ. All the ways this woman has filled my life…by stripping so much of it away. And dammit, like the naked emperor, I just want to strut around in more.

Enough to arrive at a decision so sudden, it’s bewildering. But so right, it’s terrifying. And exhilarating. And exonerating. A burden I haven’t been able to shirk, the size of the damn globe she just accused me of toting, even after taking her to the turret and visiting Damon’s grave…

But now, the weight is gone.

No.

Nearly
gone.

“Mishella.” I offer it now with no sarcasm or smirking, knowing she’ll already hear the apology in it. What I don’t expect her to hear—or to understand, since I’m as unnerved by it myself—is the husk roped around my tone. The guttural, practically critical, need…

“Y-Yes, Cassian?”

“I’ll agree to give your suggestion some thought”—who the
hell
shoved two packs of cigarettes down my throat and lit them all at once?—“if you’ll agree to consider one of mine in return.”

A smile trembles across her lips. Just bringing her that small joy is worth the nicotine growl, and the growing boulder in my gut. “You have a
suggestion
?” She even seems excited by that, making the boulder more a doorstop. “Well then…that sounds fair.”

I fold my hands. Center them in my lap. It’s the only way I’ll keep from reaching to her, and swaying her decision with the force of a kiss. It would be so damn easy—and so damn enjoyable…

“I’d like you to reconsider the terms of our contract.”

The twinkle in her eyes dims. “The—the terms?” Her nose crinkles. “Which ones?”

Fuck it.
I pull her back. Kiss her quickly but deeply. “Only one,” I clarify. “The one about the length of your stay.”

Her perplexity persists. “You—you do not wish for me to stay for six months?”

“No. I want you to stay longer.”

*

Mishella

H
eavy swallow. Another.

I dare any other woman in the building to react differently to the sight in front of me. By the looks of things, nobody will be taking me up on that. My caveman, newly transformed into a prince, has heated every drop of estrogen in the TGN studios to one status. Full boil. Yet as Cassian leads me down the hall to our private green room to await our call time to the set, elegant strides emphasized by the bespoke lines of his suit, he is as gracious as if he owns the whole bloody network—a gorgeous royal warmly greeting his subjects.

I have never been more proud to be on his arm.

Meaning I have never been more conflicted about what he proposed last night.

It is not easy to conceal the dilemma from my face, reflected by the little scowl on his once we are seated and offered coffee and pastries. We both decline everything except water, though the young production assistant hovers to double-check that a dozen more times. She swings her ponytail, taps on her smart pad, and fiddles with her headset, channeling the estrogen boil into looking efficient and in-charge.

The second she finally flits away, Cassian sinks back, settling his neck over the back of the loveseat in order to preserve the light makeup to which he’s subjected himself for this. At the new angle, the bold perfection of his jaw and cheekbones are accentuated. The room’s recessed lights capture the bronze tints in his lashes and the demigod gold in his hair, now slicked and styled so the ends curl deliciously around his ears. So classic and regal and beautiful…

And yours.

For even longer now…if you choose.

And why have I even hesitated about it?

I battle the all-too-clear answer to that…blaring straight up from my heart.

Because the time limit meant boundaries on other things too. Like hope and possibility—but also pain and disappointment.

Creator’s mercy.

The man cannot stop turning my life into a jumble of utter confusion.

“Holy fuck.” His mutter is aggravated but adorable, yanking me away from the brood. Gratefully, I indulge a giggle behind my hand. He captures my fingers as I lower them, using them to pull me a little closer. “If she asked one more time if I was comfortable…”

“Because you were making her anything but?”

“I was
nice
.”

“Yes, you were.”

“So…that was a problem?”

Hiding my laugh is not even a choice now. I shake my head, careful not to smudge him with the goop they have piled on my own face. “Is the ‘prince of passion’ really asking me that?”

He grunts. “Well, the ‘prince’ is done with cruising the kingdom.”

“For now.”

I lob it softly, threading in some humor just in case he has only ditched the Neanderthal bear on the outside. Sure enough, a low snarl prowls from his throat before he grits a reply.

“No, Ella. He’s done for
good.
”

My chest immediately flips—only to fumble when my heart refuses to join the celebration. Because it is
not
one. His answer is as hazy as his proposition was—and is followed by no more explanation than what he gave then.

Well…
didn’t
give.

“You—you want me to stay? Here in New York? Longer?”

“Yeah.”

“How—how much longer?”

“I don’t know, Ella.”

“And do what here?
Be
what to you here?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, either. I only know I fucking hate the idea of you leaving in October. I—I hate the idea of you leaving at
all.”

“But you cannot define what it would be like if I stayed.”

“I can’t define what it’s like right
now,
let alone what it will be then. But I want us to find out…together.”

“And that is what you want me to keep putting my life on hold for?”

“It’s what I want you to believe in…possibly as a new life. To take a risk for. Just like I’m doing.”

“By staying in
your
city—with
your
home,
your
business, and
your
family near?”

“That’s unfair.”

“More unfair than asking me to jump into a bottomless ocean?”

“Isn’t that what love is? Dammit, I love you.”

“And I love you. So much.”

“So what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Oh, Cassian. Do you not see?”

“See what?”

“I do not want the whole ocean. I want the rock in the middle of it.”

His eyes, now as tumultuous as a storm on that sea, betray how he replays the memory too. He drags in a heavy breath. Parts his lips as if to say something. With teeth locking visibly, forces it back.

My throat tightens. Clamps even tighter, gripped by defeat.
You cannot heft the world on your shoulders, Cassian.

But am I not committing the exact same crime? Tamping down my burden, and hiding it from him?

Time for the buttercup to truly suck it up.

“Cassian.”

“Yeah?”

“You…are already my rock.”

His hand twists tighter around mine. He lifts my knuckles to his lips—as the storm rages on in his eyes.

“I know.”

He does not lower his gaze from mine, even when I know he must see what I need to say next—and do.

“Do you think—” Why is this so frightening, when bare honesty has always been our ultimate strength? “Well…could I ever be…yours too?”

He inhales hard once more. And just as he saw the words of my heart, I see the confession—and the confusion—of his.

“Climbing on rocks has always gotten me drowned, Ella.”

Well.

Okay.

I think I get that whispered, despite the emotion closing like a noose in my throat. I can repay him with no less, after what he has clearly peeled back inside to surrender it to me.

Cassian.

You beautiful, stubborn, amazing, prideful, complex, creature.

My rock? The description is laughable now—considering that the man sees himself as a whole bloody cliff. No. He does not “see” it. He demands it of himself. He is the shelter for his mother, the foundation for his empire, the crypt for his ghosts, and now even the strength for me—but never,
ever
will he see the chipped monolith needing extra support—sometimes even sanity—from leaning on another.

Will the mountain ever change?

Let himself be moved by the sea?

I do not hide those questions from him, either. Bare them to him, along with the corners of my soul that ask them, as our stares continue to mesh. Watch him absorb my honesty, wrestling with it in the darkness of his own psyche, before dropping his head to smash desperate lips to my skin again—this time, opening my palm for his kiss. My truth is not so rough to hide now. I let him see it all: the stars in my blood, the lightning in my skin, the quivers in my muscles…yes, even down there.

Especially
there…

“Fuck.” It is the barest grate from Cassian’s lips.

“No shit.” My slang makes us both chuckle, relieving our tension a little. Though Cassian sits up again, he remains all relaxed sexiness while looping an arm around my shoulders to keep me close.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, drawing my arm across his lap, flowing his fingertips between my wrist and elbow.

I tilt my head up, full scowl in place. “Whatever for?” Replaying the morning so far only brings up my frantic indecision about the perfect shoes to match my Victoria Beckham sheath, our crawl to the studio in rush hour traffic, then forcing him to revisit the ocean of our emotional issues…

“For being brave enough to propose we do this. For finding the guts not to back down, no matter how many times you thought about it between yesterday and today. For making me so goddamn proud to walk in here with you on my arm.” He dips his head, lining up his gaze directly with mine. His gaze, alive as spring yet sexy as summer, sweeps over my face as if fearing I shall disappear any moment. “For having a heart, a soul, and a spirit as wondrous as the beauty that first took my breath away.”

Breath turned to nothing.

Awareness expanded to everything.

Heartbeats given wings, soaring and dizzy as a gull on the wind, as I return the unblinking intensity of his stare, and wonder how in the world fate picked me to be blessed by this perfection of a man. I have wracked my mind but cannot recall any deed from my childhood so miraculous to have earned the miracle of him. Perhaps I saved a hundred souls in my previous life. And the one before that. And the one before that. Cassian Court is the grand reward on my karma punch card.