Bold Beautiful Love -- A Temptation Court Contemporary Romance: Temptation Court: Passion in New York (23 page)

As I expect—and hope—he breaks into a grin. “Took you fucking long enough.” He wastes no time in making a break for the elevator, grabbing the lemon bars from Prim as he goes. “We’re taking the Lexus to Teterboro. My driver knows the shortcuts.”

*

Mishella

The world…is a
big cloud.

No. A rainbow.

Perhaps a cloud
and
a rainbow.
Yes.
And they are best friends. Wait. There is a unicorn too. A cloud, a rainbow, and a unicorn. A perfect threesome.

The way Vy, Brooke, and I were.

Were.

Sadness sweeps in. I twist a fist into the white poof of my skirt, fighting it. Losing. “Sis-friend-hood. Where are you now?” I listen to the sigh, spoken by the stranger who is me but really is not, and struggle to keep a tear from spilling.
Oh, dear Creator. Do not cry!
Maimanne
will be furious
!

But I cannot help it.

Grief just feels…

right.

As if I
should
be feeling it.

Fear, as well. And worry. And loss. And stress. And all the other things that should be…
balancing
me…

Why
?

Why does the cloud not have that answer for me?

Why does it feel so important all of a sudden?

“Oh, Mishella.”

Maimanne
.

When did she come back into my bedroom? And why is she clucking at me like that?

Tears. Oh, yes. Those.

Dammit. I have done it now. “Sorry,
Maimanne
. I was thinking of Vy and Brooke…” Suddenly, a thought blares in. It is alarming and—clear.
So clear
. And horrifying. And terrifying. “And Cassian,” I jerk to my feet. “Oh my
Creator.
Cassian—”

“
Left.
” Mother brackets my shoulders, leaning her head forward, boring her gaze into me. “He left Arcadia, remember?” For a moment, a wonderful little moment, her eyes actually soften. “He left
you
, Mishella.”

My chest clutches with pain. Awful, indefinable pain. My knees give out. I drop back to the chair, billowing out my big white dress. “Right. He left. Oh…” The last is just a whisper, as the damn tears threaten again.

“Ssshhh, girl. It will be all right, now.” She kneels next to me, a black box in her hand. The magic box. I lock a longing gaze on it. “Stop all this nonsense. It is your wedding day, and you are beautiful.”

I glare. Bare my teeth in a hiss. “I am a fucking marshmallow.” Somebody—the other me—gasps in horror. Did I just really say that? And get away with it? Now I want to giggle—if only it would not tempt me so strongly to throw up. Why am I sweating so much too? And why do I want to keep thinking of Cassian, because of all the delicious things it does to everything between my thighs?

I hate even considering those things with Zandyr. He looks at me like something to eat. Funny, since he smells like a kitchen. And hair cream.

But he loves me.
Maimanne
and
Paipanne
say so.

But I do not love him.

Why
am I marrying him?

Cassian saved me from this. I went to New York with him, to be saved from this. And then he loved me. And I loved him back…

And then he left. Why?
Why
?

I cannot remember.

I need to remember.

No. You just need the magic black box.

Mother opens it with blessed speed. “You will feel better soon.”

“Yes.” I watch from hooded eyes as she fills one of the pretty vials, then briskly taps it with one finger. “I will feel better.”

Give me the happiness.

Even if it is a lie.

Even if I know I must wake up soon and remember it is a lie. And finally remember why the
hell
Cassian left…

“Give me your hand.”

His face fills my mind as I obey. The shape of it, so chiseled and noble. Tawny brows in his high forehead, sometimes mussed when he wakes from sleep. The dimples, which can be sharp with humor or soft with adoration. His mouth, confident and eloquent, the top like a sensual landscape, the bottom an enticing pillow.

I save his eyes for the last of it. As the needle pricks the skin between my middle fingers, I let them consume me. Fly me away into the vast, verdant wonder of them…the heated, lusting passion of them…all the passion and promise in them…

I let out my breath as the happiness seeps in. Mother rustles to her feet but I do not say goodbye. It is lovely just to be alone with the happiness again…

With him.

“Cassian.” The whisper echoes in the blissful blackness of my mind. I keep my eyes closed just a moment longer, imagining myself back in his arms, awash in his warmth, connected to his soul…lost in his love.

One more moment.

It is all I will allow myself. All I
can
allow.

“Ella.”

And just like that, I break my own rule.
Just one more moment
…

But I can
hear
him now. Dear saints, I had forgotten the beauty of his baritone. I even smell him…not a kitchen at all. Cedar and sandalwood, leather and wind, twining into the threads of my being, fusing with the very center of my existence, making him my soul once more.

And then…

More.

Feeling him too. Quivering the air itself. Pulling on me, like the countering magnet to his.

“Ella!”

I squeeze my eyes harder. Selfishly seize another moment.
One. More. Moment
!

“
Ella
.
Christ
. Fuck! She’s not responding. What the hell is wrong with her?”

I push my eyes open.

And am filled with him again.

Smile up at him, unafraid to let the tears flow now. If Mother wants a perfect marshmallow bride, she can summon the makeup artist again. But maybe she will not have to. Maybe…I am dying. Maybe she gave me too much of the happiness, and this is the juice finishing me.

Hmmm. Dying is not so bad after all.

“You are
not
authorized to say that again, woman.”

His tormented croak brings my fingers to my lips. Did I say that out loud? And if I did,
am
I dying? What is real? What is going on? And why does the world swirl as Cassian hauls me up into his arms?

Oh.

His arms.

This
…feels real.

And sublime. And perfect. So, so perfect…

“
Armeau
.” He heats my neck with its fervent command. My body trembles with his possessive clutch.

I tilt my head up. Well, try to. “Are you…real?”

He grips me tighter. The marshmallow swishes. “Yeah,
ma dinné
. I’m real.”

Blurted sob.
Messy
. I do not care.
This is good. This is right. At last.
“Thank the Creator.”

“Think you can hang onto me tighter?”

I will hang on forever…

I loll my head back. Plunge it forward to kiss the side of his neck. Oh, but—mmmm—he tastes so good.
Looks
so good, in his black Henley and jeans. He is mine.
All mine.

Between my greedy suckles, I husk against his skin, “Do I get a reward if I obey?”

“Damn.” It is barely a breath. In a harsher mutter, over my head, he mutters, “How much of this shit do they have her on?”

“More than what we first saw.” It is growled by another male. Too wry to be Damon; too social to be Doyle. “They probably had to up the dosage just to get her into…that thing.”

I break into a giggle. Knowing exactly what the voice refers to…feels good. Sarcasm. The other part of me liked that. The first part of me, from before. The part that does not need the happiness.

But right now, I cling to the happiness.

Especially in the next moment.

“
Créacu
’s mercy!” No confusion now. It is
Maimanne—
and she is
mad.
“What the bloody
hell
is—”

“No!” The scream is all mine. So is the death grip I curl around Cassian along with it. “No! Do not send me back to her, Cassian!”

“Not a fucking chance.”

Maimannne
sneers. I stare hard at her mouth. How can such pretty teeth be turned into such ugliness? “You have
no
say over this anymore, Court.”

“No? Then throw me in jail, Selyna—and prepare to follow me right in.”

Mother, still her dressing robe for the ceremony, manages to give me a new shiver with her smooth sneer. “
This
should be interesting.”

“That’s just what the CIA said—once I gave them full access to any and all records of my dealings with you and Fortin. It’s been interesting reading for them.
Very
interesting.”

She parts her ruby-red lips. Hisses so hard, I wonder if my own mother is half-vampire. “We have covered every track! You are just as implicated as us!”

“But I’m not the one with ties back to the Pura movement.”

The hiss dies. Her skin slowly approaches the stain on her lips. “You. Have. No.
Proof
.”

“You sure about that?” A man strides across the room, clean-cut and dark-eyed, from the depths of my walk-in closet. “Because the dark web can be a
very
fun candy store of covered tracks.” Instantly, I know this is the source of the not-Doyle-and-not-Damon voice. The man carries himself like a peer to Cassian. A kind one. He carries a small box of things that make my chest ache again. A pearl hairbrush, a cell phone with a pink sparkly cover, a diamond cuff bracelet—

And a necklace with a tiger eye stone.

For reasons I cannot explain, I am unable to look away from that necklace. It feeds me strength. Gives me courage. Yes…even enough to push closer against Cassian and speak clearly enough for
Maimanne
to hear.

“Get me out of here, Cassian. Please.”

The pressure of his lips atop my head is all too brief—but still absolutely perfect. “It’ll be my complete pleasure,
ma dinné
.”

Mother huffs in time to his steady stomps. Past the fog of the happiness, I sense her following us along the hallway and down the main stairs. But only when we are halfway down does she speak again.

“Mishella DaLysse! If you depart this villa now, you little ungrateful slut, you shall be nothing to us!
Nothing
! Do you hear me?”

One we get to the entrance foyer, Cassian pauses. Slowly turns. Lifts a glare up to her that frightens me and takes my breath away, in the same inscrutable moment. “And that’s different than how you’ve looked her
before
now…in
what
way?”

Maimanne
mutters something beneath her breath. I cannot make it now nor care to. As we turn again, she boosts her voice to a scream. “You are a
kimfuk
, Cassian Court!”

“Probably am.” Cassian mutters it as he carries me into the sunshine. “But I’m the fucker who’s never going to let you near this woman again.”

*

Cassian

“L
aith!” I yell
it before I’m done climbing the stairs into the jet. “Fire this fucker up and get us out of Oz!”

With every step, I pray to God this production of a wedding gown doesn’t send me—and by default, Ella—back down to the tarmac, headfirst.
Success
. Followed by Gabriel, I stumble into the main cabin—where a surprise awaits my girl in the form of the one Arcadian friend who
hasn’t
lost her mind.

“Brooke?” Ella gasps it before squirming to her feet. She sways for a second, then falls into a crushing hug with the diminutive blonde princess. “My
bonami
,” she rasps through tears.

“My
Bonami
.” It’s just as much a sob in return. They bend into each other, a perfect embodiment of friendship, gratitude, and girl power. I shoot a look over their heads at Gabriel, Damon, and Doyle—the triumvirate making up my “guy power”. Not that I’d ever say it aloud to the fuckers. Within the next week, they’ll each receive a package conveying my thanks—and love. For Doyle, the high-end headphones he’s been craving. Gabe will get a bottle of Macallan 30-Year. Damon, the only one who’s my brother by blood, is the only stumper—but now I actually hold out hope for the chance to find out. If he’s really done with the CIA, maybe we can be done with the fourteen years I mourned his “death”.