Into His Command (17 page)

“
Brooke
.” He glowered. “I do not dabble in ‘skittish’.”

“Fine.” I sighed again. “Whatever you were, then. Uneasy. Unwilling—”

“Oh, I was willing.”

“Scared of hurting me,” I finally flung. I smirked just a little. He had to let that
one stick. “Your own words, big guy.”

He jerked his head to the side, making his hair as much a statement as his seething
mutter. “Fuck.”

“And
there’s
my point.” When his glare tightened in confusion, I persisted, “You, having to even
say that. Having to even generate the thought behind it.”

“The…thought…?”

“The worry. The stress. About me.” I scooped a hand against the side of his face.
Pushed it back over to align his gaze with mine. “Syn, I may have been a virgin before
last week, but I wasn’t an innocent. I’m aware of the pressures you face, and how
you like…things…in your life.” I took in a measured breath before clarifying, “Of
how you like your women.”

I expected that to bring back a little of the dragon. Maybe a lot. Instead, he unveiled
more of his inner knight, rolling to his side next to me as if the picnic table were
a luxurious mattress. With his head propped on a hand, he rejoined, “Is that so?”

I lightly smacked his face. “Don’t be glib.”

He sobered. Too fast. “How
do
I like my women?”

“Plentiful.” It was practically knee-jerk but I stuck by the conviction—noticing he
didn’t flinch, either. “Not all at once, of course—but if that’s how you jam then
I’m not going to judge.”

“One at a time is usually my preference, even if there
are
plentitudes.”

I should’ve jumped his shit for the fall back to the glib, but it’d only be feeding
cream to the ox. Plowing on was the better option. “You also like them curvy. Compliant.
Sweet. Simple. Big eyes and bigger boobs always help.” Though that all shut him way
the hell up, I tacked on the finish for my sake as much as his. “And brunette. Definitely
brunette.”

For a long moment, he remained silent. Finally, his taut lips released a harsh bite.
“Fuck.”

It weighted the air between us—but maybe right now, we needed to anchor the balloon
back to Earth. I’d spoken the truth and we both knew it.

I lowered my hand. Dipped it beneath his doublet again, to the warm groove in the
center of his chest. “My eyes are wide open, Syn. But so is my heart. Closing one
would mean disaster for the other. I’m aware of your…experience.” I kicked up one
side of my mouth. “Hell, I even appreciate it. But discussing it isn’t necess—”

He ripped the rest of it from my lips by smashing his over them. Took my breath next,
as he deepened his claim. I moaned as he rolled me to fully face him. As he tangled
our tongues, he twined our legs. The sound of tearing tulle was barely audible past
the new tumult of my heart. I couldn’t get enough of his taste, his hardness. I didn’t
care if I never breathed again—point proved when he finally released me, and we sucked
air into heaving lungs.

Syn braced my face with his hand. Heat suffused me. And, despite the wildness of my
senses, peace. Completion.

He finally spoke, with lips against mine. “It is necessary…because
you
are necessary.”

His confession moving through me like a rake in gravel. No.
No.
I couldn’t get used to this. Couldn’t want this as badly as I already did. “Syn—”

He kissed me into silence again. “I know it is confusing. But—”

“No.” I pushed back. I had to. Dipped my head then shook it. Nothing was confusing.
I knew exactly what was happening. I was falling deeper in love with him—and if I
let the dive continue, I’d get the damn bends.
Danger zone. Punch the red button. Now
. “Samsyn, this—you—” I pushed out a heavy breath. “Thank you. For all of it. But—”

He growled low. “But what?”

I lifted my gaze again. Curled my fingers in against his chest. “We’re not confused,
big guy. We’re just…conflicting.” I pressed harder, cherishing the steady beat under
my touch. “You know what I want from you. What I’d eventually demand. And what you
cannot give me.”

He dove into his surreal stillness once more. Everything except the brackets of his
eyes and mouth, which visibly tautened. “What I cannot give
anyone
, Brooke.” His fingers clenched against my hairline. “What I do not even
have
to give.”

I raised my other hand, meshing it into his. “I know you think that. Perhaps even
believe it. And I hope that one day, someone will help you learn it’s just not true.”
My whole head suddenly felt heavy. I blinked against the pressure but felt tears spilling
anyway. “I’m just sad it’s not me.”

“Brooke—”

A violent crackle cut him short. The ground glass grate of a comm line hail, at full
volume—

Coming from the wig he’d shoved off my head, now hanging from the side of the table
like a murdered animal.

“Badger!” Jag. Sounding like the pissed-off soul of that animal.

“Shit.” I bolted upright, grabbing for the wig. “My comm must’ve come off with the
hair.”

“Badger! Where the fuck are you? We have a situation. Get your ass to the Tower’s
main entrance, stat!”

‡

I
skidded to
a stop—literally—in front of Jagger. Thank God for slippery flats and polished stone
floors. His thunderous expression barely faltered, changing only when he looked me
over from head to toe—including the wig I’d barely pinned back on straight and the
ripped section of my gown, trailing behind me.

“What the hell have you been—” His voice cut short as Samsyn stepped beside me. His
hair looked worse than my skirts. His doublet was lopsided, missing a hook on the
bottom and an eye on the top. “Shit. You Cimarrons are determined to fucking kill
me tonight.”

Syn glowered. “What in Creator’s name does that…” He trailed off as Jag shoved a smart
pad into his grip. Dominating the screen, in huge red letters:

TRENDING NOW

#SinfulCims

Wasn’t necessary to ask for a definition of the term. “SinfulCims” was given perfect
clarification by the picture underneath, a shot of Evrest and Camellia in what looked
like a storage room, the glittering walls indicating it was likely someplace inside
LeBlanc Tower. But they sure as hell weren’t fetching extra toilet paper or admiring
the unique stones. Cam’s head was tossed back, Evrest’s mouth against her throat.
Her gown was hiked high on her thigh. It was obvious how it’d gotten there. Since
Evrest’s arm was still buried to the elbow beneath the green satin and harsh lust
defined his face, any viewer with a little logic and a dash of imagination could determine
why Lady Camellia was so “taken” with a Tahreuse broom closet.

“Damn.” It conveyed my combination of frustration and admiration. Inside, I issued
two shouts at Camellia.

You go, girl.

Goddammit, Cam.

“Damn.” Syn joined a grimace to his echo, pushing the pad back at Jag. “Not the image
I needed, brother mine.”

“Not what anyone needed,” Jag retorted. “Not to the tune of three million tweets and
twice as many post shares!”

Samsyn lifted a hand. “Calm down, Jagger. In ten minutes, a Kardashian will come along
and make everyone forget this.”

“Of course,” Jag sneered. “Why did
I
not think of that? Why did I think we were working to be the country
not
eclipsed by gossip bunnies and kitten memes? The kingdom known for rich natural resources
besides our king’s practically bare ass?”

He looked ready to launch the smart pad at the wall. How could I blame him? Every
word he’d spoken was true. Tonight was intended to be a major step for Arcadia onto
the world stage, at least in the eyes of the media. This event was going to pave the
way for the release of Harry Dane’s movie, filmed entirely on location here, and slated
for a November release. Everyone would see Arcadia’s stunning, sophisticated side,
not just laugh it away as “the little island that could”.

Now all they saw was the royal couple, bonking in a broom closet.

“You should have been here.” Jagger became a different person as he turned, grinding
the words into me, from the depths of his gut into the aching pit of mine. I didn’t
fight back. How could I? He’d given up so much to see Arcadia rise so far, way more
than just the sleepless hours of this week. And what had I, the outsider entrusted
with the care and safety—and, it appeared, sanity—of the kingdom’s future queen, given
in return? “You should have been here, dammit,
watching her
!”

A sound burst from Samsyn, short but vicious. “Calm down. Camellia is a grown woman,
not a leashed puppy.”

Jag’s eyes bugged. “She was in a storage closet, fucking—”

“Her betrothed. Whom, I shall add, is also a man fully grown—but run so ragged the
last six days, he has fallen into bed every night instead of meeting his woman’s needs.
Congruently, it has turned him into twelve kinds of a nasty
bonsun
to tolerate. Given the opportunity, I might have pushed them into the damn closet
myself.”

Jagger waited for half a beat before openly sneering. “Thank you for the gripping
analysis. It means so much, coming from the other Cimarron who couldn’t keep his dick
in his breeches tonight.”

I didn’t know whether to punch Jag, or be afraid for him. Syn didn’t make the dilemma
easier, looking tempted to indulge the former—intensifying my struggle with the latter—as
he stomped over to bump chests with Jag.

“Tread carefully, Mr. Foxx.”

“Consider the wisdom of your own advice, Prince Samsyn.”

“
Stop
.” I wedged myself between them, pushing with all my might. They budged by one shuffling
step apiece. “Remember the part in all this where you two are friends?” I plunged
on, wheeling on Jag first. “Regardless, he’s your prince. Treat him as such, or I’ll
introduce your sinuses to your throat. And
you
”—I whipped toward Syn—“aren’t off the hook. Neither am I. We fucked up.” I stepped
back, including Jag in on the rest. “I’m sorry, Jagger. I swear to you, my head’s
back in the game. Please give me another chance.”

Jagger’s nostrils tugged in. He eyed me, blatantly conflicted. Syn’s presence didn’t
help.
Was
my head ever fully “in the game” with him around? I was willing to try—but that might
not be enough. I’d followed him down that path like a rat behind the Pied Piper. Okay,
he’d radioed Jagger to send a reinforcement in my absence, and where
that
person had been was a mystery, but it was a thin excuse. Samsyn Cimarron had become
my illicit chocolate. One bite and I’d instantly craved another, no matter how unhealthy
the choice.

I drove my nails into my palms, begging the pain to drive back my shameful tears.
I refused to compound insult with injury by bawling in public.

Jag released a resigned sigh. I tied back the tears, lifting eyes of hope.

“Creator’s balls,” he mumbled. “I am left with few options. We are short-handed here,
especially with half the former Distinct members choosing to add ‘open bar’ with ‘town
car home’ and make it a
very
special night.”

Samsyn rumbled like an ape that had stepped on a tack. “The Distinct were invited?
Who the fuck made that decision?”

“Who the fuck do you think?”

“Evrest?” When Jag confirmed via silence, Syn slammed his head against the wall. “Noble,
numb-headed fool. In love and thinks the whole world should be in love with him—including
the twelve women he rejected.”

“There are only six here tonight,” Jag replied. “Thank the Creator. Currently, they
are all soused and happy—and none of them is Chianna—so we shall bill it as a win.”

I nearly crossed myself in response. Neither of them would’ve blinked. Chianna Smythe,
once the odds-on favorite among The Distinct to win Evrest’s hand, hadn’t taken her
jilted status gracefully. After staging a plot against Camellia that nearly had a
tragic ending, the woman had escaped custody and disappeared into thin air. A popular
island argument pitted those who thought her still on the island, allegedly living
in the rough rainforests in the west, against theories she’d escaped the kingdom completely.
As long as she wasn’t here tonight, Jag was right:
win for all
.

“Grahm and Luca are watching over our drunk disco dollies,” Jag explained. “And I
had to dispatch Blayze early, to accompany the high couple back to the Rigale as soon
as ‘Sinful Cims’ went viral. Queen Xaria did not take it all very well.”

I tensed all over again when he canted a brow in Syn’s direction. I wasn’t sure what
to think about the reaction. Samsyn, still turned toward the wall, barely tossed a
glance over his shoulder. “Mother will be fine, Jag. You know that as well as I. She
will handle it…in her way.”

Jag ducked a tight nod. “Will she need additional security for that, then?”

“Not this time.”