Naughty Little Gift -- A Temptation Court Novella (Temptation Court, Book 1) (12 page)

Only to wish I had not.

“What the
hell
were you thinking, Cassian?”

“Prim—”

“Wait. Wrong question. You’re always thinking. Just which head was it with this time?”

“Goddammit. This is about more than that.”

“And you don’t think I’m afraid of that too?”

“
Now
what are
you
about?”

“Oh God, Cas. Have you thrown up the blinders that high—or do you see it and just choose to ignore it?”

“I’m not ‘ignoring’ a fucking thing!”

“Of course not. Which is why you flew that girl home from the middle of the Mediterranean, then moved her right into the master with you. Let me guess. She was wasting away in the cinders somewhere, and Prince Charming had to ride in with the magic slipper. Wait; no. Perhaps she was a wilting flower, ready to bloom. Eliza Doolittle, filthy island style. Enter Professor fucking Higgins, ready to make that rain in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Yeah. Right.
That’s
it exactly.”

“Are…are you
laughing
about this? Why the hell are you laughing?”

“Because you’re not making any sense.”

“I’m making perfect sense. Dear God, more sense than I want to make. She doesn’t just punch one button for you, does she? She punches
both.
That’s why you didn’t come home with just the T-shirt.”

“The…what?”

“You went to the island. Banged the local
wahine
. You should’ve come home with the damn T-shirt. Instead, you came home with the girl.
God.
You are such a moron.”

“Dammit, Prim. Keep it down. And for the record, I didn’t bang her.”

“You mean you haven’t yet. I’ll take that lovely silence as a
yes.
And after you do, what do you think will happen? That she’ll happily hop on a plane back home, without asking for a
cent
in ‘compensation for services rendered?’”

“It’s not like that, either.”

“So you
are
compensating her?”

“All right. This conversation is over.”

I did not linger to confirm if it really was or not. Had the damage not already been done? That answer vibrates throughout the clamp remaining on my chest—that has been there ever since making my excuses from staying for Prim’s “famous tiramisu” to retire early, feigning exhaustion from our traveling.

At least it bought me time to prepare for bed—in all the awkward senses of the word—for my first night in a man’s bed. It did
not
halt my mind from racing with every possible, horrible, incredible scenario that might come. Would he seduce me gently? Taunt me with another version of what he did to me on the plane? Or simply launch into bed and fuck me wildly?

Oh.
Yes
. Option number three…please
?

A brutal breath sucks through my lips. A flush invades my neck and breasts. Heat surges between my thighs. Even my mouth aches, craving the dominance of his once more…as it has since the moment that he finally did come to bed…

Then, after but a few minutes, fell into a drained slumber.

After that, as Brooke would say, my choice of action was a no-brainer. The second his breaths evened into deep sleep, I was out of bed, into my slippers, and headed for this exact spot. The turret is my favorite part of his tour from earlier, perhaps because he’s restored it to its art deco grandeur rather than installing the high-gloss look prevailing over the rest of the building’s interior. Granted, the first three floors of the place are satellite offices for Court Corporation, modern by necessity—but the other areas feel “off” to me, as if the design is a deliberate attempt to shut out the past.

More disturbingly, especially after my accidental eavesdrop on Cassian and Prim’s argument, I sense there is actually a past to shut out.

The recognition brings a heavy sigh.

“I’d offer a penny for those thoughts, but it sounds like they’re worth a dollar.”

The commentary from a few feet back, roughened by recent sleep, is a surprise because it is
not
a surprise. The air I breathe in for the sigh is the same air that shifts, making room for his presence. Just like it did in the palais back on Arcadia…and has ever since.

Only all those times, I was not trying to inhale around a vice in my chest.

I do not turn, not wanting Cassian to see my grimace.
Idiot.
Why should he
not
see it…and know the conflict weighing on me? Prim made no secret of hers.

“I…could not sleep. Time difference, I suppose.”
Or the hundred ways I keep wondering why Prim’s input is such a priority to you
.

“Is that all? Just the jet lag?” He stretches on the floor next to me, leaning on an elbow as opposed to my stomach-down recline. The reading chaise behind us is comfortable enough, but being closer to the city’s energy is a better fit for my spirit tonight. He sees that too. I discern it in the forests of his eyes.

Does he see the rest of my thoughts
?

His query has not made that clear. I worry that he does…and that he does not.

“You must be just as thrown out of your kilt as me,” I finally offer—to be met by a chuckle that should not be as sexy as it is.

“Off kilter?” he offers. “Though I’m not opposed to kilts
or
taking them off, if that’s the request.” He sobers a little while tugging at his hair, which tumbles lushly into his eyes. “Scottish is somewhere in my mutt mix, which is why my hair turns a little red in the sun…or so Mom tells me.”

“Your
Maimanne
?” This new revelation tempers my jealousy about Prim—for the moment. “Are you two close?”

A smile remains on his face but changes. Softens. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“Why?” I return. “Why…could I say that?”

His smile evaporates. “We’ve been through a lot together.
A lot.
” His shoulders stiffen. “Perhaps it’s best we leave it there.”

“Of course.” I swivel my head, resting it atop my hands, again attempting to put aside the petty hurt in my heart. “You have others to confide in, after all.”

So much for attempting—or even kidding myself that I did. But the dig is vague. He has as much right to toss it aside as I did to make it. If he does, then at least I know exactly where I stand. If he does not—

He definitely does not.

Bracing a hand around the back of my neck, he jerks my stare back up to him. The gesture is an unsettling mix of command and calm—reminding me all too clearly of how he took over things in my bedroom, back on Arcadia. Was that just two nights ago? Only a heartbeat has passed since then, right?

No.

A forever has passed.

“You heard,” he grates. “Didn’t you? Prim and me. In the pantry.” He shakes his head. Gets down a leaden swallow. “Never mind. I know you did. I felt you there. Standing at the sink.”

Forget about unsettled. I am suddenly frightened—gripped by spectral shivers, such as the ones I have known while working late in the palais and glimpsing the building’s famous ghosts in my periphery. Only now, the otherworld does not hide in the shadows. It is here, in the air between us…in the dazzle of emeralds in Cassian’s eyes, in the promise of fire in his touch…in the confirmation that he knows me, senses me, feels me just as I do him.

In the magic of us.

“Prim is a good friend, Ella. Nothing more.”

But you have history with her. A lot of it.

I cannot bring myself to utter it. “She has the right to feel…what she feels.”

He grunts. Retorts through his teeth, “The fuck she does.”

“She cares about you. It is a glaring truth, Cassian, from the first second she gazes upon you.” I curl a hand against his cheek, as if I can actually soothe his ire. “I do not blame her.”

He presses his hand over mine. Runs it down to my elbow with nearly punishing pressure. “I don’t want to talk about her right now.”

“But…”

“But what?”

I push to a sitting position. Pull my arm down—as far as he will let me. His hold on my elbow remains firm and determined. “
Am
I just a ‘rescue project’ to you, Cassian? The Eliza Doolittle you yanked from the slums, and—”

He shoves to his feet. I almost expect him to punch one of the walls or windows but he becomes scarier, not moving, his posture impossibly erect. “Is that what you believe?” Every word is so low, they are almost drowned by a pair of emergency sirens down on the street, their wails growing.

“I…I do not want to.”

I let my head fall, but that brings even more bizarre sensations. Sitting here, my gaze filled with his bare feet, I feel…intimate with him. Stripped for him.

Connecting…

I lean forward. Just enough to touch his knee with my forehead. He’s only wearing white cotton pants, and I realize he must have yanked them out of his luggage. They smell the way he did on Arcadia: his cedar and soap blended with ocean wind and oranges…

And there’s something else now. A smell unique to New York. Musky. Masculine.
Really
erotic.

Before I can breathe it in again, he is next to me.
Next
to me, plummeted back to the floor. Both his hands dig into my hair, forcing my gaze up into his.

Connecting…

“Don’t you see?” he rasps into the inches between our lips. “
Can’t
you see?” And then his mouth is on me, molding me…needing me. Then rasping, “Mishella. My
favori.
My perfect
armeau.
I brought you here because I’m a selfish bastard who hasn’t had anyone like you in my world in…” He stops, shaking his head, gaze glittering once more, a thousand shades of confusion. “In a very long time.

“Mishella Santelle…it is
you
who have rescued
me
.”

*

Cassian

What the fuck
have you done
?

My head machetes me with the words. My gut gladly joins in.

But my heart and my soul have never felt more perfect. Yeah…for the first time in my life, perfect and petrified are happy pals, powering their way into the arms that crush around her, the body that fits against hers…

The cock that swells between us.

“
Cassian
.” Her whisper is high and ragged, verbally interpreting the tears that hovers so beautifully in her eyes. I gaze hard into their glimmer, willing the wetness to break free. To cleanse me, rescue me all over again. To grant me permission for what I’ve been craving since the moment my skin first touched hers, during that formal reception back on Arcadia. She knows it too. I see it in the quiver of her lips, in the choppy pulse in her neck, in the little trembles of her fingers, all ten raising up, bracing my jaw.

Finally, they thicken, brim…and escape.

My perfect invitation.

I crash my mouth back down.

Invade hers without hesitation. Claim her without compunction. Kiss her like she’s my last fucking breath.

As our mouths continue to chase and tease and caress and conquer, our bodies slide all the way to the floor. When we break apart for air, I drag my gaze open to feast again on the sight of her, now awash in the glow of the streetlights and the moon. She’s wearing a light blue sleep set tonight, coaxing out dazzling sparks of silver in the stare she returns to me.
My beautiful gift
.

I dip in, kissing her once more. With reverence this time.

With thanks.

When her fingers caress down to my chest, I don’t feel so reverent anymore.
Keep it together. Keep. It. Together.

The mantra pounds my blood, even as my dick throbs against her hip. Harder still, as she glides her touch across me, a look of wonder in those blue-silver irises. My nipples stiffen for her. My abs tauten, cinching in my breath.

Go lower. Oh fuck…
don’t
go lower.

I seize my sole moment of self-control, grabbing her wrist, slowly lowering it to the floor on her other side. With our stares still latched, I rasp, “You know what they say about turn-about…” Actually, I’m
not
sure if she knows—but the anticipation of what she’ll transform it into already enchants my mind, and takes my cock along for the ride.

“Mmmm.” She lifts a modestly flirty look—quite possibly the only woman on the planet who
can
. “That
is
one I know.”

Her start-and-stop sigh finishes it—as I yank on the ribbon enclosure of her top, baring her breasts to my view.

And what a fucking view.

She’s more exquisite than I imagined. Round, firm, and full, with flesh a shade paler than the parts of her that get year-round Arcadian sun…a perfect contrast to the sweet strawberries of her nipples, jutting from dusky, tight areolas. They pucker right before I lean in, worshipping her with soft nips and licks, until she’s writhing beneath me—

And then I use my teeth.

“Oh! By the powers!
Cassian
.”

I palm the breast I’m attending. Constrict it a little, forcing more blood into her throbbing tip, before I bite again. As she screams, I suckle away the pain. When I shift to her opposite peak, she mutters something in Arcadian and drives her hand through my hair, forcing my mouth down harder.