Naughty Little Gift -- A Temptation Court Novella (Temptation Court, Book 1) (3 page)

“Okay, listen up, missie.” The woman herself sets her drink down so hard, some of the tea sloshes out. “If you don’t loosen that caboose and relax a little, I’ll have to personally hunt up some nectar for
you.
”

And sometimes, she
completely
forgets. Like now.

“Yes! Do it!”

“No.
No
.”

My response overlaps with Vy’s, doubling our volumes into an outburst across the lawn—enough to freeze the men in mid-clash. But only one of them adds a concerned glance, giving his opponent a crucial second of advantage. It is the only second Jagger needs. With a shout, he plunges. With a grunt, Cassian goes down.

With a gasp, I lurch to my feet.

Just as swiftly, I sit back down. Too late. The damage is wrought. My chair has certainly sprung flames, since they waste no time climbing to my face. Vy and Brooke give me no mercy, either. They actually clap as I sit there, drowning in embarrassment, and continue the racket so long, the men obviously assume the praise is for them. Well,
Jagger
does. As soon as he helps Cassian up, turning both their bodies into gleaming masterpieces of sun-drenched muscle, he sweeps a gloating bow.

Brooke and Vy laugh even harder.

Shockingly, my lips twinge. Their joy
might
be a little contagious…and the day
is
perfect, with the breeze carrying salty moisture bites off the ocean, along with jasmine and orange from the trees. A little laughter cannot be such a crime. Perhaps it is…therapeutic. I am not a prude—I grew up in the back halls of the Arcadian Court, after all—but talking about lust and experiencing it firsthand are two separate things.
Entirely
. I have spent the last two days as skittish as a toddler at her first swimming lesson. Everyone has to get in and paddle sometime, though taking oneself too seriously can only be dangerous.

A perfect reassurance—

Until I swing my sights up, to watch Cassian Court approaching across the grass.

Striding like a king.

Rippling like an Olympian.

Staring like a hitman.

At me.

Laughter, meet shredder. Throat, get back to the desert. Composure…

Composure has gone rogue—doing whatever it bloody well wants. My mind is frozen but my sex is incinerated, cranking the intensity with every smooth, sure step with which the man dominates the lawn. By the time he and Jagger stop beneath the table’s wide umbrella, my hands are a rigid ball in my lap, and my breaths are rapid pumps against my flower-print dress—which is suddenly, completely, too tight. Oh sweet Creator, how he makes my breasts throb…and ache.

And
tingle
?

“Oh…
my
.” I keep it to a whisper for my ears alone.
Miracle.
My hand flies up to assuage my racing heartbeat. I easily disguise the action by fiddling with the polished piece of Minos Reef coral suspended around my neck. Usually, the purple trinket lends me focus and strength. Not now. Not even close. Not with Cassian Court continuing with his unflinching stare at me…his unyielding
examination
. I cannot help but note every nuance of his gaze. Even in this blazing heat, it is the color of cool forests. I am drawn to thoughts of waterfalls and lagoons in those glades…and him swimming in them, drenched and naked.

By the powers…

When his features crunch, horror sets in. I’ve blurted it aloud. Can he read the thought that has prompted it too? Does he know the lewd turn of my mind—and his importance in it?

Oh crap oh crap oh crap
…

And now, I am as guilty as Vy of borrowing the vulgar Americanism. But that is where I have descended. Where
he
has made me fall.

“Miss Santelle?”

And just like that, with just two words, has me flying once more. Takes me higher, as I lift my gaze to meet his. Shivering on a breeze of awakening, as I absorb the regal angles of his face, contrasted by the tumble of his dark gold hair and the contemplative indents of his dimples.

“Are you all right?”

I feel my mouth open. Know sound of some sort needs to follow. “I…”

“She is
fine
.” Vylet’s tone is playful but her gaze watchful, installing an invisible tether between Cassian and me with the back-and-forth concentration. As if one is not there already…

“At least she
will
be,” Brooke adds. “Forgive her, Cassian. It’s this thing called sunshine. New concept for my sweet little
secran
.” She tosses a huff at me then twirls a hand at the palais. “She’s always cooped in that place. Day and night, busy as Cinderella in those dark castle halls.”

Jagger snorts while shrugging into a black T-shirt. Tosses one to Cassian. “And what does that make you? The evil stepmother?”

“Dude, I’m a wicked stepsister—in all the best ways.”

Vylet masks a giggle behind a hand. The tiny nick in her front lip, betraying the cleft repaired when she was a babe, still makes her insecure when men are near—yes, even Alak, her completely smitten
betranli.
“Corrupting her prince, one day at a time.”

“Only when it comes to attending his royal balls.”

Jagger and Vy fill the air with their laughs. Yes, I fume again. How can I caution the princess about making comments like that when our friends
reward
her for them? Jagger, now Prince Samsyn’s key aide in running the security forces of the kingdom, cannot be expected to know better—but I need more support from Vy.

And maybe I am simply being a toddler at the pool again.

I drop my head, wrestling with the thought.

Until muscled thighs in white pants kneel in front of me. And a hand, powerful and long-fingered, slips over my knee. And another hand, warm and firm, tilts up my chin.

And that stare, dark and majestic, wraps around me again. Into me.

“Out of the cinders, Ella.” His murmur is formed of the same perfect velvet. “It’s time to live in the light.”

Survival mode. Now.

Lungs, inflate.

Heart, keep going.

Survival may be overrated. Extremely. Dear sweet Creator, all I want is the blissful release of giving in to his sensual hunt…

Ugh
.

Can I get any stupider? Princes like him do
not
chase backward bumpkins like me. They might pretend to…for a little while. Toy with them. Are perhaps amused by them, until the island novelty wears off and they return to the heights of Mount Olympus—also known as New York City—to bed nymphs and marry goddesses.

And despite that entire diatribe, I bear my gaze just as deeply into his—before rasping ridiculous bumpkin words.

“Maybe I like the dark better.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I expect more giggles from the girls—but they are busy bantering with Jagger, leaving room for the bubble around Cassian and me to thicken. For the world around us to fall away…

For his nostrils to flare, as if catching my scent.

For his lips to part, as if anticipating a bite into his prey.

For my whole body to quiver, as if wanting to let him…

Through one exquisite moment.

Another.

Before being ripped from our reverie by a hand at my elbow. Twisting in, issuing a silent command to get on my feet. I obey before looking, for that grip belongs to just one person in my world—the sole person I expect least right now, and dread most.

“
Paipanne
.” My dutiful murmur is a thread of disguise. Surely he can see every illicit thought that has been possessing my mind and body.

“Mishella,” he levels, from between tight teeth.

Once more this afternoon, my throat convulses on a dry gulp.
He has seen
. Creator help me.

“High Councilman Santelle.” Cassian’s tone comes as a surreal interjection. He is not a stupid man. Surely he sees how Father’s quiet fury wrings the joy from the air, though he smiles as if exchanging niceties about the weather. “What a pleasant surprise. Thought I’d have to wait for the pleasure of greetings until this evening.”

My nerves flee. No.
Wrong
. They double. Ice in one’s veins is tricky that way. “Th-this evening?” I dare a glance up at him, forcing my features to neutrality—not an easy task when the wind plays with the edges of his hair, and molds his T-shirt against the steely planes of his pectorals.

“Yes.” Father’s tone modulates to match Cassian’s—on the surface. Likely, nobody but Vy and I detect its lingering tension. “It is Mr. Court’s last evening on the island, and your
maimanne
thought he might be tiring of the rich palais food. He and his retinue shall be dining with us at seven.”

“I—I did not know.”

“Because you were dressed and out the door before we could tell you this morning.”

“And you must be so proud.” Vylet slices out the statement before Father can issue another accusation. If I am not tempted to kiss her feet for that, her finishing look is the decider. Few are experts at sweet-but-deadly like my rule-breaking friend.

“I’ll back that up,” Brooke adjoins. “Your daughter works harder than anyone I know, High Councilman. My life would be a mess without her.”

Paipanne
colors. A little. “You are too kind, Highness.” Dips his head with a thin smile. It assures me little, for his initial agenda, whatever that is, lingers in his steel gray eyes. “Her
maimanne
and I are certainly proud of her. On that note, I must have needs to ‘borrow’ her for a moment. About tonight, you know.”

“Of course.” The distrust in Brooke’s eyes cannot be missed from a hundred feet away, but I sneak a reassuring nod in her direction. Father will not be able to wreak too much damage right here, without all of them watching and noticing. He will restrict the blows to verbal form only; I am sure of it.

And to that, I am well accustomed by now.

*

Cassian

The craving is
as shocking as it is sudden.

But sure enough, I long to smash in every inch of Fortin Santelle’s self-righteous face.

Why not? He’s an ass.

But you’ve known that from the beginning.

Still, he’s the ass willing to vouch for
my
ass with the decision-makers about Arcadia’s new infrastructure needs. So yes, I’m conflicted. But—perhaps this has nothing to do with Mishella. Not really. I’m just trying to reconcile doing business with a rung-grabbing bastard. Replacing my discomfort about a future in professional bed with the man by breaking—translation: snapping in half—one of my own hard-and-fast rules. Pushing my nose into his personal affairs. Actually caring about the fact that he treats his own daughter like a puppy to be disciplined.

Stay out of it. Personal ties become business pigsties. Didn’t you learn that the hard way
?
And you haven’t dealt with thousands like him before? Even the man you once called father-in-law
?

A huff escapes me, thick with relief. At least now I have an explanation.
Displaced emotions, courtesy of the shit storm known as old baggage
. It makes sense—meaning now I can compartmentalize and cope.

Until I look once again at her.

Mishella.

My little Ella
.

The words embed into my psyche like diamonds stirred into concrete. She has changed the structure of my being. But how the
hell
? I’ve seen her exactly six times in the last three days, including what was supposed to be a “casual” welcome reception at the palais but turned into the cataclysm of my first sight of her—and I remember every moment of every encounter since. Even just passing
hellos
with her make it happen all over again—the world fading away, the senses captivated by her—and just like that, my interest is amplified in the island girl with hair like spun gold and eyes like a toy store collector doll.

Interest
?

No. I’m not “interested” in her.

I’m fascinated by her. Entranced. Maybe a little obsessed. Maybe a lot more than that. Worse, I have no idea how to explain it—which should scare the living fuck out of me, but doesn’t.

She feels…right. Secure. Even safe. Yet she’s the most exhilarating adventure of my life, a high-wire walk with a view of the entire world.

Just don’t look down.

“Christ.” I grit it to myself while bending down, retying a perfectly secure shoelace. It’s a quick fix; I can keep eyes locked on Fortin and her, but hide the growing erection she has inspired.

Yeah.
Inspired.

What was the word Samsyn used with me last night after dinner, when describing how he’d felt the moment he met his Brooke? It was an Arcadian phrase, unique in its blend of Turkish and French influences…

Soursedias
.

Yeah. That. It’s goddamn perfect, coming close enough to even the English word for what that woman has done to me.

Sorcery.

Yeah. That has to be it. She’s an island enchantress, empowered by the Arcadian spirits to wrap my mind, soul, and body in a searing, clinging erotic spell. And fuck, is it working. I want to give in to the rest of it, just to know how high and hot she’d take me…

And how far I’d take her. Claim her.