‡‡
“I think…Jagger needs me downstairs.”
Camellia’s claim was as sound as her hurried breath, and we all knew it—until Jag really did shout for her. That fucking man and his timing.
As Cam departed, Syn stepped further in. By equal steps, I scooted back. “Sorry,” I blurted. “Guess I’m just…”
Nervous?
It sounded just as stupid on the inside. I’d never been nervous in front of Samsyn since the night we’d met. Correction. Never about him. He was shelter. Haven. Home.
Not anymore.
Not if I wanted to leave this marriage with my sanity.
His jaw clenched. I could see every formidable inch now, since he’d recently shaved. A hint of his aftershave, spicy and woodsy, tickled my nose. His hair was clean and glossy, meticulously combed and clubbed at his nape with a white satin ribbon. He already looked like the world’s most perfect groom, though he still wore just a tight white T-shirt and nicely fitted blue jeans. I fingered my wet hair, still not even combed, and tucked my injured arm closer to my body.
“I…brought your medication.” He lifted both hands, drawing my attention to the glass of water in one and the pair of pills in another.
“Thanks.”
I downed the medicine in lieu of laughing again. We were like a pair of kids who’d never kissed, let alone—well, every illicit thing we’d already done.
“Well.” He jabbed his hands into his front pockets. “At least one of us can get through this numbed up.”
That took care of the laughing thing. Now I just had to resist throwing the water in his face. “You want to be on pain killers, too? I’d be extremely happy to break something for you.”
His head snapped up. His eyes blazed blue lightning. “Creator’s balls, Brooke. I was only—”
“Trying to be charming about stating just how shit-tastic this all is for you. I get it, Syn. I get it, okay? You’d rather be getting your appendix yanked, without anesthesia, than preparing for your fucking wedding. Wasn’t the way I planned on the day going, either.”
“Brooke—”
“But this is for the country. Our country. And it’s not forever. Get that into your thick skull, okay? Just show up and mumble the words. You don’t have to mean them. Close your eyes, if that’ll be easier. I won’t mind.”
“Brooke—”
“And when we get to Sancti,”—I didn’t dare stop until I was absolutely done, too damn scared of what he’d snarl in return—“we can make logistical arrangements for separate housing. It’s a big palais. I can find someplace decent to crash. Jayd’s level probably has a spare room. She and I can make it a sleepover every night. Fiddle Doodles, sugared soda, makeovers—”
I was on such a roll, there was zilch prep time for his ninja sweep, grabbing me by the waist. Or the possession of his hand at the back of my head. Or the hot sweep of his mouth, consuming as a burst of summer sun, melting me just as fast. My body was a puddle—including my good hand, wrapped around the water glass. It tipped, soaking both our stomachs, before falling to the carpet with a hard pong. Like I noticed. With my tongue twirled with his and my body wrapped in his arms, a tsunami could’ve crashed in and I wouldn’t have cared.
But I needed to care.
Needed to be pushing him away, drawing an invisible don’t cross line between us, and get down to ticking off the guidelines…
The guidelines…
Right. Those.
What were they again?
I’d remember in a second. It wouldn’t hurt to wait that long. It couldn’t. How could it, when it felt so…damn…good? His mouth, so purposeful and passionate. His body, so hard and huge. His groan, so guttural only I could hear it…
and feel it…
and know, all over again, that this man completed me as nobody else did…or ever would.
And that part, I refused to feel stupid for.
Back in the states, would’ve likely been torn apart for.
They’d tell me I had no idea what I was doing. That dedicating my heart to the man who’d also—gasp—taken my virginity was Chick Mistake Numero Uno. That I’d barely “discovered the world” yet. That I hadn’t “shopped around” or even experienced a decent social life.
I didn’t want a damn social life.
Arcadia had already given me a life. A purpose. An identity. A place where I belonged.
And the man I’d always be in love with.
Just one more moment.
I pleaded it to fate, and rejoiced as the bitch listened for once. With his deepest dragon’s growl, Syn pushed his tongue in deeper…molded our mouths yet tighter…and fitted the hardest part of his body to the moist cleft of mine. I held onto him with all my strength, every cell of my body opening to the hot fusion that was completely ours…the magic that was completely him.
Now just one moment more. Please…please…
With a jagged huff, he finally tore away. To my ecstasy, he didn’t go far. But to my fear, still stared as if I were his most dreaded poison…and then its antidote.
What the hell?
And would there ever be a time when he didn’t have me in this whiplash?
And would I ever want there to be?
“Astremé?”
His breath was a rickety tangle with mine. I greedily inhaled, accepting every molecule of life, heat, and desperation I could get. “Yeah?”
He dropped his forehead to mine. Kept me locked there, spreading his fingers against my scalp. “Are you…really sure about this?”
“Are you?”
He drew in a long breath. “You know I am. But you also know…my parameters.”
The corners of his eyes tightened. The heat inside them again battled the frost. The captain of the ship was now helpless in the storm, and had no idea what to do. I held on tight as he struggled to grab the wheel, in any way he possibly could.
“I shall stand with you today. And I will give you a ring. And I will give you my home. And I sure as hell want to give you my body. But…I cannot give you my heart.”
I squeezed my fingertips into his nape. “I know, Syn. And it’s okay.”
His tension didn’t change. “You need to mean that. After what you said this morning—”
“Right after you fried every circuit on my motherboard with that orgasm?” I pushed back by a resolute step. “Like I said this morning, that’s water under the bridge, big guy.” I cocked my head, animated by the fresh rush of pain killers. “I can keep the shit in check if you can.”
To my slight surprise and huge relief, a laugh tumbled off his sexy lips. Dysfunctional? Probably. But laughter made it easier to hide my feelings in plain sight: the ordeal I was about to sign up for, for months on end.
But after we’d dealt with the radicals and all was well in Arcadia once more, I’d be done with the crucible of Samsyn Cimarron at last. I’d say goodbye to Mom, Dad, and Dil, promising to visit them in the states from time to time, and settle in for a long, peaceful life in the Tahreuse Mountains. Maybe I’d help Jagger run the Center, or open up a wing just for training young girls. Hell, maybe I’d run for Mayor of Tahreuse—but only if I could remodel the Residence Rigale. And swear never to look at the rotunda on the ninth level again.
No. I’d have to deal. Be bigger than that. Stronger. Better. Staying in Arcadia meant I’d face reminders of Samsyn every single day. Maybe that was even why I wanted to remain.
Therapy topic for a much different day.
Especially when the man of my dreams still grinned at me like a giant version of Dopey the Dwarf. Then tugged at my good hand, pulling me close to him once again, and dropped an affectionate kiss to the top of my head.
“The shit…is in check.”
His formality atop my slang had never sounded more adorable. I rewarded him with a giggle, tucking my head against his chest. Syn expelled a long breath into my hair, letting it fade into a shared moment of silence. A peace not likely to be ours again for a while.
“Astremé?”
“Hmmm?”
“I am glad Evrest suggested you.”
My heart rushed my ribs. My stomach rocket-jumped, joining the mess. I shooed them all away to embrace the most important thing: the glow of gratitude for this man, about to take one of the scariest jumps of his life—and trusting me to tumble along with him.
As I tightened my body to his, a set of words echoed in my head. Camellia’s, from two nights ago at the Tower party.
Sometimes, you’re already sharing the drop—and you just have to reach out to know it.
Was that the key to all this? Was I too worried about the blood and guts at the end of this plummet, to even see the beauty of the view, feel the thrill of the drop? Maybe I had to accept that the roller coaster was going to derail, and just embrace ride before then.
As the sanity platoon fumed in the back of my brain, I mentally ripped up the guidelines—and let them fly away. If Samsyn could laugh in the face of his terror, so could I.
I thought.
I hoped.
“I’m…glad he did too.” There. Not so hard. He’d reached out. I’d grabbed on. It felt kind of…cool. Mature. Grown-up.
Right up to the moment he dipped his head over, tilted my chin up—then kissed me so gently, he was seriously earning the noble prince chops. He took his time, practically fondling my lips with his, dipping their soft, sweet touch over every contour of mine…until I could bear the teasing no more. With a high-pitched sigh, I opened for him. With a greedy mewl, I reached my tongue out for his. With a slow snarl, he answered.
Time stopped. If any force on Earth could really make it so, I was certain we’d just found it. The air seemed to hold its breath around us. The universe halted, awed by the passion it beheld…by a connection that could only be called magic.
Long after our tongues dragged apart, Syn caressed his cheek against mine. I smiled, letting him infuse me with his scent, his touch, his heat. Our silence wasn’t so complete anymore, though. In the farthest reaches of my logic, there was a tumult. The sanity platoon returned, even more pissed. Are you fucking crazy? You ripped up the guidelines, and now this? Fine. Don’t come crying to have your heart glued back together in six months. We’ll still be chugging the we-told-you-so beers.
As Syn nipped his lips around the bottom of my ear, sending tingling rain through my whole body, I skywrote a message for the whole platoon across the horizon of my mind. F-U-C-K-O-F-F.
Aloud, I whispered, “Holy…shit…Syn…”
Samsyn chuckled, though quickly dipped it to a lusty growl. “I need to go, astremé. We both must get ready. But before I do…”
I wrapped my good arm to his neck, wrapped one leg around his waist, and rasped, “Yes?”
“There is something you need to know.”
“Yes?” I gave it a sleek and seductive hiss this time.
“I believe Jayd is already booked solid for sleep-overs.”
Mock gasp. “For months?”
“Well.” He bit harder into my ear. Soothed the pain with languorous licks. “She is confined to the Palais for the next decade.”
“Damn.” I longed to fist his hair so badly. The heat he’d incited in me, simply with his tongue and teeth…holy, ever-loving fuck… “Whatever shall I do now?”
He settled his mouth against my neck. “I think we can work something out…as long as you still bring the Fiddle Doodles.”
I snickered. “Do you even know what Fiddle Doodles are?”
“Does it involve you dressed in this shirt and nothing else?”
“Not…exactly.”
“Well then…fuck the Fiddle Doodles.”
*
I was damn glad he liked the shirt so much. The village’s general store was fully stockedwith fishing equipment and spring birdwatching books, but only restocked clothing items for, as they’d informed Jagger, “the major seasons”: winter and summer. He’d gotten lucky, they’d also said, finding what he did on the winter clearance shelf. As a result, I showed up to my wedding in a pair of long underwear decorated with pink flowers, some new socks, a pair of white ankle boots trimmed in silver fur, and a new sports bra underneath my groom’s long blue shirt.
Thanks to Camellia, it wasn’t a complete wash of an outfit. The little bouquet of wildflowers in my shaking grip was copied in a wreath atop my head, braided into little pieces of my hair, to which she’d attached a “veil” made out of a cut-up fruit net from the kitchen. Her ingenuity didn’t stop there. By pinning back the shirt, she created a bustle, accented with another flower arrangement at the small of my back. With the outfit itself halfway bridal, she then attacked my asymmetrical hair and sun-starved skin. A can of hairspray from her purse helped with a few cute pin curls. The same magic bag gave up some mascara, blush, and a swipe of lip gloss.
When she was done, she took me in with teary eyes. They persisted even as she walked me to the castle’s back entrance, joining Evrest in hugging me. They couldn’t follow me any further, since they were publically dead as of an hour ago, but they could watch from the castle’s covered turret, four floors up, as I descended a flower-carpeted hill toward a dark wood gazebo beneath the trees. Inside the structure was the village’s spindly vicar, also retrieved during Jag’s shopping spree, waiting with Jagger and Grahm—
Next to the man too damn gorgeous for his own good.
Or mine.
“Shit.” It spilled out as soon as I saw him. For a second, I simply wondered if I was dreaming. Granted, none of my dreams had ever plunked him in a gazebo in the forest, but there had to be a few I didn’t remember. Fantasies too damn good for the light of consciousness—and too damn hot for my upright body to handle.
Unfair, was what it all was.
Unfair that even in ordinary gear of a white button-front shirt and black suit pants, the latter donned out of “mourning” for his brother, he looked everything but ordinary—especially when the wind plastered his shirt against that massive chest.
Unfair that I harbored such wicked thoughts about that chest, only to be thwarted by his dark angel’s face, set in somber lines.
Unfair that he could deepen my confusion by just standing there, so solid and magnificent and demigod-beautiful, making me forget which way was up—let alone something as silly as how to walk.
Somehow, I got it right.
Stepped closer to him.
Closer.
And soon, stood before him. Then let Grahm take my flowers so Syn could tuck his right hand beneath mine. Awkwardly—the sling made nothing easy, but at least the pain was bearable—I shifted my left hand into place, palm up against my right. Syn slid his right hand atop that.
Because of the sling, we stood close. Really close. I squirmed, unnerved. Fought to figure out why. Sheez, the man and I had been much “closer” than this—but suddenly, I felt thirteen again, forced to waltz with tall and perfect Paul Lincoln at the Premiere League cotillion. Only now, there was a hell of a lot more at risk than a punch-stained dress and the possibility of locking orthodontics with Paul later on.
A lot more at risk—as in a whole damn kingdom. And saving it by marrying a prince. Not just any prince. The man who stood so regally next to me. Pressed his hands tighter around mine. Even shifted an inch closer, so there’d be less strain on my arm.
And ignored every syllable of my suggestion to close his eyes for this thing.
His gaze pierced down into me like blue glass, taking on a thousand facets…only miraculously, not one of them was a stand-in for a separate thought. Right now, every inch of him was here, present and focused and…
Overwhelming.
My breath stopped again. I barely blinked. But I couldn’t stop staring as sunlight filtered through the trees, turning his gaze into light as endless as stars, as profound as the constellations. I swayed from its force. Didn’t even try to fight it, knowing Syn wouldn’t let me fall. He balanced me without effort, his lips spreading with the hint of a smile…perhaps even an inward gloat about what he’d just done to me.
Cocky bonsun.
I wound up a retaliating glare. Never got the chance to hurl it. The vicar began speaking. Revision: began trumpeting. The man, the size of a Hobbit, had the voice of the Jolly Green Giant. Though I joined Syn, Jag, and Grahm in repressing gawks, I was happy knowing Evrest and Cam would get to hear everything too. Not that any of it made sense. I knew everyday Arcadian, things like “how much for the tomatoes”, “damn it’s cold today”, and “but my foot looks pretty on your neck, Jag”, but only recognized every third or fourth word of the formal ceremony the little man began. Probably for the best. This was all just for show anyway: a seal and certification we could take back to Sancti, to prove we’d truly done it. Evrest had even insisted on rings. They were simple gold bands, resting on a square of red velvet in the vicar’s palm—apparently, more symbolism there I asked no questions about—that were a convenient part of the guy’s “upgraded” wedding service.
Aside from the Hobbit’s droning, this really wasn’t so bad. It was even a pretty day. In a few minutes, Syn and I could jam the rings on, and everyone could tuck into some lunch before we headed down the mount—
The vicar stopped shouting.
Samsyn slipped his hands free from mine.
Alllll righty, then. Even easier than I’d thought.
I pulled in a satisfied breath. Released it on a contented sigh. Looked back up to Syn, knowing he’d smoothly cue me on what to do next—
He looked anything but smooth. And damn…he’d ditched the gloating thing too. The only thing he appeared was…nervous. Paul Lincoln, about fifty times worse.
Ohhhh, shit.
We weren’t done.
When the vicar started speaking again, this time in a murmur meant just for Syn and me, that truth invaded my nerves too. Made me glad that Syn circled an arm around my waist, scooting me even tighter to him…making my head tilt back as his leaned over. With our faces aligned and our breaths entwined, ancient Arcadian words again flowed around us.
And this time, Samsyn translated.
“As the sea to the moon, the brave to the sun…we enter as two, and leave as one.”
His rough rasp vibrated through us both.
“Wind in sails, shelter in storms, rain in deserts, always a home.”
And for a moment, just one magical instant, I let myself believe he meant it.
“As tides and shore, and mountains of heather…”
All of it.
“Is our bond, the Creator’s gift, now and forever.”
Just before I forced myself not to.
Nick of time. I was on the brink of turning things into a wet, teary mess.
But it still wasn’t over.
Shit, shit, shit.
The vicar began circling us, singing softly. My gaze must have betrayed my curiosity, because Syn bent in a little more to whisper, “Settle in, astremé. He’ll circle five times. Once symbolizing me, then once you…”
I did not want to know why he hesitated to finish. Like a dumb shit, I did the honors instead. “And the others for our kids?” When he smirked, looking cotillion nervous again, I murmured, “Guess we should be glad he’s not a marathoner.”
His left brow arched suggestively. “The trying part would be…fun.”
I moaned. “You are such a guy.”
“And you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
Dammit. That shut me the hell up. Instantly joined forces with the starlight in his eyes, continuing to do so, even as the Hobbit finished the happy-joy-joy perimeter stroll then stopped with his hand held out, beckoning us to take the rings. As I held Samsyn’s and he held mine, the vicar started murmuring again. Hell. I had a feeling, a strong one, that tethering my tears wouldn’t be so easy this time. I already made up some blame-it-on-the pain-killers lines.
Just as softly and somberly as before, Syn spoke.
“Circle without end. Joy without finish. Love without bounds.” Then, as he slipped the gold band onto my left ring finger, “And heart…with its completion.”
I ordered myself to ignore the heat, blooming through my hand. To push aside the electricity, zinging up my arm.
To breathe away the love, bursting in my chest.
Much easier said than done.
Especially because I had to say the exact same words now.
And that’s all they are. Words. Just words. Just syllables you have to say, to advance the ordeal by one more step. To deepen the charade by one more layer.
But I couldn’t force the mask on now. Couldn’t pretend, with Syn’s heart beating so close…with his face filling my vision…with his presence like the magic in every dappled drop of sun that blazed through the gazebo. Every inch of my being stretched to him. Every fear in my soul vowed courage for him.
Every ounce of my heart belonged to him.
He saw it all, imbued in every word I uttered. He stiffened as I sealed them in, putting the ring on his hand. After I slid the band home, he stared like it’d been burned there, a grimace wiggling at his lips. The expression remained as he raised his gaze to mine—and unbelievably, I smiled back. The big ox probably didn’t realize it, but he already honored me as his “beloved” wife. If we were going to survive this adventure, honesty had to be the secret glue. And yeah, that meant all the time.
For now, I concentrated on surviving the rest of the ceremony: the worst part by far. No translation needed now. The vicar’s bittersweet smile—he was mourning his old king and celebrating his new one at once, after all—and animated gestures were enough to go on now.
More than enough.
It was time for Samsyn to kiss me.
The tension in his fingers, raising to lift the netting from my face, conveyed we shared the same mental boat on this one. Since the first time he’d ever kissed me, he’d never been able to just kiss me. The connection of our mouths was never just that. It was the breach into our desires. The plug into our electricity. The fusion of everything we knew about each other…sought in each other…craved in each other.
Fate refused to give us a pass this time.
And dammit, even recruited Mother Nature for the task. As Syn tipped up my chin with a finger, the wind kicked strands of his hair free, brushing both our cheeks. The scent of pine and peonies swirled with his rich masculine spice, wakening the few cells in my system that didn’t already want him. He was my magnet, my vortex, my inescapable addiction…and in the magical moments when our gazes met, just before ours lips did, I saw the same helpless need in his own eyes.
We were in such dangerous waters.
And jumping in deeper every time we touched.
Nothing like a morbid metaphor at just the right moment. Syn literally sucked the air from my mouth as he kissed me. I felt him shake too, battling to hold himself in check. Like my careening hormones would settle for that. The second my moan echoed into his mouth, we were both lost causes. Our tongues met. Our libidos gave in.
Vaguely, I registered the vicar’s delighted gasp. Grahm’s pleasant snicker.
Jag’s impatient growl wasn’t so easy to tune out. “You two want fucking scalpels for those tonsillectomies?”
Reluctantly—and all too quickly—we pushed apart.
Syn led the way back to the castle.
“Oh my God.” Camellia waited for us just inside the door. She embraced me then launched at Samsyn, who grunted like a bear being attacked by a kitten. “It was beautiful, you two. So perfect!”
I couldn’t help smiling—because I couldn’t have agreed more.
Evrest finished descending the stairs from the turret. Jerked his chin toward Grahm. “And look who caught the bridal bouquet.”
Grahm colored as we all laughed. He shoved the spray back at me and muttered, “Should you two not be on your way now?”
“On our way?” I returned. “You mean…back to Sancti? Now?”
Syn nodded, every inch the in-control commander again. Clearly, he’d anticipated my confusion. “If we want to get to the Palais before the nuptial announcement spreads, then yes.”
I followed him across the building’s central vestibule, still wearing a frown. “And how the hell do you propose…”
My demand faded as my surprise jumped several notches.
This time, with damn good reason.
He’d pulled open the massive wooden doors leading to the front entrance—if a place as sprawling as this could really have a “main” entrance. There, on stones likely graced by stallions and carriages at some time, was horsepower of a different kind.
Sleek, shiny, black—
Gasp-worthy.
After I indulged in a couple of those, I finally squeaked, “Whoa.”
“A fascinating first,” Grahm remarked from the step above me, where he stood with Jagger and Evrest. “I think, Your Highness, you have rendered the Badger speechless.”
“He is Your Majesty now, Foxx,” Evrest prompted. “And his predecessor issues an approval of the choice from the grave.”
“Not humorous,” Syn snapped—though the tone didn’t touch the warmth in his gaze, lingering since our kiss. He directed that summer sky intent back toward me. “Are you all right, astremé?”
I let myself sway in his thrall once more. I didn’t know what made my knees mushier: his open concern, or the pumpkin he’d brought to the party—and turned into a Ferrari.
Not just any Ferrari. “This is a five ninety-nine SA Aperta.”
“Hell,” Jag muttered. “I believe I just fell in love with her.”
“That is really not funny.” Syn’s stare iced over. I punched him before he could succumb to any more chest-thumping stupidity.
“They—they made less than a hundred of these,” I stammered.
“So I was told.” No more chest beating—but his posture puffed like Tarzan in a damn tree, and he curled a tiny smirk. I couldn’t sock him for it this time. It felt good know that my pleasure gave him a little, too.
He clicked a fob and the doors swung open. I stepped a little closer, instantly giddy from the smell of the clean leather interior. “Have you ever even driven it?”
“A few times. But when I come up here, it is usually for altitude training or some climbing. Not much time left over for recreational driving.”
I beamed up at him. “Let’s recreate away.” The drive to Sancti usually took about six hours. I’d already bet we’d cut that nearly in half.
The scenery during the drive didn’t suck, either. Watching Samsyn at the wheel was like observing a master equine trainer with his horse, or a maestro with his orchestra. Massive power, turned into pure majesty. Focusing on him helped me forget the aching goodbye to Camellia, who’d become such a fast friend, as well as the longing in my heart as we took the back roads through Tahreuse. Since we couldn’t afford the time—or most importantly, the attention—of stopping at home to tell Mom, Dad, and Dillon the “good news”, we had Grahm’s word that he’d inform them within the hour, and he could bring them to Sancti to “congratulate me” in person.
After we’d gotten there first.
After Syn made it clear, to everyone in the kingdom, that there was a new king to deal with—and to bear the wrath of.
The thought almost made me feel sorry for the two outlaws still on the loose. Almost. They were idiots but they were also zealots, prepared to cut Camellia’s throat while Evrest watched. Quick thinking on Jag and Grahm’s part ensured they hadn’t escaped the island yet. Well, not alive. If Samsyn’s team found them, they’d wish they were dead.
And that was more brain cells than I desired to give the subject. Right now, I refused to think about violent, foreboding Samsyn. Or closed, belligerent Samsyn. Or even reluctant King Samsyn. For the next three hours, I had sexy, behind-the-wheel Samsyn: hair free in the wind, hands sure on the controls, body relaxed and loose…his attention on nothing but the road and me. Okay, so we had to report in every thirty minutes on the comm, too. It was a small price to pay for one last spurt of freedom, before the circus our lives really hit the big time.
No. Not our lives.
Our life.
Semi-hysterical giggle. Like I could help it? Not for every strawberry in the fields whizzing by, as we transitioned from the winding mountain roads into the agricultural valley that would be our scenery into Faisant Township.
“What is that about?” Syn lowered the volume on the music. We’d spent the first hour of the trip simply listening to A-Rock, the island’s version of a rock ‘n’ roll station. The songs were surprisingly current, and it sure as hell beat our only other two choices: A-Jazz and A-Oldies. Admittedly, it was fun watching my burly husband belt out every word of the newest Foo Fighters hit.
My husband.
“We’re…married.”
I laughed again, but didn’t hold back a note of my bewilderment. He had asked.
“Second thoughts already, astremé?” His tone teased but I caught the tension at the corners of his eyes, shaded beneath his aviator glasses. The hard line beneath his jaw didn’t lie either. I swallowed down the thrill they both gave me. I was bound for hell, taking such delight in his discomfort.
In the end, I opted for the humorous route, too. “Not if you let me call you my ol’ ball and chain.” Where would prying at him get me? Parts of his psyche—huge parts—were off-limits. Poking at them would only rouse the bear—and selfishly, I just wanted to enjoy the man a little more. To believe in the fantasy a while longer. Right now, we were just a pair of newlyweds on the open highway, basking in the sun and planning for a future as endless and colorful as the fields of fruit around us.
“Ball and chain.” He picked his way across the words in his kid-with-a-new-food way. His face twisted as if that new dish had been lima beans. “Really? Ball and chain?”
“Another one best left alone,” I quipped.
He tossed a quick glance. “I believe I want to stick with ‘big guy’.”
“Fair enough.” I laughed again. Turned a little to see him better, though tucked my arm in carefully. “All right. Turn-about is fair play. What do you get to call me now?”
“You don’t like ‘astremé’?”
“I love astremé. Ditch it and I’ll have to break something.”
He rumbled out a chuckle. “Ah. There is my girl.”
My girl.
That was it. The man had to be reading my damn mind—and heart and soul—and was doing his best to test them. Challenge accepted. I slammed the taffy pull of my stomach to a halt, and returned, “Let’s just play around. Do a ‘what-if’. So…if astremé wasn’t already around—or some hot young thing showed up one day and claimed she was your ‘little star’ first—”
“Brooke.”
“Fine. Objection sustained. Let’s just say you had to come up with something new for me. Don’t be shy, big guy. What would it be?”
He was silent for at least half a minute. I actually started struggling for something to say, afraid I’d miffed him more than I’d first thought.
But then he reached over. Curled his right hand into my left, which poked out from the sling. And finally said, “I would call you my raismette.”
“Your…what?” I’d heard him just fine. Even thought I understood the word. But ohhhh, I wasn’t passing up the chance to hear him say it like he just had, with that rough rasp in his voice and that slight roll of the r. That single word, with that shaved granite emphasis, clenched deeper places in my body than any wanton thing he’d ever growled to me before.
“Raismette,” he repeated. “It means ‘reason’.”
Trembles. Yes, even down to the fingertips pressed against his. It was just as well that he knew, though my reaction was born of things I still didn’t fully understand. “I know the word,” I finally said. “But…why that?”
He shrugged. “It is my favorite of all the endearments we can choose for ‘wife’.”
“Reason?”
“The reason,” he emphasized.
“The reason for what?”
“For everything.”
A Mack truck of emotion parked itself behind my frontal lobe. I wanted to hurl myself into his lap and out the window at the same time. My logic was stuck in the same disgusting bind, working to reconcile how a man who confessed something like that could still proclaim he had nothing to give a woman. And that wasn’t even the real dysfunction here. The statuette for that honor had my name on it. Ladies and gentlemen of the Academy, thank you so much for this distinction. Yes, I really am more in love with him than ever before. I’ve worked so hard to be this insane, so your recognition truly means the world…
“Brooke?”
I blinked. Tried to stow the ache again. Wasn’t so easy with him still practically purring at me. “Hmm?”
“Your silence is deafening.”
Sorry about that, buddy. Let me get right on turning that down for you. Just don’t expect it to be with the truth.
“You do not like raismette.” A statement, not a question.
“I didn’t say that.”
But I wasn’t going to confess anything else either. The goulash he’d stirred in my stomach and the anvil he’d dropped on my chest were need-to-know only. He did not need to know.
I went for relieving everything with another laugh. Thank God he joined in. “You know,” I finally felt strong enough to remark, “if this whole thing were for real, we’d have some damn good stories to tell our kids.”
Syn snorted. “We had them the night we met, astremé.”
“Right?” This time, the laugh was more genuine. “Shit. It was your birthday. I’ll bet Tryst and Cullen threw you quite a rager.”
“Something like that.” Our fingers had started to loosen. He retightened the clasp. “But you were the best present of the day.”
“So…your friends all brought lumps of coal? I’m serious, dammit,” I girl-snarled in reprisal to his dragon huff. “I was so young and silly and terrified.”
He abruptly swung the car to the shoulder. Cut the engine before shifting to confront me, his hands framing my face. “Do not ever use those words to describe yourself again.”
“Syn,” I chastised. “I really was—”
“Bold and determined and brave.” They weren’t pretty words on his lips. They were complete command, and the firm lines of his face ordered me to obey. “And beautiful.” Still a mandate, despite the ragged breath it came on. “Always…so damn beautiful.”
I gulped hard. Again. Don’t feel it. Don’t give in to it. Don’t let it sweep you away. But the tenderness tore in…threatening to let in the love right after it.
Countermeasures. Now.
“You know, mister,” I drawled, throwing in whatever shred of sassiness I possessed, “Comments like that are liable to land us in deep trouble.”
His eyes flared. He bit his lower lip. “Trouble?”
It was almost a dare. Should I call him on it? It might be my only chance to actually do so. And we were wild and free newlyweds, were we not? What would my husband do if I really jumped into his wicked challenge?
“Mmmm hmmm.” I stalled and taunted with the same naughty syllable. “Deep.”
“But deep…can be good.”
“Certainly can.”
As we magnetized toward each other, I slid one finger down the V of his shirt. He moaned against my mouth as I slipped three buttons free, gliding into the muscled alley of his chest. He made another sound, rough and needy—and in that sweet, perfect surge, he gave me something I’d badly needed since the invasion at the Rigale.
He returned my power.
Controlling this—controlling him—was a mini miracle, a reconnection with so many things that those ninja bastards had taken from me. My strength. My self-belief. Even the feeling that I could do something good.
Something so good…
His erection swelled beneath my fingers the moment I dipped my good hand to the apex of his legs. The flesh grew hotter, warmed even more by the streaming sun through the windows, stretching the black fabric. I sighed. Syn swallowed. We sucked breaths back in together, passions growing, lust taking over.
I cupped him harder. He grunted and bucked his hips. Ohhh, I remembered this. Every incredible inch. I’d wanted it this morning after Syn had made me come, my channel wet and ready, my mind blown and open. But Jagger and his damn timing had taken care of that fantasy becoming reality.
Time to make up for lost time.
Now, in the perfect time. Here, in the perfect place.
I urged him back into his seat. As his head fell against the headrest, he punched a button. With a low whir, the seat slid back. I wasted no time crawling to the new space in front of him, directly between his knees. Before the whirring stopped, my fingers tore at his belt buckle.
I didn’t get very far.
“Shit!” I whined, staring up like a kid denied an ice cream cone. “Help?”
Like the kid tasked with finding the chocolate sauce, his movements were fast and fierce. He barely made a sound until his cock came free, a perfect pillar of burnished beauty. As I watched, evidence of his lust brimmed from his dark red crown, glistening in the sun. I bent my head and sucked in the milky drops, reveling in the tart taste of his desire, loving how his flesh hardened and surged beneath my mouth.
“Astremé,” he grated. “Do not strain yourself…”
I chuckled, following one of his pronounced veins with the tip of my tongue. “I’m definitely not the ‘strained’ one here, husband.”
Despite exactly what was in my mouth, I felt like inserting my shoe instead. Had I just gone and called him that? Nothing like kicking a guy in the figurative balls, when my sole objective was bringing pleasure to the real ones.
And nothing like that same amazing guy to give a beautiful surprise in return.
“Sweet little wife…” He hissed, digging a hand into my hair. “This time, I truly must agree with you.”
Emotion slammed me once more. But this time, it wasn’t a truck. It was a sailboat, racing on the wind, chasing the sun—and finding it, in the gaze and the touch and the passion of the man beneath my lips and fingers. I wanted more. So much more. I showed him so. I licked him, stroked him, and squeezed him. Told him so with my eyes as I moved up…and surrounded him with my mouth. Then loved him, absorbing every thrust of his power and heat and passion…before drinking down his very life, taking him deep inside…
Where he’d be, in so many ways, forever.
Many minutes later, as his eyes returned from the back of his head and his breathing returned to normal, he slid a sultry look down at me. “Whatever am I going to do with you, woman?”
I tossed back an impish grin. “I have a few ideas if you don’t.”
“I have many ideas.” He pulled on my good shoulder. “Come here…”
But as I straddled him, a hail signal blared through the car. The comm line had been programmed into the Ferrari’s phone system. Jagger’s voice boomed around us like Darth Vader on crack.
“Wildcat, please come in.”
Correction. Darth Vader, badly in need of a valium.
“Wildcat!”
Syn stabbed at the button, opening the comm line. “This is Wildcat.” He growled as I sidled off, returning to the passenger seat. “What the fuck is the problem? This is not time for radio check.”
“It is if you stop the damn car.” Jag’s huff turned the line to static. “Are you two all right?”
I stifled a giggle. Samsyn’s mouth squirmed, battling back his own smirk. “We needed to…stretch.”
Well, that did it.
I held back my full laugh only long enough for him to mute the line. Even then, I wasn’t sure about my success. Not that Jagger needed it. His retort resonated with foregone conclusions. “Stretching is not on the schedule. Get your ass back on the road, with its fucking pants on.”
I shrieked with new laughter. Syn wasn’t so jovial. Though his sleek lips still held the hints of a sexy smile, the rest of his face was dismal. “I am sorry about this, astremé. I had hoped to return the…generosity…of your wedding gift.”
I dropped my giggles into a chastising huff. Underlined it by grabbing his face and jerking him to me in a quick, hard kiss. “Haven’t you figured this shit out by now, big guy? You were the best present of the day.”
He snorted while revving the car again. “Only because the rest of it was a giant lump of coal.”
I whacked his shoulder. “Shut up and drive. And sing some more Foo to me, baby.”
He did just that.
Best afternoon of my life.