Authors: Payne,Angel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance
Bold Beautiful Love -- A Temptation Court Contemporary Romance: Temptation Court: Passion in New York (27 page)
After several minutes, I give her fingers a soft pulse of pressure. “Vy?” Murmur it with equal tenderness—though steel the rest of myself from giving in to the sensation.
She’s a woman—a strong, vital one—not a goddamn baby kitten. And you
don’t
do mush.
“Wh-what?”
“Have you talked to or colluded with the Santelles since?”
“No!” It’s a fierce burst, backed by the stab of her glittering gaze. “After we buried Alak and I began to heal, I realized how horribly messed-up my actions had been. My
Maimanne
and
Paipanne
helped get me into an intensive grief recovery program. King Evrest brought in specialists from all over Europe to help those of us directly affected by the bridge disaster. For a while, we met every day. I worked through the stages…slowly, painfully.” She pulls in her upper lip again. Gazes across the water at the moon, now peeking over the tree line like a curved silver hook. “It was…hard. It still is. I miss him…so much.”
“And you always will.” Another statement I can make with too much certainty. “And you always
should
.”
She sweeps her head back down, a little attempt at a nod. “But I also miss my friends. My sis-friend-hood.”
I scowl. “Your
what
?”
She smiles—way too swiftly—before muttering, “Nothing. A girl thing.”
“Errr…yeah.” I quirk a brow. “In that case…never mind.”
No smile. This time, she gives me the gift of a small laugh. And damn, what a gift. How could I have forgotten how the woman
likes
to laugh—with a shit-ton of sizzle and attitude layered on top. She’s the hot pink to Ella’s pastels, the girl one picks up for date night in a limo so she can pop the moon roof and sing to the stars. Fear has always been her challenge not her conqueror, and—until the disaster she baited Mishella into—loyalty was her middle name.
In short…she would’ve been a damn fine soldier’s wife.
All too quickly, her giggle fades too—as she gazes across the water to the reception. “Do you think…” Her fingers coil deeper into mine. “She will consider forgiving me? One day?”
“Of course.” There’s no hesitation in it—because I don’t have any. “One day, certainly.” I hate the necessary addendum to it. “But not today.”
She releases a quivering sigh—along with my hand. “I know. I…I just wanted to be here, though. In some small way.”
I want to say something else. Something better than the truth I’ve had to deliver. Something to bring back her laugh.
Dammit
.
This. Right here. The no-mush rule has never gotten a more brilliant proof of concept.
“You flew all the way to New York just to watch the fun from a corner in a bar. That’s not so ‘small’ in
my
book.”
Doesn’t bring me the laugh. But the new version of her smile, unthinking and uninhibited and beaming with perfect joy, torpedoes the rule
and
my devotion to it in a second.
One perfect, pulverizing, disaster of a second.
Because like a goddamn newb in a nightclub with veins pumped full of meth, I instantly want another hit.
Of her.
The honesty of her tears yet the sass in her laugh.
The sadness I see in her eyes yet the hope blazing in her smile.
The brokenness of her every breath—yet the bravery behind this bold leap of faith.
That’s before I even get started on the skin I crave to touch. The curves I imagine exploring.
And god
damn
, those
lips
.
I’m in trouble.
Deep, fucking, Vylet-labeled, better-than-meth barrels of it.
“Doyle! Where is that bastard?”
Rehab comes in the form of Cassian’s boisterous shout.
Thank fuck for rehab.
“Anyone checked the bar?”
Or…not
.
Before Damon’s comeback is done, Vylet’s back on her feet. Before I can fish a Benjamin from my wallet and throw it on the table, she’s halfway to the back exit.
“Vy!”
By the time I jerk her to a stop—barely—by one elbow, we’re on the path back out in the park, thick trees blocking the moon, leaves sprinkling between us as the night wind kicks up. Her face, drenched in shadows except for the lavender luminosity of her eyes, hauls me closer.
I want my next hit
.
“Doyle.” And she delivers. My name, rasped by her lips, could only sound better under one other set of circumstances—and it sure as hell doesn’t include night wind or falling leaves. “Just go back. They want you—”
“And I want you.”
Fuck.
How’s that foot taste, dude
?
“Wh-what?”
“I’m sorry.” Yeah, it’s really as lame as it sounds. I see that much in her grimace. “It just—slipped out. Dammit, Vylet, I—”
Nothing like a well-delivered slap by an incensed woman to derail a guy’s thoughts. Not that I had too many to start with.
Snapping my head back to center takes care of stripping out the rest.
As I discover no other woman wears
incensed
better than this one.
She’s resplendent. Avenging. Afire. Purple fire in her eyes, wind gusting through her hair, rapid breaths pumping through her whole body.
She’s
alive.
She’s
perfect.
And like a moth to her flame, even knowing it’ll fucking kill me, I move in.
Closer. Closer.
Until my mouth smashes hers. Devours the sweetness and fullness and fire of her. Rejoices in the oh-so-wrong of her.
And everything damn thing that’s right about her.
Including the second stinging blow she drives across my face.
“Do. Not. Even.
Think
. It.” She wields an accusing finger like a dagger, though her glare does the job just as well.
That takes care of the apology angle.
Just as well, since I’m really not sorry.
As a matter of fact, I’d do it again. Without a second fucking thought.
Which means, dammit, the monster still lives on. Somewhere deep, where I’d thought him buried and gone for so long. What else
but
such a freak would jab the wood at a woman with her fiancé just two months in the ground?
“Vy—”
“Stop. Just…Doyle…Stop.”
She moves a step back.
“Fine.” I hold up both hands. “Let me at least get you a car back to your hotel.” Even a monster is capable of that.
“I got myself here from the Mediterranean. I think I can manage a car.”
“Not after dark in the middle of Central Park.”
I take her silence as concession. Allow her to maintain it as I walk toward the parking lot, opening a car service app on my phone. Scott and the Jag are parked no more than twenty feet away, but no way will I tempt fate by asking Cassian’s driver to transport his wife’s estranged bestie.
As soon as the app opens, Vylet snatches the phone from me. Taps in the pertinent information. As she does, I take the chance to lean a little closer. Close my eyes for a second, telling myself to memorize her scent, but even now it’s changed to something else. The vanilla’s still there…and the leather…but the jasmine is replaced by something earthier and the spices are gone, overcome by lingering notes of the red wine she was drinking.
She finishes, pulling in a deep breath.
Making me reopen my eyes—
In time to watch that breath hitch in her throat.
And a rush of color across her whole face.
Surging blood to every square inch between my thighs.
I accept the phone back. Don’t tear my eyes from her while re-pocketing it—fully exploiting the excuse to shift even closer to her.
But to my shock—and clearly hers too—I don’t seize the chance for an inch of anything more.
Her inhalation occurs in stutters. I clench both hands, resisting the burn to do anything about them. To haul her against me and feel her, small and kitten soft, and tell her not to worry, that I’ll make it all okay again…
Fuck.
Are you insane?
Have you forgotten?
Monsters don’t hug kittens, either.
They drown them.
Her car, which must have been holding somewhere in the damn lot, pulls up. She doesn’t make a break for it. Hope flashes through my chest—of what,
for
what, I have no idea. Instincts roar, practically clubbing me with the need to brand her with a searing goodbye, but another force commands with higher purpose—a more selfish need.
This
goodbye is only the beginning.
And dammit, I’m going to get it right.
No thanks to the woman herself—who wets her lips again. Adds to that torment with something new. A little shake-out of her head loosens the dark strands from her face, letting the wind carry them into an ebony banner beneath the city lights.
“Mr. Knight,” she murmurs at last.
“Miss Hester.” Somehow, I keep it professional.
“Thank you for the talk.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And fuck you for the kiss.”
I restrain a bark of laughter. Barely. “Duly noted.”
She doesn’t add any more embellishments. Steps back with elegance reminding me, just for a moment, of the ancient royal world from which she’s from, before murmuring, “Goodbye, Mr. Knight.”
“Goodbye, Miss Hester.”
It’s all right.
It has to be. For now.
This goodbye is only the beginning.
Watch for Doyle and Vylet’s trilogy
Shattered Star
Broken Moon
Fallen Sun
In Spring 2017!
Missed the first two parts of Cassian & Ella’s story?
You can buy them here:
BOOK 1: NAUGHTY LITTLE GIFT – A Temptation Court Novella
BOOK 2: PRETTY PERFECT TOY – A Temptation Court Novel
DISCOVER THE WORLD OF MISHELLA’S HOMELAND:
THE ISLE OF ARCADIA
Angel Payne’s
Cimarron Saga
The Cimarrons: They’re the mysterious, magnetic ruling family of the most secretive kingdom on earth: The Island of Arcadia. No westerners have ever been allowed inside Arcadia’s borders…until now.
BOOK 1: INTO HIS DARK (Evrest and Camellia)
BOOK 2: INTO HIS COMMAND (Samsyn and Brooke)
BOOK 3: INTO HER FANTASIES (Shiraz and Lucy)
Coming November 29, 2016
BOOK 4 – INTO HIS KISS (Jagger and Jayd)
Coming Spring 2017
BOOK 5 – INTO THEIR DESTINY: ISLAND WEDDING NIGHT
Coming Summer 2017
WARRIORS WHO FIGHT HARD—
AND LOVE EVEN HARDER
Have you met the WILD BOYS OF SPECIAL FORCES yet?
Book 1: SAVED BY HIS SUBMISSIVE (Garrett and Sage)
