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

*

  Mishella

  Scott drops me off at the front door of Kathryn Robbe’s medical office, which is attached to her home somewhere in a neighborhood on the other side of Central Park. It is far from the sterile environment I spent the morning dreading, and I am more relaxed than I ever thought possible—under the circumstances. There is even a little cartoon bubble taped to the ceiling overhead, emblazoned with the words I Hate This. It eases the discomfort, perhaps a little, of having my womb examined from the inside out.

  “Okay, then. All finished.” Her tone is crisp but friendly as she pulls out the speculum, and I release my breath in a relieved whoosh. Does any woman ever “breathe normally” through a pelvic exam? “Why don’t you get dressed then join me in the other room?”

  “Of course.”

  The “other room” is a cozy office reminding me a little of similar spaces in Palais Arcadia at home. The furniture is just as grand, though made of darker woods. A pair of Turkish carpets overlap on the polished wood floor. Bookshelves line an entire wall, and the big desk looks like the workspace of a busy but happy person.

  A few elements not like home: the pair of plush chairs in the center of the room, also formed of dark wood but cushioned in cream velvet. The upholstery matches the colors of an ornate tea table, centered between the chairs.

  “Do you like tea?” Her eyes, the color of sherry, smile as much as her lips. Her hair, pulled into a stylish French twist, is almost the same hue. She would be described as a handsome woman, and looks enough like Cassian that she could pass as his older sister. “If not, I can grab some lemonade from the fridge.” She motions to a kitchenette, off to my left.

  “Tea is fine.” I smile as I sit, folding my hands in my lap and crossing my ankles. “And those cookies look even better.” There have to be at least three dozen of the assorted confections, arranged on a multi-tiered tray.

  “Ohhhh. Someone else with a sweet tooth.” She winks. “Cas told me I’d like you.”

  Cas?

  I hide the jealous spike with an answering smile. “Thank the Creator I ate a filling lunch.” A salmon filet, served by a sedate Prim—who has decided to warm to my presence, inch by agonizing inch. I think she even stopped scowling, for a flash, when I complimented her about the meal.

  “Well, these are light. And calories consumed during business don’t count.” She shrugs and chuckles. “And I kept the lab coat on, so we can consider this business, right?”

  I try not to smile too brightly. If she only knew how close to “business” this really is for me. Or maybe…she does know. By the powers, how much information has “Cas” supplied her with?

  I lick my lips. Decide to borrow a gutsy page from Vy’s book, and “suck it up” with the direct approach. It is not graceful—but sometimes in life, one simply cannot be.

  “So…exactly what is your relationship with…Cas?”

  She concludes a sip of tea. To my pleasant surprise, gives a smiling nod. “Bull by the horns. Now I really like you.”

  That is not my answer but I feel far from pressured to point it out. Sure enough, as soon as the woman finishes nibbling a pink macaron, she replies, “Do you mean am I a lover? Or an ex?”

  I take a fortifying bite of cookie for myself. To quote my best friend again, Gawd…delish. “I suppose that is what I mean.”

  Once more she nods, that atta girl sparkle in her oh-so-American eyes. “The answer is no, and no,” she offers. “I went to university with Cassian. We went on one date, which nearly ended in disaster.”

  I scowl. “How so?”

  “Depends on who you ask: him or me.”

  “Well, you are sitting here.”

  “But he’s at the front of your mind.” She arches knowing brows at my confirmation of a blush. “Long story short: the man is too damn serious.”

  I practically choke on my next bite of cookie. “You are speaking of…Cassian? Cassian Court?” The man with the charm that will not stop captivating me? With the smile that will not let up on assaulting my heart, and the laugh that flips my stomach each time it takes over his lips?

  “Six feet-three? Eyes like the Emerald City skyline? Hair so perfect, it belongs on a kid half his age auditioning for a boy band? That Cassian Court?”

  We laugh together. That is a very good thing, since it disguises my urge to wistfully sigh at her description instead. I finish with a curious cock of my head. “And yet…you fought with him on your first date.”

  “On our only date.” She settles back a little further, crossing her legs at the knee, absently circling her raised ankle. “Half of one, at that—thank God.” An impressive eye roll gets inserted. “All that damn intensity, in one man. He was out to set the world on fire before we were able to legally drink. ‘Relax’ definitely wasn’t a word in his vocabulary, even with dorky bowling shoes on his feet and beer disguised as soda in his hand.”

  “Bowling…shoes.” A frown sets in before I can help it. Racking my brain for the Arcadian translation of the word equates to a blank screen—but this “bowling” must be important. They even have special shoes for it.

  Kathryn breaks into another laugh. “Hard to believe, right? The man of Kiton and Berluti, kickin’ it casual with a girl in a beat-up bowling alley on a Friday night?” She rests her head against a raised hand. “Neither could he.”

  “Ambition is not an awful thing.” I almost cannot believe the words are coming out—even in defense of Cassian. Firsthand, I have seen ambition’s toll on a person—two of them—and on a marriage that was really never a marriage. But thanks to Cassian and the benefits of his drive, I shall never be prisoner to that loveless cage. It is all my choice now—and in a flash, I recognize there is a good chance I will never choose it. Not if I cannot have—

  What?

  What you have with Cassian? What you are only going to have for six months?

  Forever is a long time to be alone, Mishella.

  “Of course it’s not.” The woman’s murmur, lined with sincerity, saves me from the miserable turn of my thoughts. “But in this city, it’s a drug as lethal as crack or meth—in some cases, more addictive.”

  I swallow hard—letting my mind follow her lead. Hating myself for every step into that dark, uncomfortable place. “In Cassian’s case?”

  She barely blinks before answering quietly, “I was starting to fear it…yes.”

  “Why?”

  At that, she does blink. “I think he’s still purging demons.”

  I gulp again. No use. My throat is tight and dry—because I feel the truth of her words. I know it. “Wh-what demons?”

  Kathryn lowers her leg. Scoots forward. Pulls in both elbows to her knees. Murmurs as if apologizing, “They’re not my stories to tell. And I don’t even know all of them. But…they’re there, Mishella. Spurring him. Haunting him.” The faraway lilt in her voice is suddenly counteracted…by the new smile edging her lips. “Well, they were. Until today.”

  I straighten. “Huh?”

  “Until today,” she repeats. “Actually, just an hour ago—when he called, right before you got here, and all but ordered me to take great care of you.”

  Tiny zings of pride and warmth chase each other through my chest. “Oh,” I blurt.

  “Yeah,” she returns, adding a new chuckle, “oh. The man who never attempted his bossy-boss act with me since the bowling alley catastrophe…” The chuckle mellows. “But now, because of you, he’s pulled out his full Smokey the Bear again. It gives me hope.”

  I don’t even hear her last words. “He has a bear?” I recall the moment, in Paipanne’s study, back on the island. He had offered to buy me a dog but said nothing about—

  “Why don’t we make sure he doesn’t have a cow, much less a bear.” She returns to her soft laughter, clearly proud of herself for the “humor,” but sobers when I cannot even feign understanding of the line. Not for the first time in my life, I yearn for a transplant into Vylet’s body. The woman is able to laugh even at watching gra
ss grow—and actually has.

  “Most excellent of plans.”

  It is cheerful enough to earn my “game face” as punctuation, seeming to center Kathryn too. Back into doctor mode she rises—literally—standing with brisk efficiency. “Well, I think you’re an excellent plan, at least where it concerns my friend Cassian.” The strange shadows flit across her gaze again. “He’s been by himself for far too long.”

  I return to my feet as well. “But…surely I am not the first ‘friend’ he has sent to see you.”

  She does not placate me with a denial, which would also be a lie. But what she does say is just as huge a seed for disconcerting thoughts—and even deeper emotions.

  “Giving a man ‘friends’ for his body doesn’t do a damn thing for his soul.” She pulls in a prolonged breath. “And fighting off the alone doesn’t mean you’re taking care of the lonely.”

  The words dig into the sides of my mind, refusing to leave even after Kathryn handles the “business” of why I have come, then wraps our visit with a heartfelt hug. It clings as she taps her “digits” into the new cell phone Cassian has purchased for me—and even during her invitation for a “girls’ lunch” soon. Though her kindness imparts me with needed confidence, the dark disquiet about Cassian continues to creep in.

  Intensity. Ghosts. Lonely.

  Beneath the man’s rapier swagger and ruthless business cunning, is he truly a haunted beast in a solitary tower? And what—or who—put him there?

  The queries overshadow even my awe about New York’s nonstop pageantry as Scott drives me back to Temptation—only the trip seems exceedingly short. As we roll to a stop, I peer through the tinted windows in wonder. We are not back at the house. Instead, I look out at wide cement sidewalks, buildings blocking the very sun, and edges of chrome and glass everywhere.

  “Errrmm…Scott?”

  But Scott is no longer in the driver’s seat. He suddenly appears, having opened the limo’s back door, extending a hand to help me out—

  Onto the sidewalk before a set of massive glass doors—

  gliding open like the gates of a modern palace…

  Court Towers

  Court Enterprises Incorporated

  …with its very own, breath-stealing, king.

  My lungs cease working at the mere sight of him. That transforms the journey toward him into an interesting experience—knees liquid, heart thudding, palms gummy—while my gaze works to connect a single thought within my brain.

  I was naked with that king. Four hours ago. In his bed. In his shower. On his window seat…

  The memories lend me fortitude. I need it. I must attempt a feat so outside my comfort zone, only borrowed words from Vy explain it.

  Sizing up my competition.

  I have always hated the vulgar words, but right now, there is no better phrase for the dozen women and three men who are just as fixated on Cassian as I am—who, I am certain, lust after the same experience I do. To explore the proud body beneath that luxurious suit. To dive fingers into that thick honey hair. To learn if the glints in those emerald eyes are really hints of deeper, hotter desires…

  Perfect timing for that thought. Cassian surely reads it in my eyes as we approach each other—then again while taking my hands and yanking me close. Now our bodies are nearly flush…and I almost think he will follow through with a crushing kiss.

  For a moment, even here, I wish he would.

  Instead, with a tight grunt, he behaves. Lowers his face until only I am privy to his quiet murmur, delivered from barely moving lips. “Dear fuck, armeau. Does that light in your eyes mean what I hope it does?”

  I giggle. Just for a moment. “You mean the desire I share with nearly every other woman in this lobby?” Stolen glance one way, then the next. “And a few of the men too.”

  “Sucks to be them.” His fingers twist tighter around mine. His stare dips to my lips. “Because the only thing I can think about is where to get you private and alone.”

  “I am certain Flynn Whelan might find that an interesting show.”

  He growls then huffs. “The only ‘show’ Flynn Whelan cares about is the Canine Classic.”

  “The…what?”

  “Dogs,” he explains. “Greyhounds, to be exact. They’re his only passion besides his businesses.” His gaze swoops down again, teasing tingling energy into the bodice of my pink cotton dress. “But if you’re that into putting on a show…we can talk later on tonight.”

  I sigh as his head lifts again. His gaze is a thousand shades of thrilling, so many verdant colors colliding. I am a heated, pulsing mess, craving the audacity to pull him close then plead for one of his thrilling bites on my neck…

  “Behave.” I issue it to myself as much as him. We force ourselves back to the respectable hand hold—though his eyes remain hooded, and I can see his clenched teeth past the slight part in his lips.

  When a long minute passes without him adding anything verbally, I prompt, “So…”

  His dimples make an appearance. Heart. Thud. “So?”

  “Ummm…why am I here, Cassian?” I resist adding a crack about showing me his etchings. The man is likely to take me seriously—and I refuse to be the reason for him missing the key meeting with Flynn Whelan.

  “Does there have to be a reason?”

  Heart. Thunk. And…mortifying blush. “I…I guess not.”

  “Guess I just needed to see that,” he murmurs.

  “See what?”

  “That blush.” His thumbs brush my knuckles. “I’ve missed it.”

  A discreet laugh sneaks past my lips. “As Vylet would say, Mr. Court…you are full of shit.”

  “Good thing my cock isn’t already half-hard for Vy, then.”

  Heart. Melt. Taking the rest of my body with it.

  “How’d everything go with Kathryn?”

  “Good.” I sound breathless and smitten. Who am I fooling? I am breathless and smitten. And now that the subject has shifted to us soon being able to act on our lust anywhere we want…a little sheepish. “Good, good,” I rush out. “Everything is…errrmm…working fine. And safely.” I already know he is. Even the memory of holding his clean lab results rushes more heat to my face. I must be the color of a ripe tomato by now.

  Cassian shifts a little closer. “Did she…give you a prescription?”

  “Better.” I lift a coy smile. “An injection.”

  “Ah. Good…good.” He sounds as flustered as I am but when he lets out a long exhale, the force of his lust possesses every molecule of the air. “Ella.”

  “Y-yes?”

  “How soon can I be bare inside you?”

  My gaze is snatched back up to his. My whole mouth goes dry. Somehow, I manage the response. “T-twenty-four hours.”

  His hands slide to the backs of my elbows. His stare returns to its green fire, razing into me…through me. By the Creator, my thighs clench at its incursion. My sex throbs, feeling weighted but empty. So empty. Especially after he leans in, whispering words so molten, I am grateful he supports my wobbly walk to the car afterward.

  “Twenty-four hours. And starting now, I’m counting every fucking minute.”

  *

  It only takes ten minutes to drive from Court Towers to Temptation—but in that time, I must swing through just as many emotions. Everything from desire, need, and teen girl-style giddiness is mixed with a soul-deep recognition of the ghosts Kathryn so eloquently explained to me earlier. Of course I have observed the darkness in Cassian’s eyes before; I simply have been lacking a way of identifying them…perhaps even seeking an excuse for them, like extended jet lag or simply deep-seated concern about business matters.

  No more pretending now.

  No more simple veils or innocent oversights.

  But Kate has given me no more to go on. They’re not my stories to tell, Mishella.

  And yet, confronting Cassian about them was simply not an option during our ten minutes together—in glaring public. Letting him make goo-goo eyes
at me was one thing; bringing up Kate’s cryptic words another. A huge “another.”

  So now I stand, in the middle of his home, knowing what I know—but unable to do anything about it. Knowing that there are, in Kate’s words, things that have haunted him so wholly, he has been obsessed with nothing but work excellence and professional success…

  For how long?

  For what reasons?

  And to what purpose?

  In the last week, I have locked stares with the man so many times, there is no more counting them. Every time, it is the closest I have felt to twining my soul with another’s…to knowing the heart that is also my own. When I take him inside my body, it is like welcoming myself home…a shore drawing the tide close…

  Has it all been an illusion?

  Do I not know Cassian Court at all?

  And how, in the space of just a week, can I not bear to live with that information as my truth?

  Hodge and Scott are downstairs, detailing the cars—Cassian owns three more besides the Jaguar, all prettier and more demanding of upkeep—and Prim is in the kitchen, baking things that make me want to declare dinner will be nothing but dessert tonight. I use the solitude to wander the rooms of the main living floor…not knowing what I plan to find, but hoping it will be some kind of clue about the secrets Cassian keeps behind such high walls in himself.

  With every step, I battle myself.

  You met him a week ago.

  “A week in which our lives have completely changed,” I defend in a whisper.

  Most couples barely know each other’s middle names after a week.

  “We are not a couple.” I smile from that one. My inner Vylet even high-fives me for it.

  He will not even share every secret with Kathryn.

  “And the silence is shredding him!”

  My whisper has not made it any less a melodrama—making me wonder why I still cannot laugh about it. Perhaps that is because of the twisting, deep in my belly, confirming that even melodrama can carry truth.

  The thought gives me conviction. I walk through each room once again, searching for the tiniest sliver of understanding about who Cassian Court really is. About the secrets that don’t just motivate him…