Into His Command (5 page)

I scowled. “About what?”

“Frightening you…with the surprise arrival.”

There
it was. The calm, formal tone with which I was comfortable. Only nothing felt comfortable
with him anymore. At least what I’d gotten away with as comfortable when he was near.

“I wasn’t frightened.” Liar. “Just a little stunned.” I shrugged and
psshhh
ed, attempting to lighten—well, whatever was happening here. “And I’m really sorry
about nearly Barbie-snapping your head off.”

He frowned. “‘Barbie-snapping’?”

“Just another childhood tradition from the exotic land of Vermont.”

“Hmm. At yule time, you said?”

“Typically. Though Dillion certainly didn’t let that stop him from tormenting me at
other times of the year, if the chance arose.”

The bold lines of his face quirked, deeply searching mine. He looked truly confused,
as if trying to determine if I were serious or not.

Eventually, the sarcasm in my eyes registered. He exhaled back into a mellower stance.
“Curious.”

That was one way of putting it. Over the years, he’d been fascinated about the life
from which I’d come. At first that had shocked me. He was a prince of Arcadia, raised
in one of the world’s most stunning palaces. While my life as a senator’s daughter
hadn’t been schlubby, it had also contained the same stuff as any normal American
kid’s—like a perturbing brother and broken Barbies.

“What? You never threatened to flush even one of Jayd’s dolls down the toilet?”

One side of his mouth lifted, only for a second, at the mention of his stunning little
sister. “Jayd did not enjoy dolls.”

My turn to frown. “Not one?” I thought of the youngest Cimarron sibling, resembling
a porcelain doll in her own right, and always seeming as serious as one. “Then what
did she play with?”

His turn to shrug. “Us.”

I smiled. The implication of his statement was clear but I voiced it anyway. “You,
Evrest, and Shiraz.”

“Yes.”

“Awwww.” I shoulder-bumped him.

“We bonded.” His features crunched, appearing grumpy. “We had no choice.”

“Choice or not, she was lucky to have you three. She still is.”

“I am fairly certain, that at this moment, Jayd would contradict you to the point
of violence.”

“Oh, dear.”

I studied his profile. He gazed at the waterfall again, his expression tensing—but
not just because of the cryptic remarks about Jayd. Unable to stop myself, I curled
a hand around his huge forearm.

“Syn.”

The new stab of his gaze clutched my breath for a second. His pupils raced over my
face. His thick brows hunched. A hundred thoughts clearly assaulted his brain at once—and
for one crazy moment, he showed it all to me. Compelled me closer because of it. Made
me yearn to keep going, to pull him down around me, to take away even a fraction of
the strange pressure he was under.

“Syn? What is it?” Besides what seemed like the weight of the world. “Come on. It’s
me, big guy. What are friends for?”

He still didn’t say anything. Pivoted more fully toward me, which faced our bodies
fully toward each other. The hand I’d wrapped around his arm slipped against his waist…feeling
so natural. He curved a hand to me, in the same place.

Ohhhh
.

What the hell was happening now?

And did I even want to waste brain cells contemplating the answer?

“Starlight.”

The husk beneath his voice unraveled my senses another fifty feet…making me fall for
him all over again.

As I fell
into
him.

That part was his fault too. If he hadn’t raised his other hand to cup the side of
my neck, then graze his thumb along my jaw in those soft, slow strokes, my senses
would’ve remained balanced.
Maybe
.

God, how good he felt this close. How small he made me feel. How many nerves he shook
to their ends, so aware of him, so alive for him…

“Wh-what?” I had no idea how I managed the rasp.

His gaze grew hooded, descending over my face. “How the hell have you suddenly grown
up?”

I wanted to laugh—but his voice arrested everything in my body. There was a new element
in that masculine husk. An ache. No…a need. Like he was in pain.

Like he was…disappointed?

I blinked hard, managing to keep the teary sting at bay. “I’m…sorry.”

Samsyn’s face changed again. It was yet another new expression to me, formed of tense
lines and rigid concentration, but not the look he used in the sparring or riding
rings. It twisted my stomach…and places lower than that.

His thumb pushed under my chin. His eyes fixated on my lips.

“I am…not.”

‡

O
h, God.

Ohhhh, God
.

He brushed his mouth against mine…for about two seconds. Long enough, I sensed, to
test if I’d finally gotten the message about that nuance in his voice and that concentration
in his gaze.

Message received, Cimarron. Joyously loud and clear
.

I told him so by fisting his shirt in one hand, his hair in the other. By letting
myself drown in his nearness and heat, his hardness and lust.

Oh, God. Yeah…lust.

This was happening. Samsyn Cimarron was lusty. For me.

He lifted away. Only far enough to reconfirm my desire with his eyes too—perhaps to
ensure I saw it in his gaze too.

Check that box, Syn. Then kiss me, dammit
.

He growled.

Hurry.

I sighed.

Please hurry
.

Galloping chest. Careening head. Throbbing pulse. The cool mist. His warm breath.
Perfect. This was so perfect.

“Your Highness!”

Jagger’s shout parted us like a pair of lit firecrackers. Our heads dropped, resulting
in their violent collision. I barely felt the pain. It was easily eclipsed by—

What?

What the
hell
was this?

Embarrassment didn’t feel like an option. Neither did any of the other “shoulds” rightfully
belonging in this situation. Mortification? No way. Regret? Not a drop. I wasn’t going
to repent for taking what I’d always longed for. He wasn’t attached to anyone—the
Arcadian gossip mill wouldn’t be immune to a juicy goody like
that
for long—and I sure as hell wasn’t either. This was what I’d craved from Samsyn since
the moment his hand first tucked into mine, six years ago. Had it been just a teenage
infatuation at first? Of course. But as I’d grown, so had the awareness of how
he
did…the proud, protecting, principled man he’d become. I wasn’t the only woman on
this island who’d noticed—but I’d always hoped, in the outermost reaches of my heart,
that our connection was a little more special than most…

I’d just been on the verge of finding out.

“Dammit, Jag.” I muttered it only for Syn’s ears. How would he react? I certainly
knew what I hoped for. His lips, twitching with reined-in mirth. His eyes, glowing
with barely banked passion. Then his voice, turning low and smoky, murmuring that
we’d continue our conversation later…

“What is it?”

My anticipation sank. His bellow was all business, his face even more so. His jaw
was fixed and tense. And his eyes were stark with…

Remorse. Perhaps even shame. Looked like that was just the beginning of the list.

“Everyone is here,” Jag shouted back. “And waiting in the Center’s conference room.”

“On our way.”

Syn kept his eyes on me while issuing it. Even stalled a moment before turning to
leave. But it sure as hell wasn’t to promise more conversation later. It was a goodbye—at
least to the path we’d only just started exploring. I didn’t hide my feedback about
that, letting him have the full brunt of my glower. And what did I think that’d get
me? A scrap of apology, silent
or
out loud?
Idiot.
Syn offered nothing but a hard nod, driving in his point like a mallet to a stake.
The gate was closed and wouldn’t ever be revisited.

Your damn loss, Your Highness.

I made sure he knew it, too. Stepped around him and led the way back through the woods
to the Center, making sure I turned every stomp into a subtle little sashay. When
he started with his tight grunts halfway through the trip, I smiled to myself. Tried
to enjoy every single second of his misery.

Tried.

Victories were hollow when a celebration had no heart.

*

“
Merderim
to you
all for making the time to be here.”

Samsyn stood at the head of the Center’s huge conference table, huge and imposing—though
he’d have a lock on everyone’s attention even if seated. I deliberately positioned
myself near the opposite end, like the extra distance was going to be any damn help
in eluding the extra pull he had on me.

The extra pull he
always
had on me.

Only now, it was worse. A thousand times more intense. I noticed everything more acutely.
The daybreak brilliance of his eyes. The midnight resonance in his voice. The grace
in each of his steps. The flow in his hands.

Those hands.

Their power, barely banked, curling against my waist. Their passion, urgent to the
point of quivering, as he held back on the kiss. Even the command in his damn thumb,
sizzling heat up my whole face through that pressure point beneath my chin…

I shifted in my seat. Forced my attention back up front. The task wasn’t difficult,
since Jag—the shithead with the worst timing on the planet—had just finished with
his version of a pomp-and-circumstance welcome to his prince. Syn officially had the
floor again.

“There is much to say, so I will get to the point.” He braced his feet and squared
his shoulders. “As many of you know, my brother has set his mind on bringing some
major changes to our kingdom. Whether it likes it or not, Arcadia is slowly making
its way into the twenty-first century.”

Murmurs rippled around the table, agreeing with him.

“Bring it.” Blayze Hardwell, a hulk with a shock of bright red hair, emphasized it
with a fist to his chest. “My shit flushes properly now. I get hot water in the morning.”
He raised the hand to smack his cheek. “See that? Feels like a baby’s ass because
of the water.”

As everyone’s laughter waned, the guy next to him beamed a new smile. “My little sister
is taking biomechanical engineering at the university now.”

Blayze gave that a nod of approval. Just one. “So when do we get a Yogurtland?”

“Never.” Syn’s stare turned the shade of thunder.

I suppressed a groan. A vat of chocolate frozen yogurt topped with gummy bears sounded
so perfect right now.

Grahm Riggs, the only man on the island with hair rivalling Syn’s, was also known
as the most stoic of our bunch. He fought like a demon but said as little as a monk.
Even now, the care behind his words was evident. “Whether everyone ‘likes’ it or not,”
he reiterated. “So are you here because of the ‘likes’ or the ‘or nots’?”

Syn’s posture tightened, confirming a vote for the latter—but he answered wryly, “Both.”

Everyone leaned forward, including me.

He took in a noticeable breath. Steeled his jaw. “As you are all likely aware, not
everyone in the kingdom supports leaving the old ways behind.” He hitched a grin at
Blayze. “Including the plumbing.”

Anger burned in the guy’s gaze. “
Imbezaks
.”

Syn snorted. “Imbeciles may be accurate, my friend, but those voices are also numerous.
And growing.”

Nods all around. Many people of the population, young
and
old, were still violently opposed to the changes Evrest proposed for Arcadia. They
contended the kingdom’s peace and prosperity were because of the island’s minimal
contact with the modern world, not in spite of it. They called themselves the Pura,
and had been cautious about vocalizing their views—until lately. They grew louder
last summer, when Evrest allowed an American film company onto the island; louder
still when their king bucked the law of The Distinct, a pre-selected group of potential
brides, and proposed to Camellia Saxon, a member of that film crew.