Authors: Angel Payne

Tags: #Romance

Into His Command (40 page)

Or maybe she simply would not. Maybe he would return to the suite at the end of one
day to find her things gone, and a
Dear Samsyn
note on the desk.

He pitched the rest of his coffee into a potted plant. Tore the crescent in half and
hurled it to the gulls.

At least someone around here was pleased about all this.

The slider opened. His gut roiled even more as his wife emerged, stretching her arms…pressing
the perfect globes of her breasts against the satin of her robe. “Mmmm,” she murmured
dreamily. “Good mornin’.”

“It is now.” He snarled it against her lips before she leaned in fully, giving him
a kiss that tasted of toothpaste and sunshine. Before she could straighten, he circled
an arm around her waist, yanking her back down. She squealed—for a second—then simply
relaxed against him, cuddling in with kittenish trust.

“I love it when you do this,” he murmured into her hair.

“Do…what?”

“Let the fighter go. Just rest in me. Trust in me.”

“Well, I do. Fully. I hope you know that, Syn.”

“Enough to do it for a while longer?”

Only then did her body tense. She pushed back enough to meet his gaze straight on.
“What are you talking about? What’s up, big guy?”

He heard her questioning lilt but barely comprehended the words. It was so effortless
to just get lost in her…to see all the facets of this incredible woman, from their
first electric touch on the airport tarmac, to the ball of radiance she was in his
arms now…to the brilliant mystery of what she would become, as a leader, as a lover,
as a warrior, as an Arcadian…

As his.

He turned the thought into resolve. Then into action.

From beneath his chair, he withdrew a wrapped package. The wrapping paper was ornate,
in the Cimarron crimson and gold, with an intricately tied bow on top. Biting his
lip in order to keep his hand still, he slipped it onto her lap.

“Syn? What the hell?”

He shrugged. “Call it a belated wedding gift.”

“Wedding g—” She shot him a teary glare. “But I didn’t get
you
anything…”

“Oh, woman.” He pushed back her robe enough to expose one beautiful thigh—still marked
by the straps of the fucking swing she’d agreed to let him try last night. “The answer
to
that
is very evident.”

She giggled. “Horny dragon.”

“Something like that.” He dutifully righted the satin then nodded at the present.
“Open it.”

She fingered the lavish bow. “I almost don’t want to.” She took a turn at the lip
biting thing, not doing
any
favors for his newly awakened cock. “Did you wrap this?”

“If I say yes, can we play with the swing again today?”

She tossed a mock glower. “If you lie, I’ll know it.”

She was right. Their ability to read each other had sharpened to shocking accuracy
over these weeks—a good thing most times, a bad thing when all he could think of was
getting her back in that swing, naked and spread and wet for him…

“It was Mishella,” he admitted. “She is quite the talented multitasker.”

“She’s been my freaking life saver.” She began to tug at the ribbon, scowling as the
bow turned to limp strands. “I keep wondering if she’d like life in Tahreuse—or what
she’d take as a bribe to like it.
Hey
,”—she palmed the sudden clench of his jaw—“what’s wrong?”

He sharply jerked his head. “Just open the fucking box.”

The minutes went by like slow motion as she took her time peeling back the wrapping,
lifting the tissue inside the box…

To pull out another box.

A music box.

Painted with pink flowers. With a ballerina inside the lid, twirling on a delicate
stand to the tinkling strains of
Für Elise.

“Syn.”

She looked at the little dancer. Back up at him.

Tears erupted from her soft gray eyes. Flowed down her proud cheeks. Pooled against
her silky lips. “I…I had one of these…”

“Back at home,” he whispered. “I know.” He pulled in a shaking breath, nearly in time
with hers. Lifted a hand to her face, and thumbed at the wetness on her cheeks. “I
wanted you to have one like it here…hoping you would call
this
home.”

“This?” Beethoven’s tune continued through her tense pause, taunting him with its
happiness. “You mean…
this
this? As in…here? With you?”

He swallowed hard. Searched for the words he was supposed to know…the proper, princely
ways of telling her what he wanted—no,
needed
—to have with her. But her tears wrecked him. Her beauty destroyed him.

Her love had transformed him.

Fuck it.

He grabbed the back of her head. Pulled her in, kissing her hard and deep and fully,
sucking her tongue in, bruising her lips, giving her his passion…showing her the farthest
reaches of his heart.

“
Astremé.
I cannot call this a home without you anymore. I cannot call this a
life
without you anymore.” He grinded his forehead against hers, breathing her in, taking
up her air in return. “I love you, Brooke. I think I have loved you since the moment
I first touched you. And now, I will not let you go.”

She screwed the propriety too. Honked loudly as sobs shook her little frame. “I love
you too. I always have, Syn. I always will.”

This time,
she
pulled on
him
for a crushing kiss. And he let her.

When they dragged apart, he pushed the hair off her face. Returned her sweet smile
with a determined one of his own. “Marry me, Brooke.”

She gave him a watery giggle. “Excuse me?”

“The real way,” he insisted. “The real way. In the chapel, here at the Palais. With
a
reverante
and a choir, and you wearing a dress like meringue, and me biting my fucking nails,
and—”

“Yes,” she blurted, tossing back her head with it. “Yes, yes, yes!” But then she lowered
her head—with a minx’s gleam in her eyes. “The answer
is
yes—with one condition.”

He moved the music box to the breakfast table in order to clutch her closer. “Anything,
Princess Brooke.”

Her lips lifted, soft and seductive. As the morning sun filtered through the palms,
glistening along the tracks of her happy tears, he was hard-pressed to recall ever
seeing anything more beautiful in his life. Or knowing any joy more complete.

Finally, she murmured, “We get to try the swing again.”

His blood raced. His cock surged. “
That
is the condition?”

“Hmmm, yes. With a…little twist.”

He arched a brow. “How…little?”

She laughed before responding, “I get to be on top. Setting the pace…playing with
you…commanding you.” Her laugh dissipated. Her mouth grew somber. Her eyes did too,
lowering to gaze straight into him. “It means your complete trust, big guy…but it
also means you’ll get taken to heaven.”

As he returned her gaze, he already knew his reply. It was the answer fate demanded
of him six years ago, when this little star had flown out of the sky and into his
life—then ordered from him again when they’d slipped rings onto each other’s fingers.
It was the answer his
astremé
had known even before him, believing in it even when he did not—believing in
them
—then trusting, with all the force of her amazing spirit, his heart would see it someday,
and also know.

And then would open.

And then would answer.

As he did now.

“I am all yours, my princess of starlight. Lead the way.”