Perfect passion. From a magnificent man.
Nobody watching him now would think he had been half-conscious and bullet-ridden less than a week ago. Maybe he really was a magical force of nature. Or maybe he was more of what he looked like right now: a warrior, bold and audacious, staring into the mouth of a feral dragon. Well, sun beams that looked that way.
She had several more metaphors ready too, but Emme appeared from a door near the loading dock. She was carrying an office supplies storage box with a closed laptop resting on the lid. Oz greeted her warmly, though Brickham stared as if she had just shared an ice cream cone with a tuberculosis victim.
To Emme’s credit, she still smiled sweetly up at him. After her unrequited diplomacy was thwarted, she pivoted and approached Jayd. “Insane idiot wanted go out on patrol with Oz, Jag, and the other battalions,” she explained. “I told him it is one thing for a man to put mind over matter when orgasms are promised, but that—”
Jayd choked again. “You said what?”
“Last I checked, Highness, orgasm was not a forbidden word.”
“By the Creator.” Jayd dropped her head into a splayed hand.
“Save the exasperation for when you really need it, hmmm? Because if Trystan Carris and his band of merrymakers decide to pass Go or any of the other logical places and come right here to collect you instead of two hundred dollars, your stubborn Lancelot needs to rest.” The woman’s face took on careful but insightful energy. “And perhaps, if that suggestion came from you as well as me…”
“How about better than a suggestion?” she returned. “He and I can work on setting up the intake table together.”
“Perfect!”
She did not give Emme more than a few seconds for an ovation. “But only on one condition. You get off that, as well.” She gestured toward her maid’s giant cast. “Looks like Ayce is getting some folks together to make up food boxes and fold blankets.”
The woman’s instant blush was not a shock. “Ayce? Oh…ermmm…he is here?”
Jayd giggled. “By the Creator, woman. Your act fools no one, least of all me.”
Emme flapped her hand as if to smack Jayd like a fly. She brought it to rest across her auburn curls, which caught the light gorgeously in their half-up style.
“Saints and stars,” the woman muttered. “I likely look like a pasty marmot. And my hair—”
“Is the cutest,” Jayd interjected. “And the man is going to understand that you have had no chances for blowouts lately. Would you just go and get in some nice bonding time for once?”
“Bonding about what?” Emme attempted a last-minute finger-comb through the ends of her long curls. “What do I say? What do I do?”
“Well, one foot in front of the other is always a great start.”
But saying it and abiding by it were two different things—as Jayd learned once more while pivoting back toward the intake area.
Sure enough, pacing closer to Brickham made her forget she even had lungs anymore. Or decent balance. Or a name.
Pixie.
Now there was a name. A name she already craved to hear on his lips again, with her sizzling senses and giddy psyche working in concert until she likely looked like a simpering imbezak with her head in the clouds. And why not?
In its deeply twisted way, the cosmos had conspired in Brick and hers favor—to the tune of six days and counting. And he was still here, so beyond the realm of fantasy yet so gorgeously grounded.
She saw that he was actually making friends besides Oz and Jagger. Perhaps he and Evrest had forged the start of a friendship too. Perhaps, Creator willing, they had discussed subjects other than what she and Brickham had been doing in her master bathroom…
And here came the waves of delirious hot and cold again. Was this why they compared desire to a fever? If so, she never wanted to leave the sick ward at all. Better yet, she hoped he read every delicious, salacious thought in her head.
“Bon aksam, beautiful Sir.”
“Your Highness.” He glanced up only briefly while scooping up a clipboard with a checklist clipped to it. During those two seconds, he warmly smiled.
At once, she visibly startled.
Your Highness? Even princess was better than that. And now he was into his assignment from Requiemme? And smiling about it?
What was this alternate universe, and what had it done with her growly Sir?
“Requiemme told me you went up to see your folks.”
What. The. Hell? It was worthy of a repeat, at least internally. He made the remark like they had become a pair of cordial coworkers. He was being…conversational. No ornery crust on his vocal pizza. No seductive timbre in any note he spoke.
“I did,” she managed to stammer. “They finally wanted to see me.”
“And? How’d it go?”
She resisted the urge to smack the center of his chest. They were close enough for that now. She could even smell herself on him still, faint but sweet. She stood there, waiting for his nostrils to flare as acknowledgment of the same, but he still smirked as if they discussed naught but the weather.
And maybe the man was just being nice. Could it be he simply wanted that? Could he be truly interested in how things went with Maimanne and Paipanne? Why was it so hard for her to just believe that?
Time for that to change. To trust that the last week had started to change him too.
To think that maybe…he cared about what her parents were thinking.
That he cared about a few more things around here. The things in her world.
That maybe, just maybe…he wanted to stay in Arcadia a little longer.
“Actually, it was amazing.” Just like the whole world felt now. As the elation really set in, her grin cracked wider. “They told me that they support me, no matter what. They also told me about the happiness they had together when I was born, in spite of everything. They had some very rocky times, but they made it through.” She gave in to a frustrated laugh. “I am relaying it abysmally. But I want to tell you everything. More than everything. Oh, Brickham, I want to—”
If so, what did that mean?
He cupped her shoulders hard enough to snag the words in her throat. His touch was far from gruff but also nothing like the way he had held her just an hour ago. “We’ll have to back burner this for now, okay?” He eyed the checklist with a deepening frown. “There’s still a lot to get done here, and if Carris is hitching a fast ride from Paris, there’ll be human fallout from his touchdown point sooner than later.”
“Of…course.”
Jayd twisted her lips. But what to do with them then? An understanding smile felt as far away as their connection in her suite. And in some ways—all right, many ways—her heart shivered worse than the minutes after his rebuff in the infirmary.
Which, right away, she kicked herself for. Down to the last silly, selfish drop of emotion.
Damn it.
Was she truly serious about this? About him? About proving herself a worthy woman for him to take a chance on, not a girl besotted by her rampaging hormones?
“Yes.” She answered it aloud because she could. Because while Brickham knew not the affirmation it truly represented, she needed him to hear it—and to know she meant it. “Of course,” she said again, engraving it more firmly with her nod. “What do you need me to do first?”