Pretty Perfect Toy - Angel Payne Page 0,64
piece all the way out of his jacket pocket. My breath shudders in and out as he pulls my wrist forward then slips it on. It presses against my skin, almost a living thing in its decadent, extravagant knowingness. You have never known anything like me. You are wet just from the feel of me.
“Cassian. By the Creator.”
He lifts my arm. The diamonds catch the light, spraying crystalline specks around the room. “Doesn’t compare to the woman wearing it—but now everyone watching this thing is going to know who she belongs to.”
I refrain from pointing out the obvious—that the adoration in his eyes is enough for me and obvious to everyone else—choosing instead to indulge a moment of silly, girlish glee. “It is…”
“Dazzling,” he murmurs. “Like you.” His hand continues up my arm, trailing over the thin edge of black lace defining the cap sleeve of my dress. “And styled in an infinite circle…like my love.”
Well, that seals it. I have certainly cashed out the karma punch card from the last five lives—as well as the five to follow.
The private sarcasm does nothing to help the emotions welling up around it, then punching through it. My head falls, dragged by the incredible weight of them, and I blink against the mist that turns the edges of my vision soggy. The jewels are dimmed because of it too—but the bracelet, for all its glory, could be a chain of daisies and gum wrappers for all I care.
The real treasure he has given me are his words. His honesty.
His willingness to try.
And if he is willing to try…
maybe I can too.
“Cassian…” It is just a rasp, but in the inches between our bowed heads, it is enough.
He lifts his head a fraction of a second before me. His gaze is bright, expectant. “Yeah?”
I lift a hand. Press it to the side of his face. Curl a watery smile as the light fractures once more off the bracelet, raining prisms over the hills of his lips, the nobility of his nose, the high plane of his forehead.
I am going to try for him.
I am going to stay for him.
And I am going to plunge through the fire of my fear and trepidation now—and tell him exactly that.
“Mr. Court!”
For a moment, I am sure the production assistant has kicked the door down. When the portal still swings on its hinges, switch to wondering where the fire must be—before she beams a grin as perky as her ponytail, and spreads one hand up.
“What?” Cassian stands so swiftly, it is clear he wants to bite off something more than the word.
“Five minutes,” the girl replies, cheerfully oblivious. “Are you ready?”
“Of course.” When the girl continues hovering, he adds a new snarl. “We’ll be right there.”
“Errrmm.” She lowers the hand. Taps it nervously on her radio pack. “I’m supposed to bring you back to set with me…”
“Cassian.” I stand and tug at his elbow. “It can wait.”
“No,”—a snap of movement, pulling me away then blocking out the PA with his back—“it can’t.”
“But Chantal—”
“Can fill if she has to.”
“And that is getting on her good side?”
“I’m already on her good side by agreeing to this in the first place.” He presses closer, looping hands at both my elbows but wrapping my whole body with the force of his urgent attention. “Armeau. Let’s finish this. Please.”
I am helpless in his thrall. While my body responds to his pull from head to toe, my heart is captivated by his dog-with-a-bone need. “Finish it?” I cannot siphon the tease from my lips or my tone. “But we are only getting started.”
The dog regresses into a puppy—bursting its way into his broad grin and his hard, thorough kiss. “Damn right we are.”
As he scoops up my hand and leads the way to the studio, my heart leaps, ebullient and dazzled—and resolved to simply enjoy the moment before picking through the details of the future. For right now, the dangerous lion and the eager puppy are playing nicely—
And for right now, that is enough.
*
Cassian
Okay…I’ve had enough.
The impatience usually itches at me between the five and six-minute mark during on-camera interviews—but today, it’s taken only half that time. Doesn’t come as one speck of a shock, despite the fact that I’m actually enjoying myself.
No. “Enjoyment” isn’t right.
I “enjoy” things like staff meetings, phone calls from Mom, and lurking at classic car shows with Hodge and Scott. Hell; I’ve even “enjoyed” a few interviews in the past—a very few—with those rare reporters who’ve seen me