Pretty Perfect Toy -- A Temptation Court Novel (Temptation Court, Book 2) (6 page)

I originally conceived the move for emotional separation, following the whole Lily bombshell—but three gunshots and a week in New York Presbyterian later, my decision returned in the name of practicality. And desperation. That much was obvious just hours after Cassian’s release. Despite doctor’s orders, healing sutures, and enough pain medication to topple a horse, the man was clear he didn’t believe “bed” and “rest” belonged between the sheets with us. Shamefully, I was beyond tempted to agree. Just days apart from him, and every cell of my skin reignited like dry brush…

Just like now.

Just as it did an hour ago, back at the Cloisters.
By the Creator.
Such soaring, tingling, amazing moments…now, just the memories refilling me with such abject need…

Before the memories become haunted.

Just like our passion was.

An invasion we both allowed—perhaps inevitable now, in light of how we successfully kept Lily beneath the rug for six weeks. Why it comes as a shock that we did not expect her wraith to rear up tonight, when the two of us dropped clothes, defenses, and all self-control, should be a stunner all on its own. But I do not feel that either. I am only mad at her—and madder at myself, for letting her ruin one of the most perfect hours of connection Cassian and I have ever shared…

And wonder when we will be able to recreate again.

I miss him so.

My longing steals over my face before I can help it—or prevent Mallory from seeing it too.

“Uh-oh.” She pushes up. Leaves behind the cat-with-the-canary grin. “So in this case…‘back early’ doesn’t mean ‘early for
other
things’?”

“Errrmm…” I hurl my gaze at a bowl of fresh fruit across the counter, though my cheeks must be the shade of the shiny apples perched on top.

“Oh, goodness. I’ve embarrassed you.”

“Of—of course not!”

“Please, Mishella. Don’t take away my special moment.”

I jerk my head back up. Have forgotten what fruit to compare myself to now, especially as Mallory leans back over, grabbing one of my hands. “Your—”

“Moment.” Her grasp tightens a little. “Yep. Just let me savor it a second longer.”

“Uhhh.” I eek out a smile. “All right. Savor away?”

To my deeper confusion—but infinite relief—a laugh bubbles on her lips. The kind only a
maimanne
can get away with, filled with teasing but loving warmth. The sound is so odd, it takes a moment to recognize it—then understand it.

Then swallow back the heat behind my eyes because of it.

Mallory angles her chin up. Gives me the benefit of an assessing breath. “In case you can’t tell, cutie, I’m not exactly a prude. One can’t be when bringing up a boy who knew all the parts of his jolly roger, by their English
and
Latin names, before he finished third grade.”

A giggle eclipses the tears. “And how long did you get away with calling it his ‘jolly roger’?”

“Longer than I likely should have.” She swipes a cluster of grapes out of the bowl. Pops one in and cants a smirk. “Still doesn’t mean I don’t want to think of him choosing a female of quality to share his world with.”

“Oh.” It is all I can blurt for a moment. “And that was why…”

“The moment?” Another grape goes in. Her grin tilts the opposite direction, deepening the dimples Cassian has inherited. “Yes. That’s why I needed the moment.”

“Well.” I curve a little smile too—a tricky thing, since I must conceal as much as I reveal with it. Mallory is a woman who speaks all her truths, and since she has not talked about how I truly came to be here with Cassian, I am certain he has not told her. I am also certain
I
will not be that messenger either. “I enjoy…sharing his world.”

At least for another four months
…

She reaches over and pats my hand. “Not a subject we have to beat in right now. Besides, I believe we’re due for another Monopoly match soon.”

I laugh fully now. Relief is so much simpler to shield that way. “As long as we try to talk Cassian into joining us this time.”

A beat goes by. Just one.

Before she tosses the remaining grapes on the counter—in favor of rushing around it to crush me into a hug.

“Errr? Mall—”

“Ssshh. I’m having another moment.” She pulls me tighter. “Hang on. Adding a prayer this time.”

“A prayer?” Alarm stabs my chest. “For what?”

“Just thanking the Almighty that Cas took that trip to Arcadia.” She steps back far enough to give me her full smile again. “And came home with such a great treasure.”

I laugh again—and can mean it this time. “It is my pleasure to be so, Mallory.” Hopefully, she does not discern just how
much
pleasure. If she does, then it is her own son’s fault. Between Cassian’s seduction and the romantic spell of the Cloisters, is it any wonder I am a satisfied woman right now?

“Uh-oh.”

As if summoned by the sensual force of my thoughts, the syllables are delivered with a gorgeous growl—replacing the alarm in my chest with butterflies.

Cliché? Yes.

But accurate? Absolutely.

I try breathing away the critters but as I join Mallory in looking to the doorway where Cassian has ascended from the floor below, they refuse to heed me. Why should they? He is worth scrambling in a million directions for—especially now, with the museum slacks and coat off but the form-fitting T-shirt still on, paired with black workout pants accentuating his long legs even more.

Creator’s mercy.
Only fifteen minutes have passed since we arrived home but I feel jittery, as if treated to his golden beauty for the first time. Is it like this for every woman in love? And for the men too? If so, how has anything on this earth gotten accomplished beyond the stone age? Despite every confusion and frustration I wrestled with during our episode at The Cloisters, all I want to do is get him alone again.
Now.
Do all the things that scenario implies.
Right
now.

“‘Uh-oh’
what
?” Mallory’s cheeky comeback eases the edge of my lust a little. A
little
. I would dare any woman to keep pious thoughts when exposed to the tender smile Cassian reserves only for his mother. “You implying something, sweet little one?”

Cassian grimaces. I smile, despite my tangled heart. No amount of repetition will make me forget the first time I heard the woman use the endearment. After Cassian survived his post-shooting surgery, his friend Doyle finally contacted Mallory. She rushed to the city from her home in Connecticut, sweeping into the room at the hospital without care for how things “appeared”—and leaned over him with love so fierce, it eclipsed every sterile inch of the room. Cassian had been sleeping and did not hear her fervent whisper, but I had—and was shattered to instant tears. He had landed in that damn bed because of me. My stupid actions…

To my shock, Mallory Court had held me through those tears. And as soon as she heard the whole story behind them, embraced me even harder—

Before giving me words that became my guideposts for the next six weeks.

He clearly thought you were worth those bullets, Mishella. So prove him right.

By the Creator, I hope I have fulfilled her expectation.

“I imply nothing that my instincts won’t confirm, Mom.” He leans and kisses her cheek. “But my instincts are pretty good.”

They both arch one brow. His left, her right. “Is this supposed to be fresh news, darling?” Mallory cracks.

Cassian puckers his lips in a funny way—a look that would approach stodgy on most other men. On him, it is simply…determined, with a twist of hot.

“What are you up to with my woman, Mother?”

My woman.

I do not miss the glimmer in Mallory’s eyes—as one sparks in my heart. The glow expands as he loops an elbow around my neck, drawing me close. I have to remind myself—forcefully this time—that this may not be forever. But for now, I will allow it to feel…

utterly

wonderful.

“Up to?” Astonishment again, as Mallory’s glare mirrors her son’s. Or is it
his
that has copied
hers
? “We were just making plans for a new Monopoly match…”

“Just?” Cassian zips a look between she and me. “
Just
? After the way you two edged me out during the last game?”

“Stop pouting,” Mallory chides. “Mishella can’t help where the dice tell her to land.”

He snorts. “Maybe if we played a
real
version of the game.”

“What’s wrong with
Scooby Doo
Monopoly?”

“Other than the fact that Boardwalk has been replaced by The Creeper Bell Tower?”

“You love
Scooby Doo
Monopoly.”

“
Loved
, Mom. When I was ten.”

“
Scooby Doo
is eternal.”

In tandem, they swing gazes at me. My bottom lip gets gnashed again. Truly, I should be used to the role of tie breaker, thanks to Brooke and Vy—but two generations of Courts elevate the stress to a new level. “Errrm…the dog is cute. Is that one Scooby?”

Mallory preens. “See? Eternal.”

A sigh leaves Cassian—though does so through his smiling lips, officially stirring mud into the conversation’s waters. Two months away from Arcadia, I have learned only one clear thing about the world beyond my borders: that nothing is clear. One day, people are fighting about the size of sugared drink cups. The next, they are using children as custody battle pawns. The next, they are pitching tents on sidewalks to buy new cell phones. The merit of “Scooby Doo” in all this is still not clear to me.

“Maybe it’s best that we back burner this one.”

Mallory’s glower tightens. “Now trying the back burner tack, Cassian Cameron Jonathan?” She slants a brow toward me. “You hearing this, missie? You’re my witness. He
back burnered
Scooby.”

Cassian breaks leans away from me long enough to buss her forehead. “Not far back, I promise.” A new solemnity sets into his elegant features. “But right now, I need to borrow back Mishella.” In the barest of mutters, he finishes, “Before I lose the nerve.”

In the space of those five words, Mallory is transformed too. Like me, she hears every slight tremble beneath his soft sarcasm—and in seconds, becomes a different person for it. With eyes glowing and lips tender, she cups his set jaw. “Since when do you lose?”

Cassian rolls his eyes and tosses back his head, though chuckles the whole time. Something tells me it is not the first time Mallory has challenged him this way, nor for his reaction to it—though the laugh was probably not always part of the mix. For a few perfect moments, it is like years peel away from both of them. Suddenly, I am looking at a teenage Cassian being encouraged by his young, single mother—and loving her for it, no matter how hard he tries to cover the reaction with adolescent attitude.

I am…fascinated.

Is
this
what it is like, when a parent believes in their child?

I can only rely on instinct to answer the question—but in the affirmation, I recognize another piece of Cassian that makes new sense.

But more that do not.

With the love and belief of a mother like this, why does the man still look at the world with so many shadows in his eyes?
Ghosts.
That is what Kathryn Robbe called them, when I first met his friend after arriving in New York. The word fits. For all of Cassian’s confidence, arrogance, business savvy, and sanity-stealing sexual prowess, this man’s spirit is stalked by darker things…monsters that drag him into places where the only way out is by fighting for himself.

Fighting desperately…

Against creatures he refuses to let me see…

Except for rare moments like this.

As he turns from Mallory, sliding his hand down my arm—and his gaze back into mine. Fits our palms firmly together before murmuring, “Don’t worry, Mom. I
don’t
intend to lose this one.”

“Good.” The riposte does not spark a single mother-son chortle. Before I can fathom if that is a good or bad thing, she nudges his free shoulder. “You got this, tiger.”

“Tiger?” Even my attempt at a mood lightener gets swallowed by the depths of their new solemnity—a flow defining all of Cassian’s steps, as he leads me away from the kitchen. We walk through the dining room and living room, both drenched in shadows—appropriate symbolism of what lies ahead?—before he stops at the landing bracketed by two arched doors.

Two significant doors.

I already know where they lead—because I have already been through both of them. Temptation Manor’s turrets are among its most fascinating architectural features, identical when beheld from the outside. Inside, they cannot hold more divergent contents. In the upstairs room of Turret One, Cassian and I commemorated my first night in New York with hours of lust and passion I shall never forget. Surrounded by the lights and energy of the city, I gave him the key piece of my innocence—and the beginning of my heart.

And Turret Two?

Well…I can say I have entered it. And climbed six of its steps—before being stopped and nearly hauled out by the roots of my hair by the woman who, for all intents and purposes, has appointed herself Cassian’s ninja patrol. Since that day, Prim Smith—Temptation’s seemingly self-appointed mistress of household—has made some small efforts to warm to me, despite the vigilance for Cassian that once had me fearing her as one of his preferred ex-lovers. It is not a stretch, considering how I had barely met the man before Vy showed me internet hits that brought up as many links to his “romantic adventures” as his international business deals.

Now, that still makes Prim a glaring—and even more confusing—exception.

And fully justifies why, as Cassian crosses the landing toward that door, I wrench my hand away from his. Back away, Pavlovian instinct kicking in, as he looks back and frowns.

“
Armeau
.” He reclaims my hand. “It’s all right.”

“Is that so?” I twist again but he is onto me, clutching hard. “And you have come to such a conclusion…how?”

A long breath leaves him.
The thief caught with the bag
. He does not fight the not-so-veiled allegation. One look into my eyes and he must see it all there. How the memories assault me, as bitter as the incident that spawned them, of the night
after
Prim ordered me out of the turret…