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Stick to the plan.
Samsyn knew what he was doing. He’d delivered as promised, actually getting his stubborn brother here. I just had to wait until he guided Shiraz over to this side of the party. My chair was on the way to the food table. Wasn’t that where the guys ended up at something like this?
“As usual, Jayd has called the play perfectly.”
Everyone turned once again—in glaring curiosity. I had to admit, I joined them. The commentary wasn’t Samsyn’s or Shiraz’s—or even that of Jagger Fox, who stepped out from behind Samsyn’s far side. The line had come from a fourth man, rocking the long legs and burnished skin of a Cimarron, only with whisky-colored hair and blunter features. He was attractive but not stunning, but maybe that had more to do with his lounge lizard swagger and his shark bite smile.
Fish are friends, buddy, not food.
Thank fuck Jayd clearly shared the conclusion. “Tytan,” she issued through tight lips, her nod emulating the energy. “How…gracious…of you to make an appearance in Sancti.”
Ezra emitted a soft hum. “Ooooo, honey. Need a little ranch dressing for that bitter subtext?”
“How about some battery acid?” she gritted back. “To toss on his smug face?”
She barely veiled the glare as Tytan Cimarron slither-stepped closer—an event I would have taken more keen notice in, except that it set Shiraz into motion too. In full big brother mode, he followed just steps behind his cousin. Focused protectiveness was stamped across his face.
Until his gaze descended on me.
Locked on me.
Narrowed on me.
Burned into me.
Destroyed me.
One damn second—and time dropped away. One damn second and we were back in his apartment, clutching each other in the goodbye I’d forced, clinging to my stubborn dictates of “what was best for him”. One damn second and he was back on his knees in front of the bed, rasping harsh pleas into my ear, drenching my face with his heartbroken tears…
One damn second—
I’d made him endure all over again.
He was not happy about that. Showed me so by dropping his gaze to my feet—and looking like he might just spit on them. By letting the fists at his side unfurl into long-fingered daggers—with which he mentally impaled me.
By wheeling from me in one fierce sweep, marching his gorgeous ass toward the small semicircle of lawn in front of Camellia.
Mentally, I forecasted the rest of his path. He was headed toward the gate on the other side of the garden, the one leading directly to the Palais staff stairwell. Though the flights extended down the cliff and eventually to the beach, they also had landings at every level, with doorways leading inside the building—leaving no mystery about his new plan. Even if I gave chase, he’d lose me after just a couple of turns in the labyrinth of back hallways. With my shitty sense of direction, they’d have to send search and rescue dogs after me in the maze.
I couldn’t let him do it.
I wouldn’t, dammit.
The entire journey here, I’d agonized about what to actually say when I did. Such stupidity. One moment being near him again, and I already knew. One second seeing his pain and I was resolved.
One look at him walking away from me, and I was crystal fucking clear.
I never wanted him to do it again.
“Shiraz.”
It was doomed to be a sob from the second I opened my mouth, but I didn’t care. My anguish cracked the air like a whip, stilling everyone at once. In short, continuing his retreat would scoot him into contender position for World’s Biggest Asshole—though I was damn sure he still considered the risk even as he stopped, scuffing into the grass with his sexy untied boots.
As I stepped into the clearing with him, nobody said a word. As I moved even closer, even the wind stilled. It all seemed like a damn movie, but hell if I could name which one. This wasn’t even Samsyn’s plan—and I owed he and Camellia glances of apology for wrecking the plan—but no way was I letting my stare fall now. No way was I deviating from the one thing I’d traveled back here to say.
And, God help me, the love I’d come to save.
So get your shit together, woman—and say it.
