Naughty Little Gift -- A Temptation Court Novella (Temptation Court, Book 1) by Angel Payne

making perfect sense. Dear God, more sense than I want to make. She doesn’t just punch one button for you, does she? She punches both. That’s why you didn’t come home with just the T-shirt.”
    “The…what?”
    “You went to the island. Banged the local wahine . You should’ve come home with the damn T-shirt. Instead, you came home with the girl. God. You are such a moron.”
    “Dammit, Prim. Keep it down. And for the record, I didn’t bang her.”
    “You mean you haven’t yet. I’ll take that lovely silence as a yes. And after you do, what do you think will happen? That she’ll happily hop on a plane back home, without asking for a cent in ‘compensation for services rendered?’”
    “It’s not like that, either.”
    “So you are compensating her?”
    “All right. This conversation is over.”
    I did not linger to confirm if it really was or not. Had the damage not already been done? That answer vibrates throughout the clamp remaining on my chest—that has been there ever since making my excuses from staying for Prim’s “famous tiramisu” to retire early, feigning exhaustion from our traveling.
    At least it bought me time to prepare for bed—in all the awkward senses of the word—for my first night in a man’s bed. It did not halt my mind from racing with every possible, horrible, incredible scenario that might come. Would he seduce me gently? Taunt me with another version of what he did to me on the plane? Or simply launch into bed and fuck me wildly?
    Oh. Yes . Option number three…please ?
    A brutal breath sucks through my lips. A flush invades my neck and breasts. Heat surges between my thighs. Even my mouth aches, craving the dominance of his once more…as it has since the moment that he finally did come to bed…
    Then, after but a few minutes, fell into a drained slumber.
    After that, as Brooke would say, my choice of action was a no-brainer. The second his breaths evened into deep sleep, I was out of bed, into my slippers, and headed for this exact spot. The turret is my favorite part of his tour from earlier, perhaps because he’s restored it to its art deco grandeur rather than installing the high-gloss look prevailing over the rest of the building’s interior. Granted, the first three floors of the place are satellite offices for Court Corporation, modern by necessity—but the other areas feel “off” to me, as if the design is a deliberate attempt to shut out the past.
    More disturbingly, especially after my accidental eavesdrop on Cassian and Prim’s argument, I sense there is actually a past to shut out.
    The recognition brings a heavy sigh.
    “I’d offer a penny for those thoughts, but it sounds like they’re worth a dollar.”
    The commentary from a few feet back, roughened by recent sleep, is a surprise because it is not a surprise. The air I breathe in for the sigh is the same air that shifts, making room for his presence. Just like it did in the palais back on Arcadia…and has ever since.
    Only all those times, I was not trying to inhale around a vice in my chest.
    I do not turn, not wanting Cassian to see my grimace. Idiot. Why should he not see it…and know the conflict weighing on me? Prim made no secret of hers.
    “I…could not sleep. Time difference, I suppose.” Or the hundred ways I keep wondering why Prim’s input is such a priority to you .
    “Is that all? Just the jet lag?” He stretches on the floor next to me, leaning on an elbow as opposed to my stomach-down recline. The reading chaise behind us is comfortable enough, but being closer to the city’s energy is a better fit for my spirit tonight. He sees that too. I discern it in the forests of his eyes.
    Does he see the rest of my thoughts ?
    His query has not made that clear. I worry that he does…and that he does not.
    “You must be just as thrown out of your kilt as me,” I finally offer—to be met by a chuckle that should not be as sexy as it is.
    “Off kilter?” he offers. “Though