“Dammit, Valen. Stop fighting like a girl.”
I let my heavily taped hands frame my glower. I was on fire and ready to go again. A challenging smirk answered back. It had a face attached to it, of course, but right now, I focused only on that grin—and how pissed I was at it.Because it was the truth.
I was a girl.
And God, was I sparring with the pathetic ability of one.
Which always happened when I knew Samsyn Cimarron was on his way up Tahreuse Mountain.
There he was again, bursting to life in my mind—as he’d done nearly once an hour for the last six years. Prince Samsyn Obsydian Cimarron, second in line to the throne of Arcadia Island, commander of its entire military force, notable collector of any vehicle that could speed him across the kingdom in faster time—but to me, he was simply my noble Syn. The first person who’d uttered a kind word to me here. The source of my first Arcadian smile. My protecting knight, damn near ordering me to feel safe again, filling out every dashing, gorgeous potential of the twenty-first birthday he’d just celebrated—
And in the doing, making me fall instantly in love with him.
That had been almost six years ago today.
I really didn’t like letting go of shit.
Especially Syn Cimarron.
I gulped as the image of him intensified. Dark hair on the wind, blown across his huge shoulders. Powerful legs, always eating up the ground with his strides. Arms swinging at his sides, bulging…everywhere. Effortless grace. Complete power. Practically bending the air around him to his will, as if he’d arrived here through some strange time portal and was only putting up with the 21st century for the cool man toys. His mighty body would be just as comfortable in thick chain mail, a massive sword hanging from his belt…
My ruminations always had the shittiest timing.
Jagger spotted the distraction in my eyes and swept in, scooping his right foot behind my left ankle. I was instantly sent ass-over-elbows, landing flat on my back. The bright Arcadian sun glared into my eyes. The fresh Spring grass ate into my back.
“Oof!” I pushed up, ready to pop back to my feet. “Motherf—” And again hit the barrier of his boot, planted to my sternum.
Jag arched his russet brows. No added smirk this time. Wise move. “Well. You have not forgotten how to swear like a man.”
“Bonsun! Let me up.”
“Impressive. Profanity in two languages today.”
“Let me up, Jag.”
“Not until I have your promise of twenty minutes without thoughts of him.”
Ass. Sometimes he could read me as well as Dillon, which was a little scary. Really, I didn’t need any more guys in my life with the psychic-force connection thing going on. At least Dillon had an excuse. My stepbrother had always been more like a twin, especially with his similar coloring and temperament. I had no choice about his hooks into my brain.
What about Samsyn?
He was the dream. The Pegasus. The dragon on the mountain. The man who’d never be connected to me like that, in spite of my constant pleas to fate for the miracle.
Hi there. I’m Angel: book lover, writing addict, hopeless romantic, pop culture geek and avid shoe lover.
I’ve been hooked on books since I was a kid but it got worse in my twenties, when I discovered romances–the hotter, the better. Growing up in Southern California, with lots of surfer manliness surrounded me, was certainly a good boost for reading about delicious alpha guys and the women who adore them. When I learned I had a knack for telling these stories too, I guess you could say I was doomed–though my path toward romance novelist took a few detours via a concert-reviewing gig for my college newspaper (free show tickets…backstage passes…that was a no-brainer), artist interviews for a Beverly Hills dance music mag, personal assistant work for a record producer, dance club disc jockey, and a lot of fun in the hospitality industry.
These days, I still live in California, and have found an amazing alpha guy of my own who was brave enough to marry me. We live on a street that looks like Brigadoon, with our beautiful daughter. I have the best life ever, and never forget to thank the Big Guy Upstairs for it, either.