This Alice whimpered. He wanted to rush to her, soothe her. Touch her fine skin and inhale the sweet scent of her body.
His mouth tipped, remembering her startled look in the hall. The shorts that had exposed a long expanse of thigh. He’d nearly come undone. It had been all he could take to stand there and watch, his throat working with a need to yank her to him, to beg her to end his madness.
And he couldn’t stop the queer feeling that they’d met before. But she hadn’t looked like this. He frowned and grabbed his head. Why couldn’t he remember?
All he knew was that when he looked at her, he heard the haunting strains of a repetitive beeping noise. But then the sound vanished, and he was left with questions.
She mumbled.
She’d quoted Poe. So different than all the others, even her grandmother had never done that. Evil Alice had never tried to know him. But this Alice made him want to know her.
Other Alices had lied before. Some had claimed love, others kindness. None of it had been true.
His jaw flexed.
Why did he want to believe her?
“My Hatter,” she murmured, pink lips curling into a slow smile, and his heart turned over. Lovely. Deadly. Peril. He closed his eyes and backed slowly out.
Ignore her. Make her want to leave.
The room trembled as a thousand clocks rang loud with the new hour. He stared at one in particular—a simple clock, no adornments. Nothing about the small, round pocket watch seemed particularly valuable.
He traced the grain seam, fingers gentle, the wood smooth from years (or was it decades? centuries? he could never remember anymore) of touching. Time. Always too much of it and never enough.
It ticked on, endless, unceasing, unmerciful.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Unable to roll the hands back, unable to make it stop. Moving, always, always moving on and on and on. Marching forward in an endless cycle of time, time, time…
He drew his hand back, squeezing his eyes closed. Beautiful brown eyes filled his head. The scent of vanilla was so strong, he swore he could still smell it.
Satin skin, buttery brown, smooth and delicate. Hair as black as midnight. His body strained and he hardened. It made him sweat. Made him need.
He would not surrender. It was madness. Wonderland would say no, and she would leave. As it’d always been.
But he’d never wanted another the way he did her. The moment he’d seen her, something inside him had quickened. Finally, he’d thought. Finally here. And that had confused him. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Her with the vanilla sunshine-y smile.
The widow’s peak, alluring, sexy, devilish. Beautiful, dangerous creatures, black widow spiders were. Luring you in with their beauty. Killing you without remorse.
“Dangerous creatures. Dangerous.” He closed his eyes, resting his head against the mantel. “Dangerous, dangerous beauty. Beauty. Beautiful. Alice.” His voice cracked.
She’d leave him. Like all the rest. He must make her go.
His spine stiffened, fingers clenched against his thigh. Did she think of him at all? Even a little? Beautiful, sane, wicked little Alice?
Tick.
Tock.
Time moved on.
Chapter 9
Alice jerked to a sitting position, tired and just this side of pissy. Sunlight poured in through the window. She glanced around—her room was the same as it’d ever been.
Just a dream. Maybe she’d call in sick. A horrible thing to do to Tabby, and it was only the second day of her grand cupcakery opening.
With a loud sigh, she got up and headed to the shower. But when she reached the bathroom door, there was no bathroom. It was the most enormous and empty walk-in closet she’d ever seen. It stretched for miles.
Not a dream. Or a dream within a dream. She thought of Hatter and her pulse sped. Where was he? Was he thinking about her?
She glanced down. She didn’t want him to see her in the same clothes, but there was nothing here. She wished she had some clothes, something sexy, something that would forever erase any memory of her great-grandmother from his mind.
And this time when she glanced up, a crushed velvet gown hung from a hanger in a shade of burgundy so deep it almost resembled blood. Velvet dresses had always made her think of fake wigs and hideous dollar-store Halloween costumes. Plus it looked several inches too long, but… She shrugged and slipped it off its rack. Beggars couldn’t afford to be picky. It was either this or wear the same thing for three days.
She wrinkled her nose at the thought, took her clothes off, and was pulling the sleeves on when she grumbled, “Give anything for a toothbrush and shower right about now.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than her tongue tingled with the sharp nip of mint. Her body shone with a wet sheen, and the scent of flowers filled the room.
She hadn’t bathed, and yet she was clean. Man, if she could patent this back home, she’d make a killing.
The dress was a perfect fit. But she didn’t question it—it was Wonderland, and nothing seemed to follow any conventional rules of reason. Most especially when it came to the Hatter.
The dress fell to midthigh. Thankfully, she had great legs. Her stomach fluttered, and she wished she had a mirror.
A displaced shiver of air brushed against her back.
She turned and there was a mirror. Suddenly she wondered, was Wonderland responding? Was the wind right now humming and the land rolling? She strained to listen, but there was nothing but empty silence.
Her heart sank, and she shook her head. Silly Alice… hoping for what couldn’t be. Of all the Alices in the world, there was no way she’d be his perfect match. The odds were more astronomical then winning the lottery ten times straight. In all of history, she was his Alice. The thought gave her a pang, and she had to take several deep breaths before she could shrug it off.
Alice studied her reflection. The dress was tight but comfortable, though she didn’t like the sleeves. Instantly they vanished, exposing the long, lean muscle of her bare arms.
“It would look a lot better with a choker collar.” The fabric moved, sliding up her neck until it resembled the choker she’d requested.
She pointed her toes. He’d put her in heels last night. “Thigh-high boots.” The softest black suede she’d ever felt in her life suddenly hugged her legs. A stupid, wide grin covered her face from ear to ear.
This was crazy. She was crazy. Paris Hilton, eat your heart out. Free clothes—it was enough to make her head spin with dizzy possibilities.
Alice had gone through a Goth phase in a high school, much to her mother’s everlasting shame. She’d even managed to sneak an Alice-dress replica to prom. She’d poofed her black hair and touched up her face with a light tint of lip gloss and a few strokes of mascara. A large black-and-white-striped bow was the only accessory she’d worn. Rather than make her look like a Lolita, the effect had been stunning.
That’d been the night boys had finally started noticing her. Overnight, she’d turned from the nerd carrying around the worn Alice in Wonderland book to the hot nerd carrying around a worn copy of Wonderland. It’d also been the night of her first real kiss.
Clinton Issac. Tall soccer player. Gorgeous, and with the cutest dimple in his right cheek. She’d closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and the rest was a gross blur of slobber and sweaty hands trying to unclasp her bra.
Gross kiss notwithstanding, she wondered if lightning would strike twice. She bit the corner of her lip and wished.
A large, stylish bow materialized in the palm of her hand, a small blood ruby winking from its center. She slipped it on, her stomach a nervous mass of butterflies. What would the Hatter think of her now?
Two days left.
Feeling like she might puke, she walked out, not knowing what she’d see today. Now that she was here, she was ready and willing to embrace the impossible.
The hallway
was just a regular hallway. She frowned, disappointed for a quick second that it all seemed so mundane. There were no empty frames on the wall, no vines appearing like slow-moving snakes. Instead, the walls were painted with fresco designs, a carnival at night, its neon lights aglow.
She narrowed her eyes and walked to the wall. It all looked so real, and when she closed her eyes, she couldn’t help imagining the happy roar of a crowd. The sway of rides. For a moment, she could almost smell the greasy whiff of corn dogs and funnel cake. Her stomach rumbled, snapping her instantly back to reality.
Food. Time for food. Lots of it. With a little sigh, she turned on her heel—and smacked head-on into an unmovable wall.
“Oww.” She rubbed her forehead.
Hatter chuckled, and the vibrations that laugh sent through her body weakened her knees. His hands slid down her arms, and his touch was like fire. Her skin prickled as every cell became hyperaware of his proximity.
“You look…”
Her stomach flopped. Did he like it? She held her breath.
Then the heat in his glance died, leaving his eyes cold and distant. “Hungry.”
The switch was almost too abrupt to follow. Hungry? She screwed her face up. “What?” After all the time she’d taken with her appearance—that was all he had to say to her? What about that initial heat, the look that said he wanted to turn out all the lights and do naughty things to her? She stifled a sigh of frustration. She wanted that heat back.
“I’ve not fed you well.” His deep voice rumbled.
She should be more than annoyed. She’d dressed up for him, tried her best to turn his head, and all he could talk about was food. In high school, that sort of passive-aggressive rejection would have sent her scurrying back to her Wonderland book, too embarrassed to try again.
She pressed her lips together. That was the old Alice. The Alice who had been convinced by friends and family that her dreams were all just that—dreams. This Alice knew better. She knew her dream was real—he was standing right in front of her. And she wasn’t giving up without a fight.
He waited, a strange wariness in his dark eyes.
“I think food is a great idea. I’m starving.”
She didn’t think he was aware of the way his body heaved a gentle sigh as the tension flowed out of his bones. She wasn’t sure how he’d expected her to react, but she was glad she hadn’t given voice to her annoyance over his less-than-desirable reaction to her attire. There would be plenty of time to be alluring later.
Besides, when he smiled like that, her heart did a crazy tilt that left her feeling almost breathless. He really was gorgeous. She let him take her hand.
He led her back down the hall, and then they were there. Wherever there was. They were still in the cottage, she supposed, as they’d never actually walked out… and yet she was now in a garden.
She glanced behind her, staring back into the hallway, and shook her head with a tiny shrug.
A sturdy white tea table sat in the middle of a large swath of sunlight, bathing the garden in a heated, buttery glow. Roses, dripping with scent and a multitude of colors, covered the garden from the ground up. Tiny yellow butterflies flapped lazy wings from petal to petal. It felt like stepping through a Monet.
She smiled and clasped her clammy hands together. “High tea?”
He shoved blunt fingers through his thick wavy hair, his posture unsure as he nodded. “If that’s okay?”
Alice was proud of herself for not hopping and skipping around like Tweedledee and Tweedledum. She sat, trying to look elegant, but she was afraid that with the way she was dressed, she looked more like the best friend in Pretty Woman. Lowbrow hoochie, though the heat returning to his eyes made her think… maybe he didn’t mind?
Dainty trays of food manifested, filling the tabletop to capacity. Tea cakes, finger sandwiches, salad, fruit, and cheese cubes as far as her eye could see.
She groaned, mouth salivating at the sight.
Two teapots appeared. Hatter grabbed the one with steam rising from its spout and poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into her cup. The heady aroma of anise and five-spice curled under her nose like a fog bank. She inhaled, taking the scent deep. Like a fine wine, it flooded her senses.
“Thank you.” She grinned, adding, “I feel like I should be wearing gloves and a bonnet or something.”
Cream lace gloves, with a string of small pearls laced at the side, appeared next to her hand. She snorted. “I have got to watch what I say here.”
He glanced at the gloves, staring at them so hard she was sure he’d say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he dropped a sugar cube into his tea and nodded toward the bowl.
“Yes, one, please.” Her voice quivered a little. The cube dropped into her cup with a soft plop, disappearing in moments. Alice slipped the fingerless gloves on, just to have something to do, and nodded. “Am I decent?”
His brows lowered. “For what?”
“For tea, of course.” She rolled her eyes, laughing.
The cup in his hand paused at chest level. “I wouldn’t know. Tea is just tea.” He shrugged and then sipped.
Embarrassed, she pressed her lips together. “Of course.” Suddenly she felt ridiculous in the gloves, in the dress, in the top hat that’d appeared from thin air atop her head. It was silly of her to get so excited. Just because this was straight out of her favorite scene from Alice in Wonderland. Just because it was the scene where she’d always felt the Hatter’s presence the strongest. She swallowed the tea but hardly tasted it. This was so stupid, so impossible.
“But…”
Alice hated that her heart fluttered. She didn’t want to care. Damn him, how many times would he make her feel like a fool?
“You look very good to me.”
Her gaze shot up, locking onto his. His compliment echoed in her ears, and she suddenly realized she was smiling. Pathetic—she was so pathetic. She hadn’t been a virgin for some time, and yet right now her stomach tickled and her knees knocked. He made her feel like she was back in high school, gazing adoringly at Clinton Issac, waiting for the day he’d finally notice her. All over one little compliment.
Her smile wilted at the edges. Clinton had been an awful disappointment. She swept her eyes over Hatter’s face. Would he be too?
“What’s your real name?” She hadn’t meant to ask him that, but it just sort of plopped out of her mouth. He looked at her, head cocked. Her eyes widened and heat rose in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that—”
He held a long-fingered hand up. Her stomach dove, remembering the feel of those hands on her body last night. How those hands had dipped lower on her waist until, for a moment, she’d thought he’d grab her. Pinch, knead, do something. Fire licked her veins, and she guzzled more of the tea, eyes burning as the hot liquid scalded her throat.
He gave her a weak grin. “The longer I stay, the less I know. Hatter? Mad Hatter? T. T.” He shook his head and stared at his hands as if he could divine the truth of the universe from them. He growled and rubbed his eyes. “I… can’t remember. Too long ago.”
She was sorry she’d asked him. A frown tugged at the corners of his full lips. She wanted to smooth the anxious lines between his eyes. Instead, she plucked at the hem of her dress.
“The longer you stay? What do you mean?”
He looked up, butter knife held loosely in his hand. The smile she’d glimpsed only last night, the real one, the one that peeked out when he wasn’t afraid to relax, came out for a fleeting moment.
“I was a man once.”
She lifted a brow and gave him a knowing grin. “Oh, I think you’re still a man.”
His lips twitched. “This”—he gestured, indicating their surroundings—“this is all an illusion. Frightening fragments of time and space, magic, moment, memory. Thoughts tumbling, tumbling down.” His eyes grew distant, and she knew she was losing him to the thoughts in his head. She tapped his arm, bringing his eyes back to her with a jerk.
“Illusion? Madness? This place doesn’t seem so mad.”
Hair slipped into his eyes. Emboldened, she reached up and patted it back.
He stilled. She curled her fingers into a fist that she brought quickly back to her lap. “What I mean is”—her words faltered only a little—“I love this place.”
“Why?” The question tore from someplace deep inside him. She sensed his desperate desire to understand her, understand why she felt as she did.
“There’s magic here, and rooms that lead to nothing. Clocks that tick in perpetual motion, flowers that come alive at my touch, and…” There’s you… She looked down, distracting herself by taking a bite of the lemon-curd-laden scone. The sweet tang tingled her tongue and she moaned, a little jealous at his cook’s ability to make such delicious curd. Her stuff was good, but this was like biting into a lemon plucked fresh from a tree with a drizzle of sugar on top.
“So good,” she cooed.
She felt his gaze like a brand. “What was the last part you did not speak?”
He’d caught that. She wiggled, took a deep breath, and gathered her courage.
“I want to know you, Hatter. Is that so strange?”
“Yes.”
She licked her lips, the tip of her tongue swiping up a crumb from the corner of her mouth. His eyes homed in like a beacon and it was unnerving, exhilarating. She touched her chest, feeling suddenly very hot.
“What am I to you? You do not know me.” His voice dripped scorn, anger, and something else. Hope? Maybe.
She drummed her nails on the table. She knew he liked his poems. Pride shaded the corners of his lips when he threw out a particularly obscure one.
His hands were long, fingers strong and firm. There was strength in those hands; she’d felt them tighten at her waist. He wasn’t an idle man with hands like that. Many might be tempted to think he drank tea all day and guzzled wine all night. Mad as a Hatter, they all said, but though at times he seemed to lose touch with reality, there was a hawk’s gaze behind those eyes. A quickness that saw more in a blade of grass than many could read within the pages of a book.
[Kingdom 01.0 - 03.0] Kingdom Series Collection Page 8