by Geneva Lee
I can’t help feeling a little cocky now. “That can be arranged.”
She looks at me, and I think maybe I can be Prince Charming if she asks me. “I can’t keep pretending you mean nothing to me. I don’t like hiding or secrecy, but I still want my privacy. Is that something we can make work?”
“Of course.” I want her life to be as normal as possible. I owe her that much if I’m going to be selfish enough to keep her.
“I’ll go,” she finally agrees, but almost instantly, I see doubt creep across her beautiful face. I kiss her until she can’t remember why she was worried. I kiss her to forget that I am still worried.
Chapter Twelve
Clara,
I know I’ve scared you. I have no right to ask you to be with me. There are risks, more than I’ve let on about, but I can’t release you. I’m afraid that now, even if you tried to run, I couldn’t let you go. I crave your body. The touch of your skin. The sweet silk of your thighs against my face and the taste of you on my lips. Even as I warn you away from me, know that you are mine, and I protect what is mine. Even from myself.
X
It’s my fourth attempt to write her a note today, and I’m running out of time. I must have suffered a temporary bout of madness when I asked her to go to the party with me. I’d left out a few important details.
Tonight isn’t simply a ball. That would be too easy. It’s my father’s birthday party. I’m not certain who I’m trying to send a message to: her, him, or myself. I don’t want that kind of attention on her, but if we’re going to do this, it’s inevitable.
Which means it’s time to send the sodding note. There’s no way to prepare her for this. Sliding the card into a red envelope, I use my personal seal to ensure this message is only read by her. It’s archaic compared to text, but I can’t stomach the idea of the press twisting our words—or knowing the private details of our sex life. Clara’s body belongs to me. I’ve made that clear. I don’t want to share it with anyone, even a tabloid headline.
“Can you deliver this to Clara’s flat?” I ask Norris.
He crooks a bushy eyebrow as he accepts the card. “A love letter?”
“A warning.” It’s a much more accurate description of the contents. I’m throwing her into the water well aware there are sharks. In my family, there are no safe spots to learn to swim. This is the closest I can come while still protecting her.
“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Norris pauses to clear his throat, “you could try to romance the poor girl.”
“Romance? Are you getting sentimental on me?” If I’m honest, Norris has never struck me as the type.
“Old dogs know the best tricks,” he advises me. “And getting a girl to fall in love with you is the oldest trick in the book, as well as the hardest.”
My blood turns to ice at his words, freezing me to the spot. “I don’t want her to fall in love with me.”
I mean it with every ounce of my body. Falling in love with me would be the worst mistake Clara could ever make.
Norris doesn’t respond, but I see the doubt in his pale, blue eyes. I try to see the situation as he does. I’ve gone after this woman repeatedly. I’ve broken my promise to stay away. I’ve invited her to meet my family.
“I’m not in love with her,” I tell him.
“You don’t have to convince me.” He sounds…amused.
“But you’re probably right,” I continue ignoring the laughter he’s obviously suppressing. “If she has to put up with my family this evening, she deserves more than a note. Do you have any suggestions?”
This is new territory for me. I’ve rarely done so much as buy a woman dinner in the past. It’s never been requisite to getting one into bed, and I’ve never felt the need to have a second go with a woman once I’d had her. I suppose dating requires a bit more in the activity department. Although I doubt she’ll complain about the orgasms in her future.
“Flowers, sir,” he says. “Flowers are always well-received.”
“Will we have time to pick some up?” I could always go to the garden and find some myself, but I can guarantee the staff will gossip. I’d rather my father not know that I’m bringing a date tonight. The element of surprise is all I have working in my favor. With any luck, he’ll be too shocked to be rude.
I don’t hold high hopes for this method.
“Allow me. I need to deliver this after all.” Norris flashes me the card. “What kind of flowers do you want to give her?”
I recall when I was very little, and my mother helped me address valentines to my primary school class. We chose one for each student based on my whims. She would look at the list of children’s names and say, “What makes you think of Annie, darling?” At the time, my answers were selfish or stupid or some mixture of the two.
My mother would like Clara. She’d tell me what flowers to give her or help me decide. I can almost hear her ask me now: what makes you think of Clara, darling?
I think of the blush that creeps over Clara’s porcelain skin when I say something filthy to her, of the color of her lips after I kiss her for hours, of the way I imagine her delicate flesh would redden under my palm.
“Red roses. I’ll give her red roses.” Beautiful and delicate like her, but with thorns as dangerous as this arrangement.
Chapter Thirteen
Her flat isn’t what I expect. Clara belongs in a tower, locked safely away from the world. Instead, she lives in East London in a pre-war flat that looks less than average. I can’t help noticing the lack of security for the building. She’s far too exposed here. We’re lucky there’s a back entrance and that Norris has found a quiet backstreet not populated by paparazzi that leads directly to it. The man deserves a raise or a knighthood. I doubt he’d accept either.
“We should put someone on her,” I say to Norris. He’s riding shotgun this evening since we’ve taken a limousine.
“Your father isn’t going to like it,” he mutters.
“My father never likes anything I do,” I remind him.
“I’ll look into it.” Norris opens his car door and exits the limo.
I follow suit, and he stares at me.
“Sir?”
“I’m going to pick her up.” I reach inside and pick up the bouquet I’ve brought for her. It’s enough that he’s stuck running my errands. I didn’t even buy the flowers. “This is a date. I should play the part.”
He pauses, weighing his options. He knows me well enough to know that I’m going inside with or without him. “I’ll be right here.”
Having a bodyguard at the back door isn’t exactly normal as far as I know, but it’s as close as I’m likely to get. I nod, relieved for the small bit of ordinary I’m allowed, and head inside.
I take the stairs two at a time despite my tuxedo. I practically grew up in formal wear, but now it feels restrictive. I’d grown used to a uniform of fatigues. Now I’m stuck in the uniform of a prince. I’m not certain it suits me anymore.
Pausing at her door, I run a hand through my hair, mussing it out of place. At least, that makes me feel more like me rather than some slicked and shined version of Prince Charming.
It’s not until I knock that I realize I’ve never done this before. I’ve picked up plenty of women in bars or at parties. If I’d attended tonight’s evening alone, I would have had a dozen options for potential companions for the night. But I’ve never knocked on a girl’s door. I’ve never brought a woman flowers. Clara Bishop is my first date.
But she isn’t the one to answer the door. I barely process the blonde who opens it because before I can say hello, I spot her.
Dressed in silver silk that dances over her perfect body, the swell of her breasts on display, Clara is every dream I’ve ever had. Dark curls spill over one creamy shoulder as striking as the scarlet red of her lips against her fair skin. Looking at her, I suddenly understand the answer to every question that’s ever been asked.
Her.
The blonde breaks the sil
ence. Moving to allow me entry, she says, “It’s nice to meet you.”
It takes effort to peel my eyes from Clara in that dress and the thousands of dirty ideas it’s inspiring. I turn to introduce myself. It’s the polite thing to do. Another strange first: meeting the roommate. “Alexander. You must be Belle.”
She hesitates, then finally nods. “Are you looking forward to this evening?”
“Yes,” I lie. I can think of much better ways to spend the evening with Clara. All of them involve that dress coming off. Something that won’t be possible at a sodding birthday party. “That is, I’m looking forward to the company.”
Belle looks pleased by my answer. She inclines her head toward the hall. “Excuse me a moment.”
At least, she knows when three is company. I step toward Clara, awkwardly presenting the flowers.
“I thought you didn’t do romance.” She sniffs them delicately, clearly surprised.
“Consider it a consolation prize,” I say. “If you’re going to put up with my family for the evening, you deserve a reward.”
That’s not why I brought them. Why the fuck can’t I just tell her she’s lovely and take her hand and be normal? Why can’t I bring her roses and sweep her off her feet?
Because as she said, I don’t do romance. I’ve warned her, and yet, here I am doing exactly that and failing completely. Even worse, I realize that I’ve set her on edge. She’s searching her cabinets for a vase with a barely suppressed frantic, wild-eyed panic. She’s meeting my family—another first. I’d nearly forgotten, and so had she, apparently.
I can’t watch her fret. Moving behind her, I grab her hips, willing her to be still for a moment. “Don’t think about them.”
“That’s easier said than done,” she whispers. “I barely know what’s going on between us, and now I’m going to meet your family.”
“It’s not a big deal. Just remember that if they’re jerks, it’s because of me and not you.” I try to sound casual, but my hands tighten on her. I’m leading her into the lion’s den. I might as well display her on a silver platter. They’ll be salivating to get a taste of her the moment we arrive. She’ll be lucky to survive.
“That doesn’t really make me feel better,” she admits.
“Don’t think about it.” I draw her to me, feeling calmed by her body against mine. “Right now, I want you to think about what I’m going to do to you in that dress.”
This earns me a smile. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to concentrate with you looking like that.”
“She does look fantastic, doesn’t she?” Belle interrupts.
“Yes.” I agree absently.
Belle finds the sought-after vase we’ve forgotten and brandishes it in triumph. “Here. Oh, wait!”
She whirls around and pulls something from a drawer.
“Sorry!” she says to me as she moves between us a moment later. When she steps away, a rose in full bloom is tucked into Clara’s hair.
“Perfect.” I can already imagine that being the only thing I allow Clara to keep on later.
“I need to go. Philip will be downstairs.” Belle kisses her goodbye. “See you there!”
Clara looks relieved at the reminder that she won’t be alone with me. I wonder what it’s like to have friends at these things. Usually, I feel surrounded by snakes. It must be comforting.
“Shall we?” I offer her my arm. “If we don’t get going, I’m going to spread you across the kitchen counter.”
She bites her lip, but it doesn’t hide the excitement glinting in her eyes. Is that because I’m taking her to a party or because she wants to be spread across the counter?
I shake away the temptation to find out. “Let’s get to the car before we miss the party, Miss Bishop.”
“Lead the way, X.”
Chapter Fourteen
Norris proves himself once again by managing to keep our arrival and exit secret. It’s no small feat. The press might as well have set up tents across from Clara’s flat. She looks startled when I guide her away from the main entrance to her building to one tucked in the rear.
When we step outside, something primal awakens in me. I keep my hand on her back, watching the world around us as I help her into the limousine. My whole body is on edge, waiting for even the slightest threat. Relief washes over me when I shut the door behind her. Norris watches me from his place beside the driver’s side door. He hadn’t been keen on the idea of me picking her up and bringing her out alone.
“Are we good?” I ask.
He tips his head. “No trouble.”
I allow my thoughts to return to Clara and her gown and all the wicked things I’m going to do to her.
“Do you know what I love about London this evening?” I ask, sliding beside her.
Her head tilts, and she casts curious eyes at me. Something else dances behind the curiosity, though.
“The traffic. I never appreciated it before tonight.” I move closer, taking her face in the palm of my hand. Angling it for a kiss, I pause and marvel at her. Where did she come from? Why now? I shouldn’t allow myself to want her like I do, but I’m finding that when it comes to Clara Bishop, I have little control over my feelings. Like how much I missed her when we were apart. Like how scared I am to lose her again. Like how desperately I need to kiss her. I give in to the emotion, crushing her mouth to mine. Clara reacts, clutching the hand I hold against her cheek. She presses it harder as if she craves the contact as much as I do. Her body melts against mine, inviting me to focus on the physical needs driving me instead of the questions my desire raises.
“Poppet,” I say softly, “I’ve thought about you all week.”
Her breath grows shallow as I move to show her exactly what I’ve been thinking about. Lifting her skirt, my hand slides up her soft thighs and urges her legs apart to discover nothing but bare flesh.
I groan, unable to contain my pleasure. “That’s hardly playing fair.”
“This dress doesn’t work with panties.” She speaks like it’s an apology, but her coy smile says she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Personally, I’m of the opinion that no dress actually works with panties.” I decide to show her why, moving to my knees. Thank god, we took the stretch limo.
“No,” she says. I do, but only out of respect.
“I don’t like that word from you, poppet.” I hate it, in fact. “I have a very hard time listening to it.”
“No, I want you.” Her tongue darts over her red lips like a teaser of what’s to come. Namely me.
“And you can have me.”
“No, I want to taste you.”
I can’t say no. Mostly, because I don’t want to. Lounging back, I watch as she bunches her skirt to her thighs and kneels before me. She takes her time, and I say a prayer of thanks to whatever god is in charge of city traffic. A soft hand glides up my leg until it reaches the waistband of my trousers. She unfastens them and draws the zipper down, unleashing me into her hand. I moan in appreciation as her delicate fingers close over my cock. She strokes it, sending blood pounding to it until my every thought, my every sensation, is primitive. I barely control my need to pounce on her. I want to fuck her. I want to fill her. Before I lose control, her mouth closes over my balls, sating the need to have her. She’s giving herself to me—giving me her luscious mouth. I spread my legs farther, allowing her better access—my gift to her.
The beast inside me takes over, grunting and groaning, as she continues her devotion up my shaft. I could come just watching her suck me off.
“You look so fucking hot with your red lips wrapped around my cock.” I wrap a hand around her neck so I can feel each motion as she bobs slowly up and down until I’m rock hard and ready to explode. “It makes me want to fuck you.”
Before I can pin her down and do that, she sucks harder. Her cheeks hollow as her pace increases. I see it there. She wants me to come, and I want to fill her with me—in every way possible.
“Oh, Clara, you
are so beautiful.” I give in, falling against the seat as she drives me to my climax. “I’m going to come.”
After the first jet of release, I manage to lift my gaze to her. She’s not just swallowing. She’s savoring. Each movement of her throat is greedy. She’s hungry for me, and I need to give her more.
I lift her into my lap, kissing her like she’s oxygen. I need to fuck her. Now. Flipping her onto the seat, I shove her skirt back up. I slide a finger along her seam, nudging it gently past the folds. “Sucking me off made you wet.”
I love how she feels on my skin—velvet and wet and warm. I want to feel it surrounding my cock. I’ve never considered something so reckless before. But I trust Clara, and whatever we are, I know it’s different for her, too.
“I need to be inside you. Nothing between us. Is that okay?”
“Yes, please,” she moans. I don’t need to hear anything else. I take my time, pushing inside her slowly. Every inch is a revelation. She’s so fucking perfect. Tight and hot around my dick, but it’s her face, glowing with bliss, that nearly undoes me.
“Not yet, poppet.” It makes me want to do things to her—things I promised I didn’t need. Lies I told, I realize now. I’ll fight those urges to be with her. I’ll take it slowly. I’ll lead this lamb away from the safety of her world into the darkness of mine with deliberate care.
She whimpers as though she needs me to move faster.
I slip a hand between us and fondle her clit. “Think of a safe word, poppet. You don’t need it now, but you might later, and when we’re in that moment, you won’t be able to think of it.”
She shakes her head—beautiful, obstinate woman.
“I’m trying to control myself, poppet, but I want to make you feel safe. Choose a word that makes you feel safe,” I explain.
“How about majesty?”
“Your safe word shouldn’t be something that you might have to use for other reasons.”