Black Knight, White Queen

by Jackie Ashenden

  The thought of the old man threaded something raw and painful through his anger. Something that hadn’t been there before Izzy. Like she’d stripped him of a protective layer, undermined his defenses in some way.

  Cursing, he went into the bedroom and began hauling out some gym gear. He’d go downstairs to the hotel gym, burn up some of this anger on the treadmill. Running had always been his exercise of choice. He preferred to go outside, but Bangkok was too crowded, too polluted and too noisy. He wanted silence. Some quiet to let his body take over and his brain shut down for a little while. Some space to get rid of the look on Izzy’s face as she’d stormed out of his suite.

  Down in the gym, he ran. Pounding out the miles on the treadmill. Normally he had no problems with concentrating just on the physical, his pulse, the burn of his muscles, the mindless action of moving his legs. But Izzy had stuck in his brain on an endless loop. Her body beneath his, her cries in his ears, her arms around him. The look in her eyes as he’d moved inside her.

  Escape with me…

  Aleks bared his teeth, adjusted the program on the treadmill to make it harder. Pushed himself to go faster. Outrunning his memories. Outrunning Izzy.

  But she wouldn’t let him go. For some reason he didn’t understand, he couldn’t stop thinking about her and when he finally stopped running, his muscles screaming with pain, all he could think about was the fact that he should have gone after her.

  He should have fucking stopped her from walking away. Because he had no way of finding her. No way of knowing where she was staying. No way of contacting her at all.

  She was lost.

  Aleks slapped his hand on the side of the treadmill in frustration, the cramping of his muscles negligible in comparison to the heat burning inside him. A complicated ball of anger and regret and desire, along with a large helping of confusion about why he even felt that way in the first place.

  She was just a woman. A one-night stand. He’d slept with her, satisfied the itch, and now she’d gone. She should be out of his head because that’s the way it always went with him and women. He’d never felt the need to get close. Never felt the need for more.

  So that couldn’t be it, could it? Perhaps what he felt now was merely frustrated lust. Lust he couldn’t indulge so therefore it had become more intense. That certainly made more sense.

  Aleks got off the treadmill, had a go on the rowing machine but that didn’t seem to be much better. Eventually, sore and sweaty and still just as pissed off as he had been when he’d arrived, Aleks left the gym and went back up to his suite.

  Only to find a tall, slender figure waiting outside his door.

  He stopped dead in the middle of the hallway because there was no mistaking that slender shape. Or all the white-blonde mass of curly hair.

  Izzy.

  His heart skipped like a needle on a scratched vinyl record.

  She was here. She’d come back.

  As if she’d sensed his presence, she turned and their eyes met, sparks crackling in the air between them.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, low and hoarse. “Why did you come back?”

  She shifted on her feet, looking uncomfortable and raising a hand to push a curl that had escaped her ponytail back behind her ear. “I left my sketchbook in your room.” Her gaze flicked away from his like she was embarrassed.

  But he didn’t look away. He was hypnotized by her. She wore a piece of silk wrapped around her torso, the colour as blue as her eyes, startling against her pale skin. Her hair was damp and curling everywhere like an explosion of thistledown. She looked fragile as porcelain and yet the brightest, most vibrant thing he’d seen all day.

  Emotions tangled and knotted inside him, anger and desire and relief all struggling for dominance. Sick of the confusion, sick of the uncertainty, he acted on the only one of them that made any logical sense to him.

  Desire.

  He walked toward her and something in his face must have given him away because her eyes went wide. She raised her hands. “Aleks—”

  But he didn’t let her finish. He slid his fingers into her hair, gripped the soft curls tight, pulled her head back and kissed her hard. Izzy went rigid, her shock palpable. Then, so suddenly that it took even him by surprise, her arms slid around his neck and her mouth opened, hot and soft beneath his.

  And everything started to make sense once again.

  Yes, lust. Sex. Physical heat. This was what he wanted. What he’d been missing. All the other emotions were just complications but this…this was simple.

  He turned her, pushed her up against the wall, gripping her chin to force her head back so he could gain better access to her mouth. She tasted so good, kissing him with as much hunger as he was kissing her.

  Izzy made a soft sound in her throat, her hands pressing against the still damp cotton of his T-shirt, fingers spread wide. It wasn’t a sound of protest, but he could feel the gentle pressure she exerted. With some reluctance, he lifted his head and looked down into her wide eyes.

  “I didn’t come back here for this,” she said thickly. “I just wanted my sketchbook.”

  “What sketchbook?”

  “The one I left in your suite.”

  “So you’re not here for me?” Disturbing how much that bothered him.

  She took a small, audible breath, her gaze searching his face. Then she shifted her attention down to his mouth, and farther to his damp chest. Colour stained her cheeks. “I didn’t think I was but…” She stopped. “No. No, I can’t do this again.” She tried to edge away, but Aleks put one hand beside her head then the other, caging her against the wall.

  Izzy glared at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Stopping you from leaving.”

  “Why? You were the one who wanted me to go in the first place.”

  He ignored that. “Why can’t you do this again?”

  “Because you acted like an asshole the last time. Forgive me if I don’t want to repeat the experience.”

  Desire sunk sharp teeth into him. He wanted to push her up against the wall and have her. End this ridiculous hunger. But he didn’t like the hurt in her voice or the look of it on her face. Moving a hand, he touched the delicate line of her jaw. “Then help me understand, Izzy. Why does it matter so much what I do?”

  “Because you’re the first person in months who made me feel like I actually bloody existed. You’re the first person who…” She broke off suddenly and looked away.

  Aleks caught her chin in his fingers, gently turned her to face him. “Who what?”

  Something glittered in Izzy’s eyes. “Who made me feel like I mattered, like I wasn’t invisible, okay?”

  “Invisible? How could you be invisible?”

  She blinked again, a small drop catching on her pale eyelashes. Tears? He urged her chin higher so he could see. Yes, they were tears. Izzy was crying. The tight feeling in his chest began to spread, a hand pressing down making it difficult to breathe. “Who made you feel like that? Why?” He didn’t really know why, but the thought that someone had hurt her felt almost painful to him too.

  Izzy jerked her chin out of his grip. “Why should I tell you? You’re only asking because you want to screw me.”

  “No.” The denial didn’t feel like a lie even though it should have done. Because he did want to screw her. But that wasn’t all he wanted. Like the night before, he sensed something deeper going on here, on a level that wasn’t just physical. Something that was about her. And perhaps he needed to figure out exactly what that was. “I’m asking because I want to know.”

  The line of Izzy’s jaw tightened. “You want to know?” Her gaze met his, an oddly defiant look in the depths of her eyes. “Okay, fine. My sister killed herself six months ago. And ever since then my parents have acted like I don’t exist. Like I don’t matter. She fucking took her own life and—” Her mouth shut abruptly. Putting a hand out, she pushed against his chest. “Give me some breathing room for Christ’s sake.�
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  Aleks let himself be pushed, becoming conscious of his dirty, sweaty body in contrast to her clean, fresh scent. But he kept his attention on her face, on the flash of raw grief and anger that burned there.

  She’d lost someone. A sister. He’d never had siblings and the only time he’d had something that even remotely resembled a family, it had been taken from him. But somewhere deep inside him, something broke loose.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did she kill herself?”

  Izzy gave another furious blink. “You think I know? She didn’t even have the decency to leave a fucking note.” Her arms were crossed like she was cold, her face shuttered. But something hot burned in her eyes.

  “You’re angry,” he said.

  “No shit.” Her arms tightened around herself. “My big sister took a whole lot of sleeping pills, washed them down with a bottle of tequila and couldn’t even be bothered to say why. Of course I’m fucking angry.” Izzy kicked the back of the wall she leaned against with her heel, a vicious movement. “And everyone acts like my parents’ grief is the only one that counts. Like losing a sibling is somehow less awful. No one cares how I feel. No one asks. Mum looks through me and Dad ignores my existence entirely.”

  The thing pressing on his chest got heavier. He found himself wanting to say something to her. Make her feel better. But he didn’t know how. Death was death. People died all the time.

  People like Viktor.

  “Viktor,” he said thickly, the words out before he could take them back. “Viktor…died.”

  Izzy looked at him. A tear rested on her cheek. “Who’s Viktor?”

  Aleks opened his mouth to reply but then realized he didn’t know who Viktor was. A mentor? A protector? An old man who played chess in the park who let a street kid hustle him for money?

  That’s not all he was.

  “He was a…friend.” The last word caught in his throat like a fish hook and the thing pressing down on his chest became a whole bag of wet cement, suffocating him.

  Unable to stand it, he turned away, walking to the door to his suite and grabbing his card key.

  “Aleks,” Izzy said quietly.

  He didn’t look at her, running the card the through the reader. The door unlocked.

  “If sex is what you want, come in,” he said flatly. “If you don’t, wait here and I’ll get your book.”

  Chapter Seven

  Izzy hugged herself tighter, trying to keep all the pain and grief and anger from leaking out. Talking about Angie always made her feel that way but she refused to let that hold her back. It felt good to say the words out loud. To give a voice to her anger. And she wasn’t going to let the stigma of suicide stop her from saying it. She’d had six months of everyone not talking about it. Of having her own emotions being treated as though she wasn’t allowed to have them. No more. And if she felt angry about it, she’d feel fucking angry about it.

  Aleks paused at the door, lifting his head to look at her.

  The grief had been wiped clean from his face now, leaving only the memory of a raw edge in his voice as he’d talked about someone called Viktor. Someone who’d obviously been close to him, and yet she hadn’t missed the hesitation. Almost as if the word friend had been a strange one to him.

  It made her curious. Made her want to know why. Twisting her fascination with him tighter. Because he too had lost someone and that gave them another kind of bond.

  She pushed away from the wall. He wore a tank top and running shorts, the cotton of the top plastered all over the muscled length of his torso, and just the sight of him made her dry-mouthed with want. Even though he obviously hadn’t showered, the scent of him wasn’t unpleasant, just clean male sweat. And the way he’d kissed her before, with hunger and desperation, made her realize how hungry she still was for him too.

  Slowly she walked over to where he stood. “I’ll come in, but you’re not the only one who gets to have what they want. I want something too.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want us to be strangers anymore. I don’t want to be treated like some faceless one-night stand. I want to know you.”

  Was that unease she saw in his eyes? She couldn’t be sure. “Know me?”

  “Yeah. Talk about ourselves in other words. Do something other than have sex.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need more than that, Aleks. I’m a person, not a blow-up doll.”

  He frowned. “I never thought you were a blow-up doll.”

  “Well, whatever. If you’re afraid of a little getting-to-know-you stuff then I’ll wait in the hallway for my book. If you’re not, I’ll come into your suite with you and screw you senseless. How’s that for a bargain?”

  Aleks stared at her a long moment. Then abruptly he pushed the door and held it open.

  Beneath the pain and anger and grief still twisted like barbed wire around her heart, Izzy felt a small blossom of warmth. So it wasn’t over. What she wanted mattered to him, at least a little.

  Telling herself not to read too much into it, Izzy walked into his suite and sure enough, there was her sketchbook on the couch where she’d left it.

  She went over and picked it up, leafing through the pages. “I need to shower,” Aleks said from behind her. “Come with me.”

  A delicious shiver went through her, both at the thought and at the note of command in his voice. But that wasn’t how she was going to play it today.

  “Give you what you want straightaway?” she said, turning around to face him. “I don’t think so.”

  Frustration flashed over his face. He tossed the card key down on the coffee table beside the intricately carved chess set that had caught her attention the day before. “What are you expecting then? A date? Dinner and a movie? A drink in the bar? What?”

  She put her sketchbook in her bag then dropped the bag on the floor near the couch. “No. I don’t mean a date. We’ve gotten past that stage, don’t you think?” Her gaze dropped to the chess set. “I have a better idea.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Let’s play a game.”

  “A game?”

  “A chess game.”

  “I don’t understand how that relates to you wanting to talk.”

  “Okay, let me explain. You want sex. But I don’t want to give you that straightaway. I want to get to know you first. But I get the feeling you don’t want to give me that straightaway either. So we have an impasse.”

  “I’ll give you what you want, Izzy. You’d still be out in the hallway if not.”

  Izzy grinned. “Yeah, I know. But let’s try this. It’ll be more fun.”

  “Fun?” His eyes narrowed. “As long as I make the rules.”

  “I thought you’d say that. Sure, on one condition.”

  “Another one? What condition?”

  “For every piece of yours that I take, I get to ask a question and you have to answer it truthfully. No evasions. No distractions. No refusals.”

  Aleks said nothing for a long moment, staring at her. Then he said, “And if I do refuse?”

  “That’s the getting to know you thing, remember? If you refuse, I won’t play. I’ll be out of here.”

  “You’re assuming you’ll be able to take any of my pieces.”

  This was something she’d already taken into account. “I know you’re good, Aleks. But you’ll have to lose a little if you want me to stay.”

  He frowned, studying her. Concentrating on her as if she were a problem he was desperate to solve. Oh man, she was such a sucker for the way he looked at her. It made her feel fascinating. She lifted a brow at him. “Well?”

  Aleks’s gaze dropped down her body in a long, slow, heated look. “For every piece of yours I take, you remove one item of clothing.”

  A small electric thrill went through her. “Strip chess, huh? Sounds to me like you’re getting the hang of this fun thing.”

  “And when I win,” he continued
, his eyes meeting hers. “You’ll do whatever I ask.”

  The thrill turned into a shiver of anticipation. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  “I’m a Grandmaster.”

  As if that explained everything. “What’s that? Like the head Sith or something?”

  He didn’t even smile. Maybe he didn’t get the Star Wars reference. “It’s a chess title. Can you even play?”

  “I know the moves.” Mostly.

  “Then I’ll win.” He said it like it was a done deal. Which it probably was since her chess skills were zero to nil in comparison. But she wasn’t without power here.

  Slowly Izzy walked toward him and he watched her come, his eyes never leaving hers. God, just by looking at her he made her feel so good. Strong. Like she could make a difference instead of feeling like she was screaming into the teeth of a howling gale, all her words, her very self, swallowed by the noise of the wind.

  She came to a stop right in front of him. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  Izzy put a hand on his chest, spread her fingers, felt the heat of his skin beneath the damp cotton of his tank top. “On whether you might like my victory more.”

  “And what do you want if you win?”

  “You. As my slave.” She glanced up at him. “Ever wonder what it might be like for you to give up control sometime?” And yes, there was the slow burn of his response, quickly smothered, but there all the same.

  “No,” he said.

  Izzy let her hand drift down the sleek, hard contours of his chest, glad she’d come back here. He intrigued her. So detached and cold on the outside, yet burning up inside. Like her. Except she didn’t have that layer of ice like he did. Oh no, she burned all the way through.

  “Liar,” she whispered.

  Strong fingers wound themselves in her hair, pulling her head back to meet his gaze. “That’s really what you want if you win?”

  “Yeah. Scared?”

  “Not particularly. Because you won’t win.”