For King and Country

by Geneva Lee

  “Is that why you went to Iraq?” I asked and then immediately wished I hadn’t.

  “Back to our game? I suppose I advised you to save a few,” he said humorlessly.

  My heart thrilled at the reference to the cat-and-mouse game of twenty questions he’d engaged me in during our first meeting, but his lack of amusement at my presumptuous question told me he didn’t really want to answer me.

  Alexander’s smile was tight-lipped as he turned away from me.

  “Yes,” he finally answered in a distant voice. “Yes, it was.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. It’s only…” My words trailed away as I realized it didn’t really matter what I thought. Why couldn’t I shut up? Because he made me nervous and it wasn’t awkward date jitters. It was as if every nerve in my body was firing at the same time, warning me I was in danger, like feeling the caress of heat before accidentally touching a flame, except every piece of me wanted to embrace the fire.

  “Only?” he prompted, watching me with cautious, if curious, eyes.

  “I wish you hadn’t gone,” I whispered. I had no clue why I said it. I hadn’t even thought of Alexander’s infamous, highly-debated exile from home before today, but I knew that I meant it with every fiber of my being.

  He didn’t respond, instead he turned his attention to the window overlooking the club and downed the last of his drink quickly.

  “I can handle it. It’s very kind of you to be concerned,” I added. Taking a deep breath, I set my glass down and looked toward the door. He had apologized. I had reassured him. Our business was done.

  “Clara.”

  I stopped, waiting for him to continue, and I knew then that I wanted to hear my name on his lips again. I wanted him to whisper it. I wanted him to command it. I wanted him to cry it out.

  “Yes,” I said, swallowing hard on this realization.

  “As much as it pains me to say this—and believe me, it pains me—for once, those leaches did me a favor. I tried to find you at the party, but no one knew who you were.”

  No surprise there. I might have graduated at the top of my class, but I’d done so by keeping my nose to the grindstone. My circle of friends was small, and other than Belle, most of them weren’t rich or titled. But someone there had known who I was and told the press. Whoever it was hadn’t been doing me a favor, which must have accounted for why he or she hadn’t told Alexander.

  “I’ve thought about you a lot,” he continued.

  His confession took my breath away, and I stared at him, dumbstruck.

  “Since last weekend?” I blurted out when I could finally speak. He’d made it sound like an eternity had passed instead of a few days. But hadn’t I been thinking about him in the shower this morning and trying very hard not to think about him this afternoon?

  “Is that so hard to believe?” He moved closer until our bodies were a mere breath apart, and I was glued to the spot. It took everything I had in me not to melt into him.

  Alexander circled around me, and I felt like prey under his ferocious gaze. He could protect me—or tear me limb from limb—and from the faint smile playing on his lips, I wasn’t sure he’d decided which he was more likely to do. He stopped behind me, leaning close, his lips brushing against my ear. “If you knew what was good for you, you would run.”

  My mouth went dry even as my panties grew wet. “Am I in danger?”

  “People around me tend to get hurt,” he whispered, his breath hot on my neck.

  My thoughts flashed to the dozens of women he’d picked up since he’d returned home. I couldn’t recall seeing any of them photographed with him more than once. Had he charmed them into his bed only to discard them by morning? Something about his words struck a warning chord in me though.

  “Will you hurt me?” The words felt like a dare rather than a question.

  “You’ve been reading the tabloids,” he said. “Don’t believe everything you read, Clara. I have never done anything to a woman that she hasn’t asked for…begged for.”

  I spun around to face him. I wasn’t certain if I was angry with him for being so cocky—or if I was mad at myself for being so turned on. But my questions died on my lips as I found myself fighting hard against the dizzying effect he had on me. It was unfair that his power was coupled with such a godlike face.

  I took a deep breath, refusing to look away from him. “Do you like that? Do you like women to beg?”

  He loosed a low, gruff laugh that made my core clench. “I enjoy making women ask for more. I enjoy making them whimper and cry out and call my name, and I’d very much enjoy making you beg.”

  “I’m not really the begging type,” I said, even though my words were as weak as my resolve was becoming.

  “You could be,” Alexander said. “I can see it in your eyes: the desire to be commanded and taken. You’ll enjoy it when I fuck you.”

  Yes, please.

  Alexander trailed a finger down to my collarbone, and my body tightened in anticipation, recalling my dream. Then his fingers curled around my neck, his touch light but assertive. He was in control, and when he drew me closer, I molded into him instinctively. I could feel his cock pressed against my belly, and my body responded with a twinge that tingled through my nerves until my sex felt swollen and ready. I waited for him to make a move, no longer a slave to conscience or rational thought. Instead, a hundred scenarios played out in my mind. Over the table. On the couch. Against the glass window. He could have me any way he would take me.

  But instead he withdrew from me. “You should go.”

  His sudden rejection rocked through me, nearly knocking me off my feet. I swayed, momentarily disoriented by the abrupt shift in his demeanor. “I probably should.”

  A man like this—one that confused me and mesmerized me, thrilled me and terrified me—was no good for me. I forced myself to consider that even though I was crushed, Alexander was bad news. I’d known that all along, so why was I here now?

  Alexander turned from me, hiding his blue eyes and the deep secrets reflecting beneath their smoldering surface. “You asked if I would hurt you, Clara. I can’t lie and say that I won’t. I want nothing more than to strip you bare and pin you to that wall. Hold you there until you beg for my cock, and when I finally give it to you, you’ll beg me never to stop.”

  Again he moved closer and I felt his heat radiating from him. It seeped into me, making my blood broil. The passion coursed through my veins, heating my flesh and slowly engulfing my senses until there was only him.

  He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “But if I do that, it will only ruin you.”

  “This isn’t an old novel,” I snapped, hoping he didn’t catch the break in my voice. “I’m not a hapless virgin.”

  His hand flew out and caught my arm, pulling me against him roughly. “I’ve thought about your lips all day. I’ve pictured you on your knees with that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock sucking me off. If I had you now, I would want more. Once wouldn’t be enough. But more is something a man like me can never have.”

  “Because I’m not royalty?” I asked, feeling daft for even suggesting something so antiquated. I knew this wasn’t a game. He wanted me—almost as much as I wanted him. A man like Alexander could have anything he desired, so why push me away now?

  “I think they’d be more pissed that you’re American, but really no one cares about that,” he said with a dark smile. It faded from his lips, but the darkness remained in his features. “Because nothing beautiful can survive around me. Do you understand that? They’ll destroy you, and if they don’t, eventually I will.”

  His assumption that I couldn’t handle him had me furious at a level I found hard to express. Apparently, he wasn’t only arrogant when it came to his conquests, he was also full of himself when it came to all women.

  “Maybe I can take care of myself.” I twisted away from him, but his grip remained firm.

  “Maybe you can,” he admitted. “But d
on’t tempt me into risking it. I can’t be held responsible.”

  He dropped his hold of me then and I saw the dare in his crystal blue eyes. He wanted me to run. He expected me to run. Instead my hand shot out, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down until our lips met. A growl vibrated through his body as our tongues met, and I shivered both at the sound and at the primal urgency of his touch. His hands slid down, cupping my ass and lifting me off the ground as the kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping across my teeth before it thrust inside my mouth, drawing out mine. He sucked it slowly until my legs wrapped more tightly around his hips, my body desperately searching for relief from the mounting pressure in my core. Despite our clothing, I circled against his hard cock, rocking against it when I found the right spot. Somewhere my sensible side, no longer able to stay silent, began admonishing me, her tone shocked and her eyes wide.

  Shut up, I commanded her.

  Still holding me up, Alexander’s hand drifted up and caught my ponytail, tugging it back so that my lips broke from his.

  “This is your last chance,” he warned. His eyes burned into me, but once again I felt frozen—totally under his control.

  And it was then that I realized control was the one thing I could never, ever give him.

  “No,” I whispered.

  Disappointment flashed through his still blazing eyes, but he released me gently to my feet. The ground was shaky beneath me, but when I took a step back, it was my legs that trembled.

  “You’re a smart girl.” He hesitated, searching my face for a reason I couldn’t give him. Then he dropped his lips to brush across my forehead. “Norris will see you home safely, and I’ll have my people work on getting rid of those reporters.”

  The fire that had roared between us moments ago had cooled into business, and I wished I were still kissing him.

  “Thank you.” The words were thick on my tongue, anticipating the words I knew would follow. Words, that despite my show of resolve, I didn’t want to hear.

  “Goodbye, Clara Bishop.” Alexander’s eyes lingered over me and I sensed he was holding back, as though he wanted to say more.

  I took a deep breath and backed my way toward the door—and the safety of the club outside. “Goodbye.”

  But when I stepped out of the room, the relief I expected to flood through me didn’t come. Instead I felt something else entirely—an emotion I couldn’t quite place. It ached and plucked at me, familiar and foreign at the same time. Norris met me at the foot of the stairs before I realized what was swirling through me, leaving my body numb and my center hollow.

  It was regret.

  Tears blurred my eyes as Norris took my elbow, guiding me back toward the exit we’d entered through. I felt ridiculous for crying, but it had been a trying day: hiding in my flat, sneaking out to meet up with Alexander, avoiding my mother’s calls and my friends’ text messages. I could have been hit by a car crossing the street and received less attention. And to top it off, Alexander had rejected me. Or I had rejected him. I wasn’t really sure. It felt like such a mess now that I could only be certain of one thing—I was done with it all.

  Pulling free of Norris’s gentle hand, I darted away from him, slowing to a stride as I passed the line of people waiting for the loo. There was no way I was going to spend this week—or even this night—hiding. Alexander said he would fix things, but I wasn’t going to wait around for that to happen. I didn’t think I was imagining eyes swiveling to follow me. Then a few girls snapped my photo on their mobile, and I knew I wasn’t being paranoid. I had been recognized.

  But that was the point.

  I needed this to end now. Even if Alexander called off the reporters, there’d be suspicions that something was going on between the two of us. Suspicion had to be laid to rest. I was about to start a job in this city. I couldn’t very well have photographers following me everywhere I went.

  The floor of Brimstone was packed so tightly that I barely managed to push through the sweaty crowd, although I was able to entirely lose Norris in the process. As it was, I got groped by guys too pissed to know better. At least I hoped that was their excuse. But now that I was out on the dance floor, it felt like I was actually in hell and stuck in a giant swarm of the damned. It was certainly hot enough down here, and I was miserable too. My eyes flashed past the flaming murals on the wall and the dancers surrounding me to the giant mirror that lined the loft above the dance area. Was Alexander watching me? Did he even care?

  The thought was enough to spur me forward until I forced my way out of the crowd. As a bouncer opened the door for me to exit, I realized that it didn’t really matter if Alexander was watching. The security guard cast a sideways glance at my strange attire, no doubt wondering who had let me in dressed like this.

  “Wash day,” I called over the din. His mouth split into a grin that dropped from his face a moment later when the first flash bulb went off. Confusion replaced amusement as the first burst was followed by a dozen more.

  I didn’t have much of a plan for how to deal with this. My entire experience with the paparazzi until this morning had consisted of photographs in the tabloids. A celebrity would hold a hand over her face and walk quickly away, but I wanted their attention. I needed to prove that I wasn’t worth their time. Although now that I was actually in the situation, I wasn’t sure how to make that happen.

  “Miss Bishop! Smile, love!”

  “Miss Bishop, how long have you been involved with the Prince?”

  “Miss Bishop, is it true that the King has condemned your relationship?”

  “Were you secretly married in Oxford?”

  It was like that childhood game telephone. From one silly picture they’d managed to spin an entire love affair. The truth had been entirely distorted in favor of headlines. Something twanged in my chest as I thought of how Alexander had to deal with this every day. No wonder he’d been so hot and cold. It was a coping mechanism to help him survive. And now these leeches had their hooks in me, waiting for the next juicy moment they could exploit in the name of news.

  Stopping in front of the crowd and pushing my shoulders back in an effort to look serious, which was quite difficult considering my ensemble, I addressed the crowd.

  “I’m sorry to inform you all that I have no relationship with Prince Alexander. Someone has made a dreadful mistake. I do not know the Prince. I am not in love with him. And I highly doubt the King gives two figs about me.” The words rushed out of me, even as I tried to stay calm and collected. I was running on adrenaline now, which meant I was lucky that I was even coherent right at the moment.

  I didn’t expect them to stop taking photos or run away or even apologize, but I certainly didn’t expect the reporters to cluster closer to me after I’d explained that I was a dead end. They didn’t seem willing to believe that. A few jostled against me, screaming questions in my ear. I was nearly blinded by the flash of their cameras. They all spoke so quickly that I wouldn’t have been able to answer one of them if I wanted to. I wished I’d let Norris take me home as the crowd pressed closer and closer. Club-goers had joined the chaos. A few men attempted to fight the reporters in the name of chivalry, which would have been laughable any other night. And a few others were simply trying to take photos with their mobiles. They probably didn’t even know who I was. It only mattered that there was news of some sort. No doubt the whole scene would be spread all over Facebook by the morning.

  I fought against the crowd, pushing my way past one group, only to have another wave surge on top of me. Bodies pressed in on every side of me, drowning me, until I couldn’t breathe. The air squeezed from my chest and I gasped, trying to inhale but choking as the mass pushing against me prevented me from catching my breath. Panic trembled down my arms and legs, rolling through me in tiny quivers as my eyes darted around, looking for a means of escape. I had to get away. I had to breathe. I had to protect myself. But with each passing second, I grew more terrified, more desperate, until I tripped over someone’s legs.


  The crowd parted only far enough for me to stumble to my hands and knees before the frenzy set in once more. Dozens of flashes popped and sparked around me. My arms wrapped around my head reflexively, trying to block out the gawkers and their shouts.

  “Enough!” The command bellowed so loudly over the crowd that even I lifted my eyes to see who had called out.

  Alexander stood a few paces away, his face contorted with barely controlled rage. He’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, making him look like a man eager to get down to business. Fury blazed in his eyes as his gaze traveled from person to person as though he was silently daring any of them to defy his order. He took a few steps forward, and as he came closer, the anger radiated from him like a heat wave. The crowd around me backed away, unable to tear their eyes from him. It might have been because he was the Prince of England, but I knew there was something more primal to this scene. Even I responded to it, my heartbeat racing faster instead of calming until he dropped down and pushed my hands from over my head.

  “Are you okay, Clara?” he asked quietly.

  I managed a nod. Behind me, a few of the girls with cameras had started filming again.

  Alexander took my hand and helped me to my feet, but as soon I was standing up again, the questions began.

  “Alexander, is this your girlfriend?”

  “Alexander, is it true that your father doesn’t approve of your relationship with a commoner?”

  I winced at that one. True, I wasn’t royalty, but it felt a bit hypocritical to call me out as a commoner. It was meant to be an insult, I could feel it as I could feel the daggers being cast at me from many of the women nearby. I had to get out of here. My throat constricted even though no one was shoving against me now. I forced myself to breathe, but the result was the quick, shallow pants of another panic attack. Alexander fell into step beside me. Ignoring the reporters, he glanced down at me, concern shining through his fiery eyes. He shifted closer, placing his hand on the small of my back. It lingered there, scorching through the thin fabric of my t-shirt, as he guided me past the reporters and onlookers. His touch steadied my nerves, and warmth spread through my body from the spot where his hand rested possessively, settling in my chest.