Cross Me

by Geneva Lee

  “I see you’re pregnant again.” Mary didn’t bother to hide her disapproval.

  I’d been expecting it, but it still stung. Part of me hated my hormones for making me more susceptible to her barbs. I shrugged, willing the comment to roll off my shoulders.

  Edward, however, had gone rigid. “I think what you meant to say was congratulations.”

  “And where is your husband?” Mary asked him, turning on him. “Or are you hiding him away, too?”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” Edward said coolly. He went to the seat next to the head of the table and pulled out my chair. It was a cue we’d discussed. It was time to take our places and remind her who was in charge of this palace now.

  “Not hiding anything?” She guffawed, adding a dramatic huff for good measure. “I don’t remember a wedding invitation. In fact, I had to read about it in The Daily Mail.”

  “Mother,” Henry said in a quiet voice. Was this why he had come? Was it his job to keep her in check? And who had put him in charge of that position? Or had the duty fallen to him with the death of his brother? I couldn’t imagine that Mary suddenly cared what she said or who she hurt. She never had before.

  I took the seat just as Alexander arrived, buttoning his jacket and straightening his tie. He had obviously come straight from a meeting and he wore the weary look he usually had after a long discussion with Parliament. His eyes, which had been slightly glazed over as he entered the room, as though his mind were on something else, zeroed in on his grandmother and uncle and flamed to life. Instantly, his whole demeanor changed. This wasn’t a simple family dinner with his wife and brother. I saw the recognition of that dawn on his face. Anger flashed so quickly over his gorgeous features that I was certain I was the only one who caught it. I suspected I’d be seeing more of that look later.

  “We have guests?” he asked through gritted teeth. His eyes looked down to where I sat next to the seat he was supposed to take. I had expected to see anger or rebuke reflected there, instead, I found only frustration. A pang of regret bounced in my chest. This was worse than him being mad at me.

  “Yes, I thought you knew,” I lied, hating myself a little for it. Later, I would admit the truth to him privately. I had no intention of being dishonest with my husband, but there was no way I was going to show all of my cards now. It was better to let them think he had forgotten after a harried day of meetings than that I had purposefully manipulated the situation.

  “We were just discussing your wife’s condition,” Mary said, as she took a step toward the seat across from mine. She waited, but Alexander didn’t move. After a tense minute, Henry stepped forward and pulled the chair out for her. Alexander was still standing, still taking his measure of the situation.

  “Her condition?” he asked.

  That I hadn’t planned on. Immediately, my hand went to my stomach, rubbing it absentmindedly as I tried to think of a way to smooth this over. He hadn’t seen what I was wearing. He also hadn’t been told that Edward was now in on the news. We hadn’t discussed whether or not anyone outside of the security team should know that I was expecting yet. I’d wanted to keep this a secret. Now I’d spilled the news without consulting him.

  “I’m running out of things to wear,” I said in a soft voice. It was the truth. It would have been hard to find anything appropriate that didn’t scream maternity dress.

  “Is she trying to hide it? I don’t see how that’s possible.” Mary picked up her water glass and took a sip. She hadn’t said it to be supportive. In fact, it was the opposite. But it did the trick.

  Alexander glanced down, his eyes landing on the unmistakable bump, and a slight smile twitched across his lips.

  “I think you’re bigger than this morning,” he said. There was no mistaking the love in those words. It soaked through me like a warm ray of sunshine. We were in this together. He finally took a seat, his hand stretching across the table in invitation. I took it without a thought.

  Henry rounded the table and sat next to me. Edward sat next to his grandmother as planned. I felt safer having her surrounded by my husband and his brother. At least, it was safer for her.

  “You two are very affectionate,” Mary noted, glaring at our entwined hands. “It isn’t dignified. No king holds his wife’s hand.”

  Henry laughed, which earned him a sharp look from his mother. “You seem to forget how Albert and Elizabeta were when they were together.”

  “How were they?” I asked before I could stop myself. I knew so little about Alexander’s parents and this was a surprise. Albert hadn’t been the affectionate type.

  Henry leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “I swear that I caught them shagging in the hallway.”

  “That is quite enough!” Mary said. Her hand flew to her chest as though she was in danger of a heart attack.

  One could hope.

  I made a note to ask him about it another time. The conversation at dinner faded into small talk and safe conversations about a variety of parliamentary measures that Alexander had been briefed on today. We avoided anything that might inadvertently cause someone to lose their temper. It felt like walking on eggshells, and it was the most uncomfortable dinner we’d had in a long time, even worse than the time my parents had practically gotten divorced before the salad had been served.

  It all changed over the dessert course.

  “How long will you be staying in London?” Edward asked his grandmother.

  It was a simple question. I’d asked Edward to wait until everyone had finished eating before he brought it up. There was a reason I had planted it amidst the conversation so carefully. I needed them to have this discussion now, even knowing it might devolve into a fight.

  “We will be here through the end of the games.” Mary moved so the server could place a small plate of fruit in front of her. She looked at it and sighed with disappointment. “Fruit?”

  “I sent along your dietary restrictions,” Henry told her reproachfully. He glanced over me and rolled his eyes. “Thank you for seeing to them. We appreciate it.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t going to win over Mary with a plate of strawberries, but seeing to her health seemed to be a priority of Henry’s. He was the one I had a chance to impress, and I seized my opportunity.

  “Who have we appointed to work on the games?” I asked my husband.

  He abandoned his fork, his eyes narrowing and his mind translating my simple question. “That’s not our concern.”

  “It was your father’s pride and joy,” Mary said coldly. She speared a strawberry violently and waved it on the end of her fork. “I would think you could muster a shred of respect for him after what he did for you.”

  “If you mean dying for me, I haven’t forgotten.” The temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees at his words. This was spinning out of control, and I needed to take the reins.

  “Of course we want to support Albert’s legacy,” I broke in, ignoring how every head at the table swiveled in surprise. Well, except for Edward’s. He was trying to hide a smirk. “That’s why I’m going to do it.”

  “Do what?” Alexander and Mary asked at the same time. They were both staring at me as though I had grown a second head.

  “Host the games,” I told them. This time, all of them went completely still. I hadn’t discussed this part of the plan with anyone, not even Edward.

  It was time I stopped allowing all of them to criticize and control me, which meant taking charge. I waited a second to make certain they were paying attention. No one could leave here with any doubt of my intentions. “I will be the host. After all, it is the Sovereign Games, and I’m the queen.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Clara

  We made it back to the bedroom before the argument began. I kicked off my heels as soon as I was through the door. Taking off my earrings, I flinched as Alexander slammed the door closed behind us. I’d expected this. I’d mentally prepared as best I could. Now I had to face him, it was hard not to have s
econd thoughts. Alexander’s hands grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. His lips crashed into mine, his strong body backing me toward the wall. His kiss was rough and hungry, but, more than that, punishing. I gasped as his teeth nipped at my lower lip. His hands were everywhere, shoving up my skirt, gripping my ass, tangling in my hair.

  “I thought you were mad at me,” I said, barely containing a whimper as his hand delved past the neckline of my wrap dress. He caught my nipple with his thumb and forefinger and began kneading it roughly.

  “I’m not mad, Poppet, I’m furious.”

  “Then why—”

  But his mouth smothered mine once more. He didn’t want to talk. Maybe he knew that we were about to have the fight of our lives. Maybe we needed to get this out of the way. Sex drove Alexander. I had always known that. I had always responded to it, as well. Even now, knowing this was the storm before the hurricane, I didn’t want him to stop.

  Alexander dropped to his knees, his hands bunching the fabric of my skirt at my hips. “Christ, Poppet. No knickers?”

  I dared to look down at him. His eyes blazed into me, white hot and furious, his face hovering over my bare sex.

  Oh, was he pissed.

  I did my best to sound nonchalant. “I don’t go into battle unprepared.”

  “You knew how I would react?” The words grated out, his breath hot on my skin. “You knew I would need to claim you—take you—and you came prepared? We are not through discussing this.”

  Before I could think of how to response, his mouth closed over me. There was no love in the act, only blind, driving need. He was wild. He was out of control. I had pushed him past a breaking point I didn’t know he had. His tongue parted me, accessing every part of me. He devoured me, driving my body toward climax, taking my pleasure. It was primal—somehow terrifying and thrilling at the same time. My fingernails scratched across the papered walls, seeking purchase and finding none.

  Usually, Alexander was my anchor, the center that kept me tethered, no matter what his body asked of mine. Something had shifted now. The hold he had on me was no longer a tether but a leash. He was binding me, asserting his ownership. I felt my muscles tighten, my body responding to his attack even as my mind warred against it. I cracked apart, his name on my lips, and my thighs closing around his head. It was too much. Too fast. He kept going, and I pushed against him until he vanished.

  I clung to the wall, and his strong arms bracketed me, his still-clothed body pressing against mine. I felt his cock, hard against my belly, as his lips danced across my jaw and paused to whisper in my ear, “You know what to say to make me stop.”

  My safe word would end this. All I had to say was brimstone. It was a reminder I didn’t need. Instead, my hand flew, slapping him hard across the face.

  His face snapped to the side, and his eyes stayed on the ground a moment before he shook his head slightly. He turned back to me with a wicked smile. “Wrong answer, Poppet.”

  I surged forward, my lips finding his. He met me, his arms lifting me off my feet and carrying me to our bed. My dress came off entirely, followed by my bra. I bucked against him, wanting him and hating him for it at the same time. He dropped me on to the mattress, and my fingers fumbled with his buttons and his tie as Alexander shucked off his jacket. It fell to the floor in a heap.

  I couldn’t get him undressed fast enough. He reached down, pulling off his belt and unfastening his pants. My feet found his hips, pushing down the last barrier between us. I didn’t even see his cock before it was inside me. My body arched at the sudden intrusion.

  There was no gentle pause to prepare me. He was there, pounding into me with strong, fast strokes. He clutched my hips, rocking them in a desperate rhythm. His eyes darkened as he watched where our bodies collided. I seized my chance before he could release. Hooking an arm around his neck, I threw my weight against him, knocking him off his feet. He fell to the bed and we rolled over one another until I found myself on top. Without waiting, I slammed over him, yelping as his length speared me to the core. Alexander paused, concern flitting over his face, but I didn’t stop. My hips circled and ground, pushing him towards his orgasm. His hand reached to brush my breast, but I forced him down, holding his chest with my hands. I was the one in charge now and he needed to see that. Two of us could play this game. He could drive me crazy, too. I needed him to see that no matter how much I gave him, I could take it back.

  “Tell me, X. Tell me what you want me to do.” I bit out, my demand coming in quick, frantic bursts.

  His hands caught the bedsheets as he grunted and thrusted, trying to match my movements. “Fuck me, Clara. Fuck me.”

  “Who do you belong to?” I asked him, lifting myself to the tip of his cock and hovering there. He strained, trying to slide inside me once more, but I held firm.

  “You,” he said darkly. “I belong to you.” I plunged over him, lost to his words.

  The first hot spurt of his climax undid me and he threw himself free of my imprisonment, rising to catch my waist so that, in the end, we fell together. He pressed a kiss to my lips, our breathing still shallow and rushed.

  “That was very wicked of you, Poppet.” His words were low and dangerous, but the rage in his eyes had cooled. He brushed a strand of hair from my forehead and took a deep breath. “You’re wicked.”

  “I’m yours,” I breathed.

  “Yes, you’re my wicked queen.” He brushed his mouth over mine. “I get the feeling you’re trying to prove something to me.”

  “I could say the same thing,” I said dryly. Had he forgotten where this had started? With me pressed against a wall as he forced me to come on his mouth? “I belong to you, X. You seem to keep forgetting that.”

  “Maybe I just wanted a reminder,” he suggested.

  I trailed my hand down his face, lingering where I had slapped him. He turned into my hand, kissing my palm. I guess that meant I was forgiven for that indiscretion.

  “Sometimes I need you to remind me when I’m being an ass,” he muttered.

  “Does that mean you’re not mad at me?” I asked. Not that I cared if he was. He might be mad, but he was also in trouble. We’d gotten sex out of the way. Now it was time for the fight. I braced myself.

  Alexander bit his lower lip, his eyes darting up and then away. “I’m still mad, but I think that makes two of us.”

  “Are we going to talk about it or are we going to fuck it out?”

  “Is that an option?” He dropped a playful kiss to my shoulder.

  The time for fun and games was over. I leveled a glare at him. “No, it isn’t, X.”

  “I didn’t think so,” he sighed.

  I pushed off him, my body instantly missing his warmth, but I did my best to ignore the pang of longing I felt. I stood on shaky feet, bent down, grabbed his pants, and threw them at him. “Put these on.”

  “I thought you liked me better naked.” A smirk twisted over his face, and I fought the urge to kiss it off.

  “I can’t think with that thing”—I waved a hand in the general direction of his crotch—“staring at me.”

  “It is my secret weapon.” He stroked it suggestively while pulling on his pants.

  “Stop,” I demanded.

  He paused, one foot into his slacks, and a look of genuine apprehension crossing his face. “Stop what?”

  “Being charming.”

  “Isn’t that my job? Prince Charming?”

  I laughed at this. “You’re no Prince Charming.”

  “I’m not?”

  Alexander was many things. That wasn’t one of them. He was cocky and broken and sexy as hell, but he wasn’t some white knight. “No, you’re the King. I’m the Queen.”

  “As you so aptly reminded me earlier this evening,” he grumbled.

  “You are the only one I bow to,” I reminded him, “but you seem to have forgotten where your place is.”

  Alexander stood, his fingers fastening his pants. He stopped and took a hard look at me.

/>   “Is that what this is about?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “You tell me.” I wasn’t certain what any of it was about anymore. I’d known what I was signing up for when I agreed to marry him, or so I thought. Alexander had known what he was asking of me. “You seem to forget that we’re equals.”

  “I’ve never thought we were equals,” he said quietly.

  I sucked in a breath as his words shattered my heart. At least he was being honest. I wished I had known before now that he felt that way. Was this his plan all along? To trick me into believing I had as much power as him—as much say is him? As much control as him? I couldn’t find the strength to argue with him. Suddenly, I was tired and my heart hurt.

  He took a step forward and I backed away.

  “Clara,” he said my name gently, “I think you’ve misunderstood me.”

  “I think I understood you fine.” Anger, hurt, and resentment simmered in my voice, and I hoped he heard it. I hoped it hurt him the way his words had hurt me.

  “No, you didn’t. We aren’t equals,” he repeated.

  I closed my eyes, shaking my head. I didn’t want to hear this.

  “I could never be your equal,” he confessed softly.

  My eyes flew open and I stared at him. Anguish lined his handsome features. He stood before me, the scars of his past no longer hidden, the fears for his future written in his eyes. This was us—messy, complicated, damaged. He had never believed he was worthy of love. Why had I lost sight of that? Why had I forgotten that under the face he showed to the world, he was lost. I’d believed that I could fix him—that I had fixed him. But maybe some people could never be fixed, maybe some people were held together by love alone.

  “Alexander, you are a good man,” I said, because he needed to hear it. He needed to face the demon that frightened him the most: himself.