by Geneva Lee
Belle had been careful to keep tabloids out of our house, but she couldn't stop me from seeing them at corner stands. I'd seen the photographic proof—Alexander had been spotted at clubs and bars. I'd recognized some of his friends in the photographs, including Jonathan Thompson, his school friend and Belle’s biggest mistake. If Alexander was spending time with him, I could only imagine what the gossip rags weren't reporting. To my knowledge, Alexander hadn't been caught with another woman yet, but it was only a matter of time. Meanwhile, I was still on the paparazzi's radar showing up under headlines that questioned the status of our relationship like We're Unclear—Where's Clara?
Jane pursed her lips, searching my face for a moment. "Wait here."
There was an ominous undertone to her words and I stood in her kitchen, frozen with dread. The heat of anger melted my coldness when she returned with a stack of envelopes. I recognized the creamy linen, even before I spotted the thick, red wax seal that sent my heart racing.
"Where did you get these?" I asked as she released Alexander's letters to me.
"We thought we should give you some time," Jane said in a soft voice.
"We?" I repeated. "You mean Belle."
Jane squinted at me sternly. "Don't be cross with her. She thought she was helping you."
I snorted at this and clutched the stack to my chest. How could my best friend keep something this important from me? Belle had been pushing for me to move on. Now it seemed she wasn't above sabotaging any chance Alexander and I had at reconciliation. "That's funny, because I've never been so hurt."
But even as I spoke the words, I knew I was lying.
I'd been more hurt before. Hurt by the man who wrote these letters. So why was I so desperate to read them?
Chapter Three
I skipped the shower and closed myself in my room. My hands shook as I counted the envelopes. There were dozens of them. I didn't know where to start—did it even matter? I traced my name, written in Alexander's hand. He had touched this paper, and now separated for months, the thought filled me with a longing so intense that my breath caught.
Sliding a finger under the red wax seal, I withdrew the first letter, dated late June. It had only been a few weeks since he sent it—weeks that had felt like an eternity. I wasn't sure what I would find in these notes. I slowly released the breath trapped in my lungs as I read:
Clara,
How has it only been days since I touched you? My nights are no longer filled with nightmares. Instead, I dream of you—your skin pressed against mine, your taste on my tongue as I devour your cunt, your lips wrapped around my cock. Sleep is becoming my haven. The day is my nightmare because when I wake you're gone.
X
An unfamiliar surge of desire swelled inside me, but it quickly shifted into a pang that ached through my chest. How could he turn me on and make me want to cry at the same time?
My X. I brushed a kiss across his signature. He came to me in my dreams, too, but in those dreams he always left me. Sometimes for another woman. Sometimes for no reason at all. The nightmares jarred me awake and I would lie unblinking, knowing that the fear and despair I felt in my dreams wouldn't vanish with the dawn. If my dreams were like Alexander's, would I feel the same way he did? Would I fight to stay awake if Alexander made love to me while I slept? I wasn't certain. It seemed dangerous to even fantasize about his touch.
The hunger grew in me until I couldn't contain myself and I began ripping open letter after letter, discovering an odd mix of emotion in their pages. Many were as primal and brutally sexual as Alexander himself. I had no problem imagining the things he described. Alexander kneeling before me, my fingers fisting in his silky, black hair as he fucked me with his mouth. Or taking his thick cock between my lips, licking and sucking until he spilled over my tongue.
The pulse in my clit roared through my blood, and I slid a hand down my shorts, finding relief as I pressed my middle finger to the throbbing beacon. I couldn't recall the last time I'd touched myself. It had been before the first time I slept with Alexander. I'd had no compulsion to when we were together. He was the only thing that would satisfy me. After him, I'd had no desire. Only he could release me. Now his words were doing just that.
I clutched another letter as my finger massaged circles across my clit. Still when I read this one tears welled in my eyes, even as my muscles tightened expectantly. The tears rolled down my cheeks even as I arched with pleasure. I drank in his words, allowing them to wash through me with waves of ecstatic release.
Poppet,
I can't sleep. You've slipped from my dreams just as you've slipped from my life. I'm writing to you from our home in Notting Hill. It's curious that even months later, I can't let it go. It was the last place I filled you. The last place I kissed your lips. The last place you cried my name followed by those precious words.
I know you aren't reading these letters. You would be here if you were. How long will you fight it, Clara?
You belong to me. Only you. Always,
X
I gasped his name as I came and the world shattered around me, breaking me along with it. As my body shook from the powerful orgasm, I collapsed against the pillow. I clutched his letter to my chest as I trembled. How would I put myself back together after this? He'd bared his soul to me in letter after letter; the truth hid amongst his fantasies. My body yearned for his—for the promise of his words.
Completion.
Release.
Safety.
Despite my arousal, I couldn't ignore what was missing from his messages. There were no direct admissions. He'd said how he felt about me in a hundred different ways but never in the way I needed to hear.
I was still his secret, and we were still separated by a wall that grew higher with each day we spent apart.
There was a knock on my door, and I scrambled to hide the letters before I realized what I was doing.
He can't be your guilty little secret either, Clara.
I left the letters open on my bed and crossed to open the door. Belle pushed past me, whirling around as soon as she saw the letters.
"Clara—" she began, but I held up a warning finger.
"I'm guessing from your dramatic entrance that Jane told you she gave those to me." She started to speak, but I shook my head. "I'm not interested in your opinion on this."
Belle's mouth fell open, but she recovered quickly. "You're going to hear it anyway!"
"How could you?" I demanded.
"How could I what?" she cried. "How could I protect my best friend from being repeatedly hurt?"
"I've spent the last two months thinking he'd moved on." My rage was already simmering at a low boil and any minute it was going to bubble over.
"You didn't tell me what happened between the two of you. What was I supposed to think?"
"That's not true—" I started.
This time she stopped me with one manicured finger. "You told me some of it, but there was more. I know there was more, Clara. He broke you—I saw it. I couldn't let him do it again."
"You have no idea what happened between us!"
"Then tell me!" she pleaded. "Tell me how you can love him and fear him. Tell me why you ran! Because I can't understand it, Clara. He had to have done something to you. I've watched you become a shell, and I don't like it."
"I am not a shell!" But her accusation stung.
"Bloody hell you're not. Go to work. Bring home work. Run until you're near collapse. Sleep. Repeat. Answer me this, when was the last time you ate a meal without an alarm reminding you to do it?"
I balked at her question, but she didn't need me to respond. She already knew the answer. "Can you blame me?" I asked, angry tears falling hot on my face. "You don't get it. The only person that has ever made me feel alive is killing me. When I'm with him, he consumes me. When he's gone, I'm lost. So tell me what to do, Belle, because you have all the answers!"
She didn't respond. Instead, she took a tentative step in my direction, pausing a moment before she w
rapped her arms around my shoulders. I crumpled against her, and she held me as I sobbed, no longer demanding information. I hadn't told her what had happened with Alexander past the drama surrounding his family and their disapproval of me. She knew there was more. She knew me too well not to see that he'd possessed me fully—mind, body, soul.
"I wanted to protect you," she whispered, and this time there was an apology in her tone.
"Why does everyone say that right before they stab me through the heart?" I croaked.
"Oh Clara." Belle stroked my hair soothingly. "I thought it would make it easier if you didn't know..."
I pulled away from her, wiping tears from my face. "If I didn't know what?"
"That he loves you," she said in a quiet voice.
"He's never said it," I admitted to her, my voice breaking along with my heart.
"Clara," she said my name gently, "he has written to you every single day since you left him. Most men's memories last as long as the lipstick around their cocks. Trust me on this."
"It's not enough." My words were merely a reminder to myself. I couldn't let it be. Could I?
Thoughts muddled into a confused mess in my head. Belle had been the one keeping this a secret from me, but now she was pushing me to face the one thing that made me want to run. It was just another sign of how fucked up our relationship truly was that it had even twisted Belle's feelings.
"I can't make that determination for you." Belle wrapped an arm around my waist. "But while you decide—now that you know—you've got to live a little. Not just for me and not just for him. For you. I miss you. I love you, and I'm not the only one who's worried."
I dropped my head to her shoulder. "I thought if I just pretended I was okay for a while, I would be okay."
"Life doesn't work that way, especially when love is involved." She stepped away from me, twisting her ring around her finger. "I pretty much already know the answer to this question, but you want to get cleaned up and grab a pint?"
I glanced to the pile of letters on my bed. They would still be here in a few hours. Alexander would still be out there in a few hours. I'd spent the last few months clouding my life with work and exercise so that I wouldn't have to live without him. Maybe I wouldn't know what I wanted until I actually faced life without him—until I lived my life.
My mouth tugged into a small smile. "Can I take a shower first?"
"Yes!" Belle's eyes lit up. "I'm not taking you out smelling like that! But I'm holding you to this, Clara Bishop. You have thirty minutes before I come in after you."
"I'll make it quick," I promised her. A weight I hadn’t known I was carrying lifted from my shoulders. Maybe it was just a possibility and nothing more. Maybe tomorrow no letter would come. Maybe trying would hurt even more.
But suddenly I couldn't wait to get my life started.
The pub down the street was packed with the late night crowd. As soon as we were through the door, Belle grabbed my arm and dragged me to two barstools that had just opened up. We slid onto them seconds before a group reached them. One of the girls glared at us, but Belle raised an eyebrow and smiled smugly.
"You're such a shark," I called to her over the crowded room.
Belle winked at me as she waved for the bartender. "I take what I want."
"It reminds me of Alexander," I admitted, tapping my fingers on a coaster. He took what he wanted as well. Although he'd shown surprising restraint the last few months. I, on the other hand, was always hesitating. Could I take what I wanted, too?
Of course, I would have to figure out what I wanted first.
"Uh-uh." Belle wagged a finger at me and slid a cocktail in front of me. "No thinking. Not for the next few hours. I demand you have a good night."
I didn't bother to tell her that reminded me of Alexander, too. Instead, I raised my tumbler and tapped it to hers before taking a long swig. It burned down my throat and I coughed, caught off-guard by its strength. "What is this?"
"Bourbon." Belle's lips curved wickedly behind her glass.
"And?"
"And what?" she asked. "It's bourbon. I knew that the only way to get you to let go is with a high alcohol content."
"In me or the liquor?" I sipped tentatively at the amber-colored liquid.
"Both." She finished off hers with one long swallow, grimacing for a split second before slamming the glass back down on the bar. "Damn!"
I followed her lead, barely managing to down mine. I shook my head, feeling as if I were breathing fire. "Which one is going to be the responsible one tonight?"
She winked at me. "With any luck, neither of us!"
I watched as she ordered two more shots, wondering if I would be calling in sick to work tomorrow. At the rate she had us going, I would be. "I'm not sure Philip will appreciate it if I let you get trashed in a pub."
"Getting pissed in a pub is a long and proud English tradition," she reminded me, shoving another drink in my hands, "and Philip is all about tradition. Drink up!"
I held up my free hand as I took another swig. "Are we in a hurry?"
"I want to dance, and by my calculations you need to finish that and one more before you become pliable enough for my liking."
"Scandalous!" I clutched my hand to my chest, laughter bubbling into my throat. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"That is exactly what I'm trying to do," she said, gesturing for one more round. "I want to dance."
"This doesn't exactly seem like a dancing crowd," I pointed out as I drained my cup. The bourbon was already working its magic, loosening my limbs and heating my belly.
"Not here," she said in exasperation. "We'll have to go to a club."
The thought of going to a club made my head spin, and I gripped her wrist. "Anywhere but Brimstone."
Belle raised an eyebrow and waited expectantly.
"Bad memories," I said. I left it at that. Surely Belle remembered that the only time I'd been there had been with Alexander.
"That's exactly where we should go then. Sod him! Let's go take it back. I don't care who he is, he doesn't own that club and you look hot tonight."
I narrowed my eyes at her, shaking my head. I should have known this was about more than grabbing a quick pint when she'd tossed a tiny, red dress on my bed. "Is this why you insisted I look runway ready?"
"I won't let you reclaim your life in trainers and gym shorts."
I knew Belle well enough to know this wasn't the only reason. "As long as you aren't trying to get me to hook up with someone."
"You never know when the right one will come along," she said with a shrug and a knowing gleam in her eyes.
I thought of the day I'd met Alexander, of the unexpected kiss we'd shared as we both hid during the festivities at the Oxford-Cambridge Club, of the undeniable connection I'd felt for him the first time we'd gone to bed together. Raising my glass, I tapped it against hers. "I'll drink to that."
The fear I'd expected wasn't there. Maybe it was the considerable amount of alcohol coursing through my veins courtesy of Belle or maybe it was something more than that—a hunger that had been gnawing through me since I’d read Alexander's words earlier this evening. I wasn't here to see him. Not exactly. Going to Brimstone was about confronting myself. The club held a special significance for me. It had been the first place that Alexander warned me away. I'd seen the darkness flashing in his eyes that night. It was also the place that had brought us together—and the place where I'd walked away from him. I hadn't chosen the club's name as my safe word lightly. Now it felt dangerous to be here, but after weeks of longing for Alexander, I craved the risk.
The line of hopefuls wrapped around the building. From the outside, it was hard to tell it was London's hottest nightclub. I looped my arm through Belle's and walked past the line, receiving a fair number of dirty looks in the process. We looked hot tonight—me in my short red dress and Belle in a shimmery silver slip dress—but that wasn't what was going to get us in.
"Maybe we should go somewhere el
se." Belle's gaze flickered toward the line.
"This is where I want to go." I peered ahead, pushing my shoulders back as we drew closer to the bouncer.
"An hour ago you didn't want to go here," she reminded me.
"That was before I had three doubles." Right now I felt like I could face anything. Maybe tonight I would get lucky and run into Pepper Lockwood, Alexander's childhood friend and my wannabe rival. My mouth twisted at the thought.
"Exactly," Belle said, pulling me from my fantasy. "You're drunk."
"And whose fault is that?"
"I just wanted you to loosen up, but I'm not sure—"
"I am," I interrupted her as we stepped to the front of the line. Behind us, I heard a mix of groans and cursing.
"Miss?" The bouncer crossed his arms, straining the seams of his already strained shirt. He tipped his head to the back of the line. Belle tugged at my arm while a few people whistled behind us.
I searched the man's face for a moment with a raised eyebrow. He was definitely the one that had opened the door for me when I fled from Alexander the night of our formal introduction. "I suppose you don't remember me. It's not wash day."
I smoothed my dress down suggestively and bit my lip for good measure. He studied me for a moment before slowly asking, "A guest of Mr. X?"
"You could say that." I fluttered my lashes, waiting for him to finally place me.
His eyes widened as he reached for the velvet rope that barred entrance to the club. "Of course. I'm sorry. Any guest of Mr. X—"
"I assumed," I purred. Sashaying past him, my hips swaying with my newly found confidence, I paused. "Is he here this evening?"
"I don't think so, Miss..."
"Clara," I corrected him. "Don't forget this time."
"I won't," he promised. His gaze traveled down my form one more time before he sighed and turned back to the line.
Belle grabbed my arm and spun me toward her, staring at me like I was an alien. "What the hell was that?"
"I've been here before," I reminded her.