The Royals: Alexander and Clara: Volume One (The Royals Saga)

by Geneva Lee

  “She gave it to me before she died.” Alexander didn’t speak of his mother often, but when he did, sadness always colored his words. Tonight the sorrow in his voice sounded bittersweet. “She would have liked you. My mother was beautiful and headstrong. She matched my father in every way. She was the only one who challenged him. You remind me of her.”

  It was lot to live up to, but I swallowed my fear. “I love it. I love you.”

  “I know it might seem like a bit much,” he added hastily. “If you’d rather have something else.”

  I snatched my hand back. “You’ll have to pry it off my cold, dead finger.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said with a laugh. Alexander could be distant. He could be domineering. Every facet of his personality aroused me. But when he allowed himself to be happy, I melted.

  Alexander brushed a kiss along my hairline. “When…” he trailed away, his eyes glued to something outside the window. “Fuck.”

  “What?” I asked, afraid to turn around. Maybe someday I would be accustomed to the bad news that seemed to always nip at the heels of our happiness. Today wasn’t that day.

  “We have company,” he said through gritted teeth. He drew back, stuffing his shirt into his waistband and running a hand through his hair to tame it. Then he assisted me in tugging my skirt back into place. He tucked my hair behind my ears and kissed me softly. The hunger that had ached through me moments before roared back to life and my hands reached to clutch him to me. Alexander loosened my grip and shook his head apologetically.

  My eyes flashed to see exactly who had just made their way to the top of my shit list. There wasn’t a single person in our lives who didn’t know he had just proposed. If I was going to have to constantly field unexpected visitors, a change of address might be in order. A number of black sedans lined the street in front of our house. Apparently the no parking signs didn’t apply to them. As we drove closer, I caught sight of at least a dozen men, dotting the gate, garden and front door. I couldn’t see the rear garden, but I suspected there were men standing guard there. Every light in the house was on, and the front door stood open.

  “A security sweep?” I asked, confused. Had something happened while he was traveling? Or perhaps it was standard procedure after a member of the royal family returned home from an extended trip.

  “Undoubtedly.” Alexander’s lower lip curled with disgust. “One can’t be too cautious when the king comes to call.”

  “K-k-king?” I tripped over the word, unable to process what he was suggesting.

  “My father’s come to pay us a visit.”

  As soon as Norris parked the car, Alexander was out the door. He bent and offered his hand, but as soon as I took it, he began to drag me toward the house. A few of the guards moved to stop us but stood down when they recognized him. I smiled awkwardly at them, wondering if it was against protocol to offer them a beverage. After my last encounter with Alexander’s father, I’d be happy to find any excuse to avoid being in the same room as him. Alexander didn’t give me the chance to escape the impromptu meeting, though. We found Albert in the living room, drinking a glass of wine. He’d settled comfortably on leather wingback chair next to the fireplace. I did my best to look unfazed at his unexpected presence, taking off my coat and laying it over the back of the sofa. But I was rattled. Albert had shown no interest in our life in Notting Hill up to this point, except to demand we discontinue our living situation—and our relationship. It couldn’t be a coincidence that tonight he’d finally sought out our home.

  “Come to congratulate us?” Alexander asked him stonily.

  “Congratulations on your little spectacle,” Albert said with a sneer. He sipped the thin red wine, shaking his head. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Alexander glared at him. “Careful, father. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

  “I assure you it’s not.” Albert abandoned the wine glass on an end table and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “Perhaps I underestimated you.”

  I needed to let this conversation sink in. Of course Albert would come. Alexander had not only involved my family and his tonight, but members of the adoring public. It had all been a charade to endear us to the people. Make the ultimate romantic gesture so we couldn’t break up without their hearts being broken along with mine. Alexander hadn’t been proposing to me. He’d called his father’s bluff, staging the whole proposal, inviting the world to watch so his father couldn’t deny our relationship any longer. My words stuck in my throat, catching on the tears mounting there. It had all been a ploy.

  “You said it was a show,” I said aloud.

  The two men ceased bickering and looked at me. Albert frowned. “What is she prattling on about?”

  “It was all a show,” I repeated, looking to Albert and stepping closer to him. “To undermine you.”

  It might as well be me to tell him the truth. Maybe then I could take back some of the control the lie had cost me. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them, the scene would fade away. That I was trapped in a dream. That none of this was real.

  Albert snatched my hand, ripping me back to reality. It was all true. This was happening.

  “Did you have to give her your mother’s engagement ring?” His jaw tensed from displeasure. “I think that’s what they call overselling it.”

  “This isn’t a charade,” Alexander said in a low voice. “Yes, I purposefully proposed to Clara publicly. But it wasn’t to hurt you. I did it because I wanted my choice to be known, so there would be no question in anyone’s mind who I plan to marry.”

  A flicker of hope ignited in my chest, but I held my breath, refusing to fuel it. Regardless of his intentions, the idea that his proposal had been plotted to garner media attention didn’t sit well with me. How many more of my life’s private moments would be made into a spectacle for publicity?

  “There are protocols,” Albert hissed. “Protocols you blatantly ignored—”

  “Fuck your protocols!”

  “You have a responsibility to—”

  “I have a responsibility to myself,” Alexander stopped him with a raised hand. “To her.”

  “And to this country,” his father reminded him. Albert tugged open his top collar button. “There are bigger issues at play than your little romance.”

  “This isn’t the seventeenth century. I’m not taking a wife for political reasons.”

  “Not everything centers around the impulses of your knob.” Albert studied his son for a moment before grabbing my arm and dragging me between them. “Does she know about your unsavory tastes? Does she know why you were sent away?”

  “I keep nothing from Clara.”

  There was no point in arguing with the king over this. He’d made up his mind up his eldest son years ago, sending him away to war to avoid facing him.

  Albert dropped my arm, looking at me in disgust. “If I had known these twisted impulses were more than a temporary phase, I would have ordered you to the front line.”

  Alexander opened his mouth to speak, but I’d had enough.

  “Get out,” I demanded. Crossing to the door, I swung it open. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  Both men stared at me, before Albert recovered himself. “You do not presume to give me orders.”

  “I do presume,” I informed him. “I did not invite you into my house. Now I’m telling you to leave.”

  “At least you have some fire in you.” Albert eyed me coldly as he backed out of the door. “Consider this your welcome to the family.”

  A ritualistic sacrifice would have been more welcoming. I slammed the door shut behind him as my body began to shake. Albert had damaged my resolve, and I was cracking. Our relationship was built on eggshells and when it finally broke me, I knew that all the king’s horses and the king’s men wouldn’t be able to put me back together. Rounding on Alexander, I tugged his ring from my finger and held it out to him. Alexander stared at it in horror, the pain on his
face reflecting the agony I felt. “Take it.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked in a thick voice.

  “Take it,” I pleaded as tears pricked my eyes. If this was all a ruse, I needed to put a stop to it now

  He reached out and curled my fingers over the ring. “This is yours. It’s my promise to you—one I intend to keep.”

  I forced myself to ask a question I wasn’t certain I wanted the answer to. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

  “Because I love you.”

  Alexander closed the distance between us. He pressed his palms to the door, circling my torso. He had me trapped. I wanted to push him away, to free myself of the heady effect of his physical nearness. I couldn’t trust my body not to betray me into believing anything he had to say.

  “I deserve the truth. If you only asked me to marry you because you wanted to get back at your father—”

  “This has nothing to do with my father!” he exploded.

  “Then explain it to me, X,” I pleaded, my voice barely registering above a whisper. My gaze found the floor. I dared to hope—to believe that I could have my happily ever after. I’d been swept away by the prince, carried away with tender promises. Life wasn’t that simple.

  Alexander drew the ring from my clasped palm and slipped it onto my finger.

  “I’ll marry you tomorrow, Clara. Our secret. If that’s what will reassure you. I asked you to marry me because I want you to be my wife. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. My father. The tabloids.” He paused, cupping my chin to redirect my downward gaze up to his. “Say the word and I’ll make this official tonight.”

  I turned my face into his palm, relishing the warmth of his strong hand. “Sorry. Your father tends to make me crazy.”

  “He does that to all of his children,” Alexander reminded me. “You’re already fitting in, poppet.”

  “Even if we ran away together tonight, there would still be a wedding.”

  “A wedding falls squarely into the duty I warned you of earlier.” Sadness flashed across his face before he forced a smile. “If you’ve changed your mind, I will understand.”

  “No. I haven’t changed my mind,” I murmured. Despite Albert’s intrusion and the pressure of his hate-filled demands, I knew with absolute certainty that I’d made the right choice. Alexander and I belonged together. I ran my hand over his vest, my fingers vibrating up his toned stack of abs even through the thick fabric, and paused over his heart. “This is mine.”

  My hand dropped lower, gripping his hardening cock through his trousers. “And this is mine.”

  “You’re getting quite possessive.” Alexander groaned as I unzipped his fly and grasped his hot shaft. He bunched my skirt over my hips, revealing my stockings and garter belt. He brushed a finger across the lace of my thong.

  “I am,” I agreed, stroking his length with my fist while my other hand pushed his pants to the floor. “You belong to me, but right now, I want to be claimed.”

  The tip of his finger wriggled along my wet panties.

  Alexander caught my wrist, wrenching it off his stiff cock, and twisted it behind my back. I didn’t fight when he repeated the action with my other hand. His strong arms bracketed me, restricting my movement. He pulled my trapped wrists down, forcing my torso to arch. He met my curving body with hunger, his teeth catching my left nipple through my shirt and sucking it into his mouth. His tongue flicked over its tip, circling the sensitive bud until it pebbled, swollen and tender. His mouth widened, claiming more of my breast. Tension pooled in my core, and I bucked against his groin. My swelling sex brushed his crown. The lace between us scratched as his velvety tip dragged along my seam, sending a tremor of ecstasy through my throbbing center.

  But he wouldn’t allow me to be so easily satisfied. Releasing my wrists, he hoisted me into his arms and carried me to our bed. He kissed me slow and he kissed me hard until I was senseless with desire. When he laid me on top of the sheets, I watched, lust building into a frantic pulse, as he stripped himself of his jacket. His vest followed. Then his shirt. He stood before me, flagrantly masculine and still indescribably beautiful.

  I couldn’t comprehend that we had forever. Forever to explore each other’s bodies. Forever to find the answers we sought together. Forever to express our love. The idea stole my breath. He was mine. Always.

  And I wanted forever to start right fucking now. My fingers fumbled with my own buttons, but he stooped, gripping the silky fabric, and wrenched it open. Buttons scattered across the bed and floor. Alexander shoved the thin shirt off my shoulders, wrestling it past my arms as we tangled together and my breasts fell into his hot palms, heavy with arousal.

  “I need to taste you. I’ve thought about your body every day we’ve been apart,” he said gruffly. My head fell back as he descended down my torso, licking and sucking every inch of my soft flesh he could reach. His hands massaged my breasts, kneading them as he continued his ravenous descent until he reached my bikini line. He nudged my thighs open with his chin, the slight scruff of his five o’clock shadow grazing the delicate skin and making me giggle.

  “You like that, poppet?” He caressed his face against my inner thigh, and the tickling sensation shifted to a craving that took control of my body. I writhed closer to him. His hands abandoned my breasts. Alexander shoved the flimsy lace covering my sex to the side. “I missed your cunt. I’m going to spend the rest of my life worshipping it. Has it missed me?”

  I moaned a yes as he pressed a tender kiss to me. My legs fell open in invitation and he accepted, thrusting his tongue between my folds and hitting my pulsing clit. I cried out, resisting the urge to clamp my legs against his head and hold him there all night. There was no need for force, because he was in no hurry, which he demonstrated by lapping my silky wetness with slow, deliberate strokes.

  How had I survived without his touch for so long? I deserved some type of a medal. A girl shouldn’t go cold turkey from a man like Alexander. I planned to tell him so when…My thoughts fell away as he hooked a finger inside me, discovering uncharted territory. I never wanted him to stop. My limbs tensed, clinging to the edge, disinclined to fall over it. This was the man I loved. This was the man I would marry. The thought nearly annihilated me, but I gripped the sheets and hung on. I willed time to stop, but it sped up as his skillful tongue pushed me closer to the brink. He milked me, massaging the spot with increasing urgency as his mouth closed over my clit with bursts of suction that liquefied the last of my body’s stubborn resistance. I dissolved into quivers and spasms as the most powerful orgasm of my life rocked through me.

  My body still quaked as he scooped me against him and flipped me over so that I covered him. His thumb caught my chin, directing my eyes to his and guiding me back to him through the hazy bliss permeating my brain. “I want you to ride me,” he ordered. “I want to watch my cock slip inside your body.”

  I ignored the sensitive soreness thrumming between my legs and knelt over him. Lowering carefully, I impaled myself on his cock inch-by-inch, my cleft stretching to accommodate his considerable girth. I gasped as his crest knocked against my womb. He’d never been this deep inside me before and I wanted more. I wanted all of him. My hips rolled, circling the shaft buried to my core. I lifted my ass so that he could see, then slammed back down. His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips, encouraging me as I fucked him.

  Rocking slowly, I ascended his cock again. I leaned back, gripping the sheets as I savored the sensation of gliding up his slick rod.

  “Let go,” he commanded. “Show me how beautiful you are when you come undone on my cock.”

  I unraveled over him, baring myself to him as promises spilled from my lips. I was his. I needed him to know that but pleasure washed away my words and I was pulled out by his powerful current, drowning in our love. We collapsed together, limbs entwined, neither willing to tear their eyes from the other. We’d fought for our love. We had dismissed the objections of his family and buried the ghosts of our pasts.<
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  I pressed my face to his throat, counting the beats of his heart—my heart in his body. And in the privacy of our bed, he lifted my chin and asked me the question he’d posed hours earlier. “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

  The gesture stole my breath. There was no pageantry. No show for the tabloids. It was raw and real and meant more than dozens of roses and fancy words.

  My answer hadn’t changed. It never would. But this was our sacred exchange—the vows that no one saw. The ones we would cling to in happiness and trouble.

  “I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rain fell in slants across the seedy pocket of Tower Bridge. Cautious tourists had abandoned the area before nightfall, warned away by overly anxious guide books. Ethan preferred it that way. The less people privy to his nighttime activities, the better.

  He checked his watch, noting with annoyance that his contact was late. His instructions were clear, though. He was to wait. His boss’s customer had paid a pretty sum for the brown-paper-wrapped package tucked inside his jacket.

  Scumbags always paid well.

  Footsteps fell in the alley behind him, and Ethan turned slowly, not wanting to spook the approaching man. A guy who was in business with the DeAngelo family had to be unhinged. Between the dark and the hood obscuring his face, Ethan couldn’t get a good look at him.

  “I’m expecting a delivery,” the man said.

  “Daniel?” Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. It was his contact and not some kid looking for an easy mark. The stranger didn’t remove his hood as Ethan passed the package to him.

  “This should take care of the cost.” Daniel handed a thick envelope to Ethan, who pocketed it quickly in his leather jacket.

  He was glad to be rid of it. It was one more debt paid to the mob boss who currently pulled his strings. Ethan didn’t ask why the man wanted the gun. He could guess. Knowing would only add to the burden he carried from his illicit dealings.

  They parted without exchanging false farewells. One man eager to forget that he’d been a party to coming violence. The other eager to finally strike.