by Juniper Hart
She narrowed her dark eyes suspiciously.
“You do not know me,” she replied haughtily, deliberately turning her back.
“No,” the man agreed, stepping closer to her. “But I would like to.”
Nora sneered. She was well accustomed to men approaching her. After all, she was lovely and tall, catching the eyes of the most casual of passerby.
“If you don’t mind, sir,” she said curtly, “I would like to be left in peace.”
“I am Jerome,” he told her, as if she had not spoken. “And if I were with you, I can assure you that you would never cry again.”
The words had an eerily profound affect on Nora, and she turned to eye him warily.
“How can you make such a bold statement?” she demanded. “You haven’t a clue about what makes me cry.”
He chuckled and joined her at the railing.
“I would wager you are crying over a man,” he offered, and Nora scoffed, turning her head so he would not read the embarrassment in her face. She blinked back the tears burning behind her eyes.
“Please,” she insisted. “I would like to be left alone.”
“Well,” he whispered, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face. “We don’t always get what we want, do we, chérie?”
Nora gasped, her eyes flying open.
“Mademoiselle Nora! Are you all right?”
She looked up at Collette, her heart pounding in her chest. The housekeeper was glancing worriedly at her, carrying a tray with her dinner in her hands, and Nora swallowed to dampen her suddenly dry throat.
“I must have fallen asleep,” she murmured, trying to shake the sense of unease filling her chest. Confusion clouded her mind as she thought back to the strange dream she’d had. That wasn’t how she and Jerome had met, so many years ago.
We met at a gala in France, she reminded herself. I remember my red chiffon dress and dancing the waltz with Jerome.
Collette watched her with concern, placing the tray of food on the coffee table.
“You are pale, mademoiselle. You should eat and retire for the night,” she said softly. “Let me help you to the bedroom.”
Swallowing, Nora permitted the woman to assist her, but she still couldn’t shake the dream from her mind, as if her subconscious was trying to tell her something she did not understand on a waking level.
It was just a silly dream, she told herself. There has never been a man other than Jerome. We met at the gala when I was seventeen, and we ran off together. He left his wife to be with me. I have never lived in England. I have never even been to England!
Nora climbed into the thick blankets of her bed and gazed at Collette.
“Collette, do you speak English?” she asked suddenly.
The older woman’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Un peu,” she replied. “Alex speaks fluently. Why do you ask?”
Nora shook her head, trying to make sense of her thoughts. “Could you send her to me?”
Collette seemed ready to protest, but she nodded instead.
“Bien sûr, mademoiselle,” she agreed, smiling. “But then you must rest. Is it a deal?”
Nora bobbed her head, though something told her that sleep would not come easily to her—not after what she had just seen.
Collette left, and a moment later, Alex appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Mademoiselle Nora? You asked to see me?” Nora nodded and beckoned the girl forward with her hand. Words that she thought couldn’t possibly be there took shape in her mind, coming to her as easily as if she had been saying them her entire life.
“Do you speak English, Alex?” Nora asked in English.
The blonde’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Panic began to seize Nora’s heart, and she bit on her lower lip.
“Where did you learn it?” she demanded.
“My father is American,” Alex offered. “My mother is Swiss.”
“What dialect of English am I speaking?”
Alex’s lips parted, but no words immediately escaped.
“I don’t understand, mademoiselle,” she whispered, switching back to French. She gazed nervously at the doorway, as if looking for an escape. Nora was determined to get the answers she needed.
“It is a simple question, Alex,” she said in perfect English. “What dialect of English am I speaking? American or British?”
The girl gulped nervously.
“You seem to have a British accent, mademoiselle. You speak English well,” she murmured, still speaking in French. “I did not know you knew how to speak it.”
Nora stared at her, unmoving for a moment. Then she waved her hand, dismissing the girl. “That will be all.”
Alex spun to leave, and Nora debated whether to warn her to keep quiet about the newfound knowledge. But then she realized that there was no point in saying anything to her. The staff was forbidden to keep secrets from Jerome.
But what does this mean? Nora thought nervously. Why do I know how to speak English? What did that dream mean?
She was deeply troubled as she reached for her tea cup, taking a long sip before she settled back into the fluffy pillows. Her eyes grew heavy, and an abrupt tiredness clouded her whirling mind. She tried to fight off the sudden exhaustion overtaking her very bones, but she lost the battle to her weighed down lids.
If I am British, she wondered to herself, and I met Jerome in England, what else have I forgotten? And why do I recall meeting him in such a different way?
Sleep smothered her, and as she fell into a deep slumber, her last thought was the one that stirred her the most: who had she been sobbing for near the river that day?
Nora hoped she would dream of him again.
4
Sprawled on his bed, Ansel rolled his fingers over the mousepad, gnawing on his lower lip. The shower was still going in the bathroom, but he was only half listening as he punched the name he wanted to find into the social media search engine again.
No search results found.
He grimaced and shoved the laptop aside, falling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.
Where the hell is she? he thought. It’s been a decade. This is unheard of, even for Nora.
Ever since the night of their fight, he had been unable to shake the sense that his former lover was seeking him out.
It had started with the brunette in the crowd, the one who resembled Nora more than anyone else he had ever seen. When Ansel had found her still circling the arena, she had shown him a smile that had given him tingles.
They have the same mouth, he had thought, desire filling his loins.
He had proven to be a good prophet, and while she lacked the fire his Nora possessed, she certainly knew some tricks he could implement later.
After he had bed the insatiable girl, he could not get the idea of finding Nora out of his head, as if she was somehow calling out to him. The last time he had seen her, he had been on his way to marry the Duchess of Ingleberry, and Nora had been devastated.
“Another marriage?” she had screamed. “Why? Why does he keep insisting on this?”
“Darling, you can’t blame my father,” he had said, trying to comfort her. “He wants to keep our line strong and royal.”
“Our line is strong, Ansel! We are stronger together than any match you could possibly make in Europe! It has been seven centuries! When will he let go of his hatred toward me?”
The question had a definitive answer: never.
As if Father will ever allow for Nora and me to be together, he had told himself. To him, my brothers and I are still princes of Misty Woods, and she is just a peasant. There is nothing I can do to change that.
“I am not doing this anymore,” Nora had sobbed. “I have waited too long, Ansel. I can’t wait anymore for you.”
“Darling, please!” Ansel had whispered, reaching out to hold her hands in his. “We will do what we’ve always done. She does not mean anything to me—”
/> “Spare me your words!” she had cried, pulling away from his clasp. “I have heard the same lines over and over for hundreds of years! This is the end, Ansel. If you wed her, I will not be there to warm your bed. I told you that two hundred years ago, when you married that wretched Countess de Visault, and I mean it now. If you do this, this is my goodbye!”
She had run from him that day, and Ansel had finally stood up to his father, refusing the wedding, much to the old man’s fury. It had not been hard to do. He had only needed a reason, and Nora had provided it for him.
Things, however, had not gone as he planned.
In the beginning, it had been as Ansel had dreamed. King Rui had cast him out, banishing him from Misty Woods and the kingdom. He had forbidden his brothers to have any contact with him, and Ansel had been relieved, to say the least.
It seemed that from the moment that old hag Opal had entered the castle that hopeless, soulless night, her dark spell had been unbreakable.
But nothing is unbreakable, Ansel had thought smugly, rushing to tell Nora the news. They could finally be together without the shadow of the curse hanging over their heads. We will be free of Misty Woods, of my father, and of everything that has been holding us back. It has taken us years, but we have prevailed!
Ansel searched for her in the castle and throughout London. No one had seen her since the day they had parted, but in his heart, Ansel knew she would eventually return to him. She always did, after all.
As the days turned to weeks, his confidence that she would return began to chip, until one day, Ansel had finally realized that she was never coming back. He had waited too long to do the right thing, and she had left him behind for good.
Many nights, he flew around the countryside, hoping that his instinct would steer him to her, but the only place his wings took him was to the Americas, where he eventually fell into the lap of a retired heavyweight champion.
Boxing had been an outlet for the loss he felt from Nora and the anger he felt toward himself. No one was a challenge, his hidden talent buried deeply, in a place where no one could see the fire burning inside him.
It had taken him five years, but Ansel was, at last, able to accept that Nora had made a life for herself somewhere she did not wish to be found, and he was determined to be happy for her. He knew he had made her life miserable for long enough—it was only fair that he let her enjoy her peace with whatever new life and whatever partner she had found for herself.
But there was always a lingering nagging in the back of his mind, something that told him she was still out there. Something that told him they still belonged together.
Of course we belong together, he thought with some annoyance. Who else shares the secret that we do? She will resurface eventually. I must be patient.
“That is a very unpleasant expression on your face.”
Ansel turned towards the door of the bathroom to glance at his guest. Her dark hair dripped over her naked shoulders, and she cocked her head to the side, her brown eyes gleaming mischievously. A towel was wrapped around her body.
“Is it?” he asked. “How odd. I was thinking very pleasant thoughts.”
Her smile widened.
“Is that right?” she teased. “Like what?”
“Well,” Ansel started, sitting up to pat the bed welcomingly. “I was wondering what color your lips are. I’m afraid I didn’t get a very good look at them last night.”
She snorted, but she still sashayed closer, running her fingertips over her bottom lip.
“That’s because you weren’t looking at my lips,” she reminded him, and Ansel chuckled.
“That might be true, but I am very curious right now,” he insisted. “May I take a gander?”
She giggled and perched on the bed at his side.
“You are going to break me,” she whispered as he drew closer, his mouth grazing hers. “You’re like a beast.”
“Mm,” Ansel mumbled, slipping her towel over her full bosom, his tongue tracing the curve of her shoulder. “I am a beast.”
“A dragon?” she giggled, and Ansel tensed for a moment.
She means your moniker, he told himself, his hands reaching up to cup her beasts.
“Something like that.” He knocked her down, and she squealed as he pinned her arms over her head, his mouth suctioning around one of her firm nipples. She smelled so fresh after her shower, and Ansel instantly felt himself growing hard as he straddled her in his boxer shorts.
Purring, the brunette arched her slender back upward, and Ansel nipped at her sweetly, feeling a sudden warmth against his groin. He sighed and allowed his lips along the softness of her warm, dimpled skin.
Her legs came up as his head lowered across her flat stomach, his breath hot against her. His hands reached beneath her perfectly sculpted rear, drawing her succulent center closer to his face. She mewled quietly, her fingers closing in around his dark hair as she pushed him further into her.
With long, deliberate strokes, Ansel tasted her, relishing the sound of her sighs and moans. His tongue grew rougher, his palms squeezing around her buttocks, and he rubbed his growing erection against her creamy naked calf.
She gasped and tensed beneath him, a small cry escaping her lips as her release met his mouth, and Ansel smiled to himself, knowing that she was ready for him. When he was certain she had finished her first orgasm, he raised his head, his gray eyes boring into hers.
For a second, he was taken aback to realize that he was not entangled in Nora’s body.
She is not here, he scolded himself, forcing his mind to focus on the nude beauty below him.
Suddenly, Ansel flipped her around, positioning himself at her back. He took off his boxer shorts and slapped a firm cheek. The girl squealed quietly, spreading herself for him to take her. Ansel licked his lips, but before he plunged into her, he lowered his mouth to taste her again, ensuring she was wet and ready for him. Then he delved into her waiting middle with his raging shaft.
She screamed at the powerful thrust, gasping as he instantly hit his stride, his movements firm and full. Ansel saw her hands close around the sheets, grasping for leverage, but he did not slow his pace.
She began whimpering, her body shaking beneath him, and Ansel could sense her ready to release. At that moment, he slid his finger inside her, along with his member, and she yelled out, her face flushing scarlet as her release met his.
Hot juices flowed forth, joining inside her scalding center as they grunted together, each bucking against the other. With a heavy breath, Ansel withdrew from the warmth of her middle and plopped onto the bed at her side.
“Jesus,” she mumbled. “Where do you keep that stored?”
Ansel laughed. “I would have thought that was something they taught you in health education class.”
She propped her head up in her hand and looked at him.
“Who knew that British guys have so much passion,” she teased. “A boxing champion and an animal in bed. I thought you Brits were supposed to be the picture of decorum and properness.”
Ansel chuckled and sat up, shifting his eyes away as he looked for his boxers.
“I cannot attest to the others,” he replied. “But I also know how to separate my salad fork from my shrimp fork.”
She didn’t speak for a moment, and Ansel glanced back at her to make sure she had not fallen asleep. Her eyes were trained on his open laptop, but they shifted back to him.
“I see you have Facebook,” she said coyly, rising to dress herself, too. “Maybe we can be friends. I promise not to name drop or anything.”
Ansel laughed.
“I will add you,” he promised as he found a t-shirt. A half-smile remained on her full mouth.
“Will you?” she asked, and Ansel nodded amiably.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
She gestured at the laptop with her chin. “Well, for one thing, Nora might not like it.”
Ansel grew terse at the sound of her name. It felt dirty com
ing from her lips, and he wished he had closed the computer before she had come out of the bathroom.
“Nora isn’t on Facebook,” he replied flatly.
She smirked slightly.
“The one that got away, huh?” she asked, and Ansel bit back a scathing response.
“Something like that,” he said tightly, sitting back down on the bed. She seemed to sense his displeasure, and rather than keep pushing him, she changed the subject.
“For another thing, you don’t know my name.”
Ansel gaped at her for a minute, realizing that she was speaking the truth. After he had brought her back to his hotel the previous night, there had been very little talking. His lips parted, and he wracked his mind to find something clever to say. Nothing came out.
The girl laughed mirthlessly and slipped on her too short skirt, turning to slip on a pair of indecently high heels.
“It’s Carrie,” she tossed out as she walked toward the French doors, leading into the living room. “I’ll be at the hotel until Saturday, if you’re looking for another round or two. Room 414. If you come, maybe I’ll give you my full name or email so we can ‘like’ each other’s pictures.”
She chuckled and disappeared, leaving Ansel to stare after her.
He knew he should feel embarrassed, but he didn’t. There had been dozens of Carries over the years, all of them dark-eyed and brunettes like Nora, but none of them were the woman he wanted. They simply filled a void in him when boxing did not suffice.
A scream echoed through the hotel suite, and Ansel leapt from the bed.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, slightly annoyed as he stood up to investigate. As he entered the front room, he saw Carrie walking back, her hands up, eyes wide with fear.
A man was in front of her, a pistol aimed at her face. Behind him were three other men: Tony Valducci, Luca, and another bodyguard, probably, each of them carrying a firearm, poised to shoot.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” Tony growled, and Ansel raised his arms in mock surrender.
“Of course not,” he replied smoothly. “What are you doing here? And what’s with the theatrics?”