by K L Clare
For her father.
33
Whirling blades lifted us from the ground as they beat the surrounding air into submission, and the engine forced us forward over the ridge. Within seconds, the helicopter was five hundred feet above our favorite spot on the beach, where Ben hovered to be sure my wife was ready for our thirty-five-minute flight across the English Channel.
Elle leaned back against her seat and smiled. The rhythmic thwup of the rotor system seemed to lull her. “I’m ready. I can’t wait to see Boulogne-sur-Mer.”
At night, when we were home at Eastridge, she often stared out beyond the east-facing windows in our suite, searching for the lights of the French coastal town opposite Hastings on the other side of the channel.
It came as no surprise to me how fascinated Elle was with the idea of Boulogne. The ancient seaport built by the Romans was France’s largest fishing harbor. It was situated about twenty-five miles south of Calais, and as one would expect, the town’s soul was connected to the sea. The vibrant, bustling markets, the seafood restaurants, and the striking Gothic cathedral—the minor basilica Notre Dame de Boulogne sur Mer—drew tourists all year long.
Ben had arranged for a private landing at the helipad owned by the hotel, where I planned for Elle and me to stay that evening after we explored the streets of Boulogne. It was an opportunity for us to take back our freedom in a place where no one would care who we were or how much money I had. We would be on our own for the first time. Elle deserved that and much more than I’d given her, and this was only the beginning. Paris was next.
Her eyes sparkled with wonder as she peered across the water.
She’s so beautiful. Never get used to that.
Our aircraft climbed higher, easing into the crossing of the channel, and Elle was doing quite well. Ben rapped his knuckles against the glass partition without turning away from his control panel and held up two fingers, signaling for me to switch my headset over to his frequency.
“How’s Ellie doing? Are we good to continue on to the Continent?” he asked.
“She’s great. Take your time.”
“I’m not pleased with this plan. At. All. Why don’t I stay on in France for a week or two while Taylor gets his break? You need some level of security presence, goddammit. Even if it’s just me.”
“There was a day not so long ago when I was the only one with my head in this game. Look at you all now. My brother is angry, and you haven’t stopped bitching for days. Listen. I’ve carefully considered the situation, and I would never risk her life if there was an immediate concern on the radar. There is nothing more important to me than my wife’s safety, and you know it.”
“You don’t have to shut the rest of us out because you’ve hit one of your black fucking moods, my brother. I’m not blind. I see it stirring.”
“We need some space, Ben. Elle and I need time alone. That’s all it is. What I want from you is for you to remain 100 percent ready. If Devon Parker’s sentencing and transfer occurs sooner than anticipated, or if he’s acquitted, I’ll need swift, undocumented travel to and from London, and it must be you who comes with me. I trust no one else.”
“Thomas would stay in Paris with Ellie while we hit London,” he said, nodding his approval. “Well, if you want me to leave you here alone, your arse better check in every goddamned day and keep me informed on the status of the trial.”
“That I will do, my brother.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes.”
Elle understood what was going to happen. She knew quite well the man she’d married, and she knew what had to be done to keep her safe and our family whole. The details, the actual plan—that was something else. I would not share it with her, and she wouldn’t ask me to.
“Alert me when we’re five minutes from the helipad,” I added.
I closed the privacy panel and switched back to the other headset channel, back to Elle.
Her fingertips stroked my forearm, and she flashed the smile that was always mine, her stare nailing me from beneath her long lashes. “Dance with me tonight.”
Christ. The hairs on my arm raised on end.
“Of course, baby.” I leaned over and pulled her face close to mine.
She continued to stare at me. “Don’t kiss me. Not until we dance.”
“What if I can’t wait that long?”
“You must.”
“Elle, don’t tease me. You belong to me. I’ll kiss that mouth and that pretty little cunt whenever I choose to, and you will beg me to do it again.”
Fucking possessive egomaniac.
Short puffs of breath escaped from between her parted lips and blew against mine. It was warm and sweet and intoxicating. Her green eyes never left mine, even as she dragged her fingers along the waistband of my jeans until finding the button.
“I don’t think you can call me a tease, Will, when you actually receive something.”
Elle’s eyes stayed with mine as she unfastened that goddamned button and lowered the zipper to free my erection. Her thumb swirled round the tip of my cock, and then she slid her hand down my shaft and up again, creating erogenous friction, making me harder.
A growl rumbled in my throat, and I thrust into her hand.
“You are a tease . . . because you know I can’t have you in this helicopter.”
Those eyes. Her gaze was still locked onto mine as she dropped to the floor on her knees and pushed between my legs. “Maybe you can. Maybe we can start our honeymoon right now.”
I should have stopped her then. The strength to deny her was nonexistent. She owned me.
My wife took the head of my cock into her mouth, the tight warmth consuming me, and I let her. I groaned at the slide of her tongue. I cursed under my breath as she took more of me into her wet, velvety mouth and sucked hard. I sank deeper into the seat and dug my fingers into the back of her hair. That tongue and those plump lips were so fucking good, and I wanted more.
“Ah, Christ. . . .” Another erotic rush. She’d grazed the underside of my cock with her teeth. “God . . . damn . . . it . . . Elle.” I didn’t make her stop. I wanted more.
She sucked harder, pulling me in deeper until I hit the back of her throat. I couldn’t keep from thrusting any longer. It was harsh, something I should never do to her, but I did it anyway. Tears collected in her eyes. It was too much for her.
Fuck. Make her stop.
I was mad with the desire to thrust more, harder, and was close to coming. Christ, I wanted to come into her throat. But I would not do that to her. She’d have to ask me for it first. Plead with me. Demand it.
My breath was heavy, and my heart pounded violently.
I was close.
“Elle. Come to me.” As painful as it was to pull out of her mouth, I yanked her from her knees onto my lap and drew her mouth to mine, worshipping that sweet little mouth with my tongue. I took the kiss I wanted. She had been warned.
She tugged at her clothing. “Rip this,” she said, yanking at a strip of lace on her knickers.
I grabbed her wrists. “You know we can’t do that here.”
“Please, Will. We don’t have much time. I want you now.”
I smirked, pleased with myself for being the source of her desperation, and tore apart the lace. She would get what she wanted. Slowly, I held her hips and eased her down on me.
So fucking good. Heaven.
“I want all of you,” she whispered, moaning as I stretched her.
I pushed deeper into her body and slid my hand between us to pleasure her more while controlling my thrusts. She writhed against my fingers. I growled.
“Slow and easy, baby. We don’t want to break the aircraft and drop into the water.”
She chuckled for a moment, then forced her mouth against mine and cried out, saying my name, pushing the vibration of the drawled syllable deep into my soul as her tight cunt clenched round me and we climaxed together.
34
It was our first full day
in Paris. There were no personal protection officers, no weapons, no security details to sort through. The usual fear and anxiety Elle experienced eased the minute we had arrived in France. She never looked happier or more beautiful than she did lying beneath me, catching her breath. I held her hands against the mattress with our fingers entwined.
Two days earlier, she had sauntered gracefully along the cobblestoned streets of Boulogne with an ice cream cone in her hand. The brisk coastal air had cooled her cheeks and nose, and the pink belted coat she’d worn had complemented her rosy skin. Her eyes had been vibrant, the color brighter than usual, like rare aquamarine gemstones.
Elle wasn’t the only one to revel in our hiatus from England. I had waited for the day when it would be me who walked beside her as she strolled through town eating ice cream. More than ten years before, in Connecticut, that was how I’d caught my first look into those eyes. I had set up the situation so she would bump into me on the crowded street. I had been desperate to see her face, to feel her skin, to know she was real. She’d thumped into my chest, and I’d touched her for the first time.
That was the day I swore she would become mine.
And now she was lying beneath me, all mine.
Our marital bliss, as Elle called it, wasn’t something I could have imagined. Life before her had been a dark hell. The shit that had inhabited my father, and subsequently lived inside of me, controlled everything for years. His ghosts, now my ghosts, would always remain. But Elle was here now to light up my soul and show me the way whenever I was lost. Her unconditional love dulled the pain so that I could live with it and feel beyond it.
Only a fucking fool would take her for granted.
My wife continued to hold something back from me, though it no longer mattered. Whatever it was, it could be managed. Nothing would change how much I wanted to be with her or how deeply I loved her. My desire for Elle was like a primal instinct that affected every part of me.
Mine.
We were happy. The obscure cloud cover that lingered while Devon Parker was alive wouldn’t last. I wasn’t pleased by the idea of taking another life—one more sin to punish my conscience—but I couldn’t allow Parker to continue breathing. Given an opportunity, he would come for Elle. He would never have the chance.
As for the other threat, Martin and I would continue our surveillance of the two monarchical extremists. No reports of activism had emerged from his reconnaissance or mine. Martin believed the potential for reformation hinged upon whether or not Elle had children with me.
Fuck that.
She wants my children, and she’s going to have what she wants.
It was time for us to live for the present.
We were still in bed after arriving late in Paris the night before. We’d spent the morning making love and snacking on the food brought in by the maid service. The service had delivered enough hot breakfast and fruit and pastries to feed a dozen people.
The time alone was exactly what we both needed. Although we had agreed to delay our honeymoon, together we’d longed for it, ached for the rite that normal couples took for granted. And then a sudden sense of urgency had overwhelmed us.
Being normal was something we didn’t know much about, but we were determined to experience it on some level while in France.
Elle freed her hands from mine and pushed on my chest with both palms, reminding me that she was bearing a great deal of my weight. “Get up, savage. You’re crushing me. I have to pee. And I’m starving.”
I dragged our sweating bodies together into an upright position and pressed her harder to my chest to feel the beating of her heart against mine. She hooked her legs tightly round my hips. My cock was still inside of her. The pulse in her neck caught my attention, and I was compelled to rest my lips there. I kissed her in that spot quite often.
Because her life was everything to me.
“You’ve eaten quite a lot already,” I said against her skin. “Seems I found the trick to making you want a proper English breakfast. Need to fuck you every morning until you can’t walk.”
“Mmm, yes. But you would have to change the hours you keep at the office.” I didn’t need to see her face to know that my wife was smiling. It came from her heart. “I’m going to need that hot soak we talked about earlier. My thigh muscles are already screaming,” she added.
“Be sure to hydrate as well. Our marathon’s been a good work out.” I sucked on her neck, on the little white birthmark she claimed was a butterfly. It was not. “Christ, what a bloody good morning.”
“It’s almost one o’clock. Morning has come and gone. What shall we do with the rest of our day? You’re not expected for business meetings for a few days . . . right?”
I pulled out of her. She groaned. I understood the sense of loss and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “We have the week before Sean arrives and meetings begin. You know, there is something we’ve never done together, and I’m a bit wound up over it.”
Her swollen pink lips parted, opening for a quick, shallow inhale. “Oh. I haven’t given you everything you need,” she whispered.
Both corners of my mouth twitched. I allowed one to curve.
“You must tell me, Will. You can’t just smirk and not say it. I’ll do anything for you.”
“I’ve warned you not to question how well you satisfy me in bed. I’m quite pleased. Can you not see that? If I want something different, you’ll know when I take it from you.”
“So what is it we haven’t done that you want, then?”
I grinned. “Shopping.”
She struck me playfully on the chest. “Damn it. You could have just said so.”
I tossed her over my shoulder onto the mattress and kissed her neck over and over while tickling her sides until she giggled and writhed beneath me. “What fun would that be, my tough little wife.”
“Stop . . . oh God, Will, I’m going to pee! Let me go!”
Collapsing onto my back, I allowed her to leave our bed. I watched the sway of her hips and her lovely arse as she made her way to the toilet. My handprints still marked her skin.
“I’ll never fucking let you go,” I said to the bathroom door.
* * *
My wife sat in the steaming bath between my legs with her back pressed against my chest, her head resting on my shoulder. She released a contented sigh. “I’m glad you joined me, Will. This is quite nice.”
“It is.” I rested my chin on top of her head.
She spun to face me, splashing water out of the free-standing copper tub. “We’re actually doing it.” She laughed. “This is a real honeymoon.” Another husky laugh. “It feels weird. What do we do? Are we supposed to know how to do this?”
“We’ll do whatever feels good. Nothing more, nothing less.” A wisp of hair fell from her messy updo, and I twirled it round my forefinger.
“This apartment is amazing. Thank you for leasing something so wonderful.”
With her eyes wide open, she pressed her lips to mine and held the soft kiss for a minute.
Sean had found us a quiet location known for its charming cafés, quaint bistros, and green spaces. When Elle and I had talked about where we wanted to stay, we’d decided on something out-of-the-way. Privacy. Space. No distractions. No goddamned gaping tourists. I would take Elle to any place in Paris, to any landmark or attraction she wanted to see. We didn’t need those things outside of our windows.
The spacious apartment had a grand interior and classic glamour. The living spaces and bedrooms offered distinct period features and traditional French opulence, while the kitchen and bathrooms were modern. The flat was a lovely balance of old-world charm and contemporary comfort—complementary contrasts that reminded me of my wife’s own beautiful blend of contrasting qualities.
“I want to tell you something, Will, but I don’t want it to ruin our mood. We’re happy. Tell me our holiday won’t be ruined.” Her tone was serious but not severe or frightened.
“You can tell me anything, ba
by.”
“I received a call from Caroline. She wanted to let me know that one of the small tabloids printed something speculative about Isobel being related to you. Isobel’s name was not used.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “This time.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“That’s it?”
Elle dragged her finger over the top of my shoulder, tracing the scar there before moving to the two older blemishes on my chest. Her eyes hit the scar from the gunshot wound beneath my arm before her fingertips arrived to circle it. The way she worshipped my body and acknowledged the marks left behind by violence and death was a silent ritual of hers.
“Yes, that’s it. I’ll ring Thomas when we’re out of the tub, and he will take care of it. See? Nothing has been ruined.” I winked.
“Your body is like a work of art,” she said with a sweet smile, tracing the outline of my pectoral muscles.
“You don’t mind? I mean, some of the heavier muscle was lost during physical rehab.”
“That’s crazy, Will. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re a big man. And really, I hate to break this to you, but you’re still much larger than most men.”
“Being six five does come with some advantages.” I winked again. “Are you in the mood to buy some dresses today?”
I wanted to take Elle shopping at the finest French boutiques. She loved dresses and shoes and delicate lingerie, and her dressing rooms in both houses in England still had plenty of space to be filled.
A stylist generally created Elle’s public image and designed her wardrobe.
But not in Paris, not with me. Elle would have free rein to rebel. She would choose whatever her heart desired.
Beauty and Her Beast
From: Ellie
To: Isobel
You came back to me last night, Isobel, but it no longer makes a difference that you come and go, because I’ve forgiven you for leaving me, forgiven you for lying. Ethan too. There’s no longer another way for Will and me. We must forgive you. In time, your brother will forgive you and Ethan as I have.