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“Where is she?” I demand, the noise carrying away my words. He gets the point and gestures toward the main entrance. I can’t hear him but I know what he’s saying.
She ran.
Smart girl. Stupid girl. I don’t know how to feel. She listened to my warning and took action. I just wish she hadn’t run outside where a swarm of paparazzi has been camped out all night.
I don’t think. I follow. There’s no time for apologies when I push people to the side or shove between couples. Norris catches up and helps to clear the path.
When we reach the door, the bouncer’s attention is on the scene unfolding on the street. I hear the reporters before I see them
“Miss Bishop! Smile, love!”
“Miss Bishop, how long have you been involved with the Prince?”
“Miss Bishop, is it true that the King has condemned your relationship?”
“Were you secretly married in Oxford?”
I open my mouth to redirect their attention to me—to give Clara a chance to run. I didn’t reach her first—they did—and it’s all the reminder I need that I won’t drag her into this. I won’t let her endure the mud-slinging and invasions of privacy. Clara wasn’t cursed with this life, I was. It’s not her burden to bear. But before I get one word out, she steps in front of the lot of them.
“I’m sorry to inform you all that I have no relationship with Prince Alexander. Someone has made a dreadful mistake. I do not know the Prince. I am not in love with him. And I highly doubt the King gives two figs about me.”
Something inside me snaps into place as I watch her, but there’s no time to consider what it is. The paparazzi surround her within seconds followed by onlookers, eager to get a glimpse. Clara disappears from view and my heart vanishes along with her. In its spot anger blisters and bursts from me. “Enough!”
Questions die on lips. People back away. No one here will dare question my authority nor will they keep me from her. I take a step and pause, waiting for self-preservation to kick in. When it does, a path clears for me and I see her on the ground, her hands covering her head protectively.
I’ve done this. I’m the one that asked her to come. I’m the reason she wound up on those bloody tabloids. Moving to her, I kneel and guide her hands gently away from her beautiful face.
“Are you okay, Clara?” I say only loudly enough for her to hear.
She nods, her eyes flickering to the crowd and their cameras. None of them exist to me. I can only think of her. I need to get her away. I need to help her.
Taking her hand, I lift her to her feet as a new onslaught of questions finally start. Even my authority has a time limit.
“Alexander, is this your girlfriend?”
“Alexander, is it true that your father doesn’t approve of your relationship with a commoner?”
Clara cringes and I bite back a rebuke. I won’t lower myself to speak to this scum that knocked her to the ground. But how can’t they see the truth? There is nothing common about this woman. Placing a hand on the small of her back, I claim her for them to see. She can reject me. But I will not allow them to see her as less than me. A few months ago I was covered in dirt in the desert. I might have been born with a title but it doesn’t make me better than her. If anything, I’m so much less.
Norris rushes to the car and opens the door. His eyes meet mine as she climbs inside and I see the question there. I don’t even have to consider it. Getting in next to her, I slam the door to the cameras and questions. Clara stares at the ground and I worry for a moment that she’s in shock. There will be time for apologies later. Now I need to know she’s okay. Instinct kicks in and I wrap and arm around her. Drawing her to me, I inhale sharply when she buries her face against my shoulder. I want to believe I can comfort her, but this is new to me. Instead, I rely on caring for her like I was taught—in that club, in that world I’ve been denied. Clara isn’t my submissive. Not yet. But right now, she needs time to process what’s happened. So I become her anchor, waiting for her to return to me.
* * *
She feels delicate in my arms and I know she needs my protection. One wrong move, though, and I could crush her. Silence hangs between us as we make our way through London. My time with her is running out. I have a choice to make.
“Clara.” I love the way her name tastes on my lips. “Are you okay? I’m sorry you had to go through that. I should have known better than to kiss you.” I regret that it’s true. I messed up when I kissed her. I’m doing the same now—holding her, being seen with her. I don’t need to complicate this any more.
Lifting my arm from her shoulder, I run a hand through my hair and wonder what to do next. Clara sits up, breaking contact between our bodies. I allow it, but I don’t like it. Touching her seems to soothe some of the ragged need I feel when she’s near.
“I’m fine. Things got out of hand. I’m afraid you’re more experienced with this sort of thing than I am,” she says, meeting my eyes.
“Unfortunately, you’re right.” I hold her gaze until her ass wiggles against the seat back. “I know I should be sorry that I kissed you, but I’m not. In fact, I’d like to do it again.”
“I’m not stopping you,” she whispers.
I force myself to look away from her. But I can’t pretend she’s not here. I can’t ignore her perfect body pressed to mine in the suddenly too small backseat. Her presence—my desire—doesn’t change the facts. “You said no.”
She blinks as if just remembering this herself. “I didn’t mean it.”
“What mixed signals you give me, Miss Bishop. That’s a risqué thing to do with a man like me.”
“And what kind of man is that?” she demands.
“A man who takes what he wants.” I let her digest my words. Clara doesn’t back down though.
“You haven’t taken me.”
She had to fucking defy me, which is possibly even sexier than the brief glimpses of submission I’ve caught when kissing her.
Bringing a strong woman to her knees—knowing you’re the only one who can tame her—is a rush second only to adrenaline.
“We met under unusual circumstances.” My hand reaches for her knee and before I can rethink the gesture, a subtle tremble rolls through her. I wouldn’t have felt it if I wasn’t touching her. I should be a gentleman and stop myself. Instead, I find myself hoping to elicit another reaction.
“You weren’t looking to pick anyone up?” She pretends to ignore my hand, but pink creeps over her cheeks. I want to see that rosy glow colouring the rest of her fair skin. It takes effort to focus on what she’s saying. “Not your usual scene?”
I try to hold back a smile. Meeting her was the last thing I expected that day. “I rarely find such exciting company at the Oxford and Cambridge Club.”
“Why were you there?” she asks.
“My friend Jonathan received his degree. He conned me into coming,” I say.
“I have a hard time imagining you being conned by anyone.”
“Then you must not know Jonathan.”
“Wait,” she says, “do you mean Jonathan Thompson?”
“The one and the only. Do you know him…well?” I’m trying to be delicate, but I want to know.
“By reputation only,” she says quickly, and I relax.
“Jonathan claims he bedded every girl in his class,” I say. “I’m glad to see you had higher standards.”
I’m not certain why it matters. Clara’s life before me is not my concern. In point of fact, her life isn’t my concern now. But the thought of Jonathan touching her bothers me more than I’d like to admit to her or myself.
“Says his good friend.”
“Some people you should keep close.” I hope she hears the warning in my words. I have no interest in discussing Jonathan with her—only in keeping her away from him.
Clara turns her attention to the streets and the buildings outside her window. Are we near where she lives? Is she counting the moments until she can be well shot of me? I can’t blame her if so, but she’s stays close to me, keeping our bodies in contact.
“Where are we going?” She looks at a building as we pass and I realize, it’s where she lives: a simple brick building in East London.
It’s not the usual choice for a girl with her trust fund. Then again, the file Norris brought me on her noted she’s taking a job at a non-profit. Nothing about this girl lines up with her bank account.
“There are reporters following us. Norris will lose them before I take you home.” Without thinking, my hand moves from her knee up to grip her thigh.
I can’t stop myself from touching her. I want to comfort her. I want to kiss her. She draws me like a suicidal moth to her bright light. I’m not a creature meant for her. I belong to the dark, but even knowing that I don’t pull away from her.
“Clara,” I murmur, knowing I can’t avoid this. I have a duty to her and no matter what happens I will see to it.
“Hmm.”
“I need you to know that no matter what happens next—if you get out of this car and never speak to me again—I will see to your protection.” I mean it. Part of me, hopes she’ll take me up on the offer. I do my best to ignore what the rest of me wants.
Her eyes close against me. “Why?”
“Because you are the only person who wished I’d never left.” I try to sound casual. I’m not sure why this means so much to me.
“I’m glad you came back,” she says softly, peeking up at me.
The boundary I’d tried to set crumbles as her words slam into me. I don’t want to consider why, but I can’t deny the shift.
“I want you.” The line crossed, I make up my mind. I know she wants me as well, but I’m not certain it would matter if she didn’t. Clara’s body has been mine since the moment we first touched. I’m afraid I won’t be satisfied with only that now.“But not tonight.”
Her eyes fill with accusation, but it only fuels my desire. “Is that what you do? Toy with girls until they drop to their knees for you?”
We both know I could take her now. I shift in my seat, trying to adjust myself.
“Do you need me to beg for it?” she asks.
I caress my fingers against the rough fabric of her jeans, wanting to make her squirm more. “Need? No. Want?” I swallow. I know exactly what I want from her. “I want to hear you beg for me. Beg for my cock. Beg for me to fuck you, and you will, poppet. But. Not. Tonight.”
“Why?” There’s a frantic edge to the question
“Because your entire building will be surrounded by the morning, and I’m not interested in sex, Clara. I want to explore you. I want to rip those clothes off of you and take you to bed. I’m going to fuck you until it hurts, and I want to hear you beg me to do it.” I stop and let myself imagine her spread beneath me. The vision only reinforces what I already know. “And I need more than a few hours for that.”
She stares at me and then finally her tongue darts over her lips as though she can taste my promises.
“I get what I want.” I silently dare her to question this.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” I won’t be able to wait a moment longer than that.
“And the reporters?” she asks hopelessly.
“I’ll deal with them.” It’s the least I can do. I’ve won a gamble I didn’t know I’d placed. Clara Bishop has agreed to see me again. In truth, she’s agreeing to more than that. We both know where this leads. I search her face for doubt and find none. She wants this as much as I do, the realization makes me even harder than I already am—a feat I wouldn’t have thought possible. “Norris will pick you up at eleven.”
Her lashes flutter shyly as she eyes her apartment building. Teeth sink into her lower lip as if she’s holding back. I want to unravel all her secrets.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she murmurs.
“Oh, no. Eleven in the morning.” I take her face in my hands. I want to be clear about this. “I told you I need time, poppet.”
It’s a promise laced with warning. I will take her slowly. I will claim every inch of her. Whatever this is sparking between us, I can’t contain it. But I don’t just need to fuck her, I need to taste her. I need to touch her. I want to now, but I hold back, knowing it will make tomorrow even more delicious.
My lips brush over hers and she parts her lips with a soft sigh. I’m barely able to resist the offer. If I start now, I won’t be able to stop. “Until then.”
Norris helps her from the car and rushes her inside before a wandering reporter catches up with us. I want to follow and see her safely to the door. I want to lock her there, protecting her from the attention I’ve brought to her life.
But even as I fight the urge I know the truth. The safest thing I could do is keep my distance from her. Now that she’s no longer next to me, I wonder if I could walk away now.
I know three things:
I should call this off now.
I won’t be able to shield her from the press or my family indefinitely.
I have no control over my attraction to this woman.
The last trumps the others, and I can only hope that after a night with her, I’ll let go of my preoccupation.
Norris gets back in the car without a word and we drive in silence. After a few minutes, he clears his throat. “Home?”
“I suppose,” I say ruefully, my thoughts lingering behind with Clara. “I need to get my own place.”
“Perhaps, you should speak to your father,” Norris advises me. His eyes survey me in the mirror.
“I don’t want anything from him. I’ll get a flat.”
Norris resumes his practiced silence, but the absence of his guidance is deafening.
“Out with it,” I order him.
“You think it will be this easy?”
“The flat?” I clarify.
“Amongst other concerns.” He’s choosing his words with the caution of a man familiar with my family’s poor temper.
“If we’re talking about Clara, let’s use her name,” I say flatly. “You think it’s a bad idea?”
“I think a woman like that deserves more than a hotel suite.”
I already know that. “I can’t give her more. It would expose her.”
“Alexander, she’s already exposed.” He turns the car onto a side street and I watch the lights of London flash past the window while I absorb what he’s saying.
“All the more reason to keep this private.” I don’t leave room for him to question this. I know Norris is right. Clara deserves more than a man like me can give her. “Can you see to that?”
“Of course,” he says in a clipped tone. He doesn’t approve, but I don’t try to fool myself.
I’m a selfish man. I’m going to hurt her. I won’t be able to protect her, because I pose more danger to Clara than any reporter or tabloid headline. She’s not the type of girl who fucks a man like me for thrills. She’s not the type of girl a man like me beds for fun. I’m going to take so much more than her body—and the worst part is that I don’t care if I hurt her. Not if it means I can have her, even if it’s just for one day.
Next week, Alexander prepares to meet Clara at the Westminter Royal!
© Geneva Lee, 2019. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied or redistributed.
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