For King and Country (6 page)

“You weren’t looking to pick anyone up?” I asked, doing my best to ignore his touch and completely failing. “Not your usual scene?”

His mouth twitched into a bemused smile. “I rarely find such exciting company at the Oxford and Cambridge Club.”

“Why were you there?” I asked, my rational side getting the better of my flirtatious one.

“My friend Jonathan received his degree. He conned me into coming,” he said.

“I have a hard time imagining you being conned by anyone.”

“Then you must not know Jonathan.”

“Wait,” I said, a realization dawning on me, “do you mean Jonathan Thompson?”

“The one and the only. Do you know him…well?” The question was strained, as though he dreaded the answer.

“By reputation only,” I assured him. Jonathan had also taken a degree in social studies, but we’d had little contact outside of a few shared courses. I only knew more about him because Belle had slept with him in our second year. She wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but Jonathan had turned out to be a major asshole. I’d steered clear of him socially after she’d warned me about him. Not that I’d had much of a social life at university. Without the old family connections, my focus had been on my studies. I couldn’t count on landing a respectable position any other way, even with my parents’ money. People like Jonathan didn’t have to concern themselves with such things.

“Jonathan claims he bedded every girl in his class,” Alexander said. “I’m glad to see you had higher standards.”

“Says his good friend,” I added.

“Some people you should keep close,” he advised, darkness flickering through his eyes as he spoke, reminding me how much I wanted to unravel his mystery.

I scanned the streets outside the car in effort to calm my rapid pulse. Everything about Alexander, from the words he spoke to the company he kept, screamed at me to run. But I’d been running and hiding most of my adult life, so I couldn’t bring myself to turn away from Alexander now. He drew me to him with an energy that was as magnetic as his smile.

You owe him your gratitude and nothing more
, my rational side lectured me. She was right and I knew I should listen, but I also knew I didn’t want to.

“Where are we going?” I asked when we passed the entrance to my building.

“There are reporters following us. Norris will lose them before I take you home.” His hand slid further up my leg, gripping my thigh possessively as he spoke.

I closed my eyes, pushing away all the analysis and doubts clouding my thoughts, and reveled in the warmth of his touch and those words. I wanted him to take me. Take me home. Or take me here. A horrified voice began whispering in my head.

Mistake. You are making a mistake. You aren’t strong enough for this. You can’t attract a man like him.

I shushed her and concentrated on the sensations thrilling through my body, aware that he had edged closer to me and that our bodies were now pressed together.

“Clara,” he said in a low voice.

“Hmm,” I replied, lost to the moment.

“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,” he promised.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Why?”

“Because you are the only person who wished I’d never left,” he said in an even voice.

But I saw through his careful control and his measured words, past the wild, untamed side of him I’d glimpsed earlier, to the broken boy that had never healed. And I knew then that the next words I said would be the first time he had heard those words spoken, too. “I’m glad you came back.”

“I want you.” His words were final. A command, not a question. It was in his voice. He wanted me, and he would have me. I could find no strength to fight it because I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. The thought left me dizzy. His hand slipped up until it was nestled against my sex and a soft moan escaped my lips. “But not tonight.”

My eyelids flew open as I stared at him accusingly. “Is that what you do? Toy with girls until they drop to their knees for you?”

He could take me now and I wouldn’t object. He knew that, and I could see that knowledge reflecting from his eyes. So why the games? “Do you need me to beg for it?” I asked.

His fingers rubbed against my jeans, teasing the bundle of nerves that was already throbbing at his mere presence. “Need? No. Want?” He hesitated. “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?” I wasn’t proud of how desperate the question sounded, but a girl can’t be held accountable when her clit is pounding like a war drum.

“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.” He paused to let this sink in, giving me enough time to visualize exactly what he was proposing. “And I need more than a few hours for that.”

I had stopped breathing, hanging off each of his promises until I thought I would melt into the seat. I didn’t think I could wait that long, and part of me longed for him to take me now, even with Norris only a few meters away. But I wanted to know a night like the one he promised more.

“I get what I want,” he reminded me, and I knew the matter was settled.

“When?” It was the only thing I could thing to ask with his gaze scorching through me.

“Tomorrow.”

“And the reporters?” I managed to ask.

“I’ll deal with them.” Alexander settled into his seat, a pleased smile sweeping across his perfect face. He knew he had me. He had been victorious, although there was never any doubt that he would be. How could I have resisted him? Resisted his godlike face or his chiseled body or the unshakeable pull that drew me to him? “Norris will pick you up at eleven.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night,” I said as the car came to a stop. I hoped my excitement wasn’t as obvious as I felt it was.

“Oh, no. Eleven in the morning.” Alexander leaned over and caught my face in his hands. “I told you I need time, poppet.”

His lips whispered across my mine and I opened my mouth in welcome, but he pulled away, his azure eyes flashing. “Until then.”

T
he living room lamp flicked on as soon as I turned the lock in the front door. I whirled around, my eyes still adjusting to the dark, to discover Belle sitting cross-legged on the couch, glaring at me. Any other night I would have laughed at her for being a mother hen, but tonight it felt more like I’d just been caught by the prison warden.

“How long have you been sitting in the dark?” I asked her.

“Since I got home and decided to wait for you.” She pointed to a bag still crammed full of take-out boxes. Guilt crept over me as I realized I’d been gone nearly an hour and a half.

“I’m sorry,” I began, but I had no idea what else to say. So much had happened since she went to grab dinner, and now that I was out of Alexander’s intoxicating presence, I was beginning to feel a tad foolish. But then I remembered his lips dancing across mine and the now familiar but still uncontrollable longing returned.

“Earth to Clara.”

I shook my head and forced myself to meet my best friend’s gaze.

“I asked where you were. I thought you were just in the loo at first, but then you never came out.”

“I left you a note,” I said defensively, but it was clear she hadn’t gotten it.

“But,” she continued, ignoring me, “I know you can’t have been
stupid
enough to go out with all those paparazzi waiting for you.” She paused, obviously waiting for me to jump in and explain, but I was still trying to sort out where to begin. “And yet, here you are, dragging your sorry bum in without a word of explanation.”

I held up a hand in surrender. “Give me a minute.”

Dropping on to the couch next to her, I tried to collect my thoughts. Belle sighed impatiently and grabbed a takeout box. It had to be cold but she flipped open the carton lid and began twirling noodles around chopsticks. Instead of eating them herself, she held them up to me. “Eat.”

I knew better than to argue with her over this. I slurped the noodles down, savoring their coating of rich, salty sauce despite their coldness. She shoved the box into my hands and I took over the process of feeding myself, grateful for the chance to sort through my thoughts as much as I was for the food. We ate in silence until my belly was sated, and I had to admit my head felt much clearer after food.

Setting my half-empty carton down, I shifted to face Belle, who watched me with curious eyes, her mouth hovering over her own noodles.

“When you left I got a call.” She was silent as I filled her in on the insane chain of events that had transpired while she was out grabbing takeaway, but as soon as I finished, leaving off at the part where Alexander helped me to his car, she let out a long, extended sigh.

“If you don’t shag that, I will never forgive you.”

I couldn’t choke back the nervous laughter that bubbled from me. My eyes darted away from Belle’s too serious face, worried she would figure out that I’d already agreed to meet him tomorrow. I wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps because Alexander’s and my relationship was already too public, part of me wanted to keep something for myself. But despite my attempt to avoid that tidbit, Belle’s narrowed into catlike slits.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded.

“Nothing. I...just...” My fingers twisted the tassel of a throw pillow, and Belle swatted at it. I pulled it away from her reach and clutched it to my chest.

“Out with it, Bishop.”

“I’m...seeing him tomorrow.” It was actually a relief to admit it.

“Tomorrow? Bloody hell!” Belle jumped up from the couch and began rapidly pacing the living room. “That doesn’t give us much time.”

“To do what?” I asked, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“What will you wear?”

“He couldn’t keep his hands off me in this,” I reminded her, plucking at the hem of my t-shirt. “I think anything will be an improvement over this.”

Her eyebrow crooked up, suggesting that she seriously doubted that. “You can wear a burlap bag for all I care—although I won’t let you—what are you wearing
underneath
? Oh bollocks, when did you get waxed last? It’s too late to do it now.”

“Everything is in order down there,” I assured her, not bothering to inform her that although I’d never waxed before in my life that didn’t mean that things weren’t neat and well-kept down below.

“Knickers? Bra?” she asked.

Her pacing was starting to ratchet up my nerves again. “I also have those.”

“I’ve seen yours,” she said in exasperation. “You can’t wear cotton knickers to shag Alexander.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll be wearing them long.” Just the thought distracted me as I remembered Alexander’s strong, commanding hands. By tomorrow, I’d know what it was like to have them all over my body, and a ripple of anticipation shivered over my skin, raising goose bumps.

“Focus, Clara!” Belle snapped her fingers, drawing my attention back to the state of emergency she’d declared.

“He’s picking me up at eleven in the morning,” I told her. “There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“We live in London now,” she said, grabbing her purse from the floor. “Shops are open late. You’re a 36B?”

“C,” I corrected. “But I can’t go out there.” Norris had driven us around the front of the building earlier, and although I’d been too focused on Alexander to check things out, I had no doubt that the paparazzi were still camped in front of our building.

“I’ll go.”

“You already went out for dinner.” I knew Belle’s intentions were noble, but she’d nearly worked me into a frenzy at this point. It was too much. “I shouldn’t go.”

“That’s why I’m going—”

“No,” I stopped her. “I shouldn’t go
tomorrow
. It’s a terrible idea. Do I really want to wind up on more tabloids?”

If I kept getting caught with Alexander, the rumors would only swirl more. I could almost picture the headlines:
Tasty Tart! Her Royal Whoreness!

Getting involved with someone like Alexander, even for a fling, could destroy my career before it even got started. I didn’t harbor any delusions about my position at the nonprofit, but I wasn’t ready to commit career suicide before I’d had my first day.

“No, no, no,” Belle ordered. “I know that voice. You aren’t going to talk yourself out of this. For once, you need to let go.”

“And what good will it do me?”

“I love you,” she said, her eyes soft as she spoke, “but you need a good fuck. You’ve spent the last six months under a stack of books—”

“Some of us needed good marks.”

“And before that,” she continued as though she hadn’t heard me, “you were with Daniel, and let’s face it, darling.” Belle lifted her pinkie finger and wiggled it.

I smothered a giggle with my hand. “How do you know that?”

“Because I saw you in the morning after he slept over,” she said, “and you always looked tired—and not in a good way.”

I seriously doubted that my sex life could be judged based on my morning-after appearance. “Daniel was perfectly adequate.”

“Exactly. Beans and toast will feed you, but you can’t pretend it’s a steak.”

I shook my head at her. “None of this means that I need new underwear.”

In the end, Belle won out, and to be certain that I’d be too busy to overthink my date—or whatever it was—she left me with a list of things to do while she was out. I resisted the list at first, but some of the items made sense. My toenails were fine, but maybe a fresh coat of polish would be nice. Painting them, as it turned out, had the odd effect of calming me down and exciting me at the same time. When I was a teenager, I would have gone through all this obsessing before a date, but I had to admit that it had seemed less important in college. I didn’t exactly want to be the kind of girl that spent hours and hours preening before she saw a guy, but it had been too long since I’d really pampered myself.

Belle could run a beauty salon with the amount of product she kept on hand, and before long, I had freshly pedicured feet. I padded through the flat, careful not to stub my still-drying toenails, and headed for her room. She’d given me carte blanche access to her closet to find something to wear,
because as she put it, you are leaving the house in a pair of jeans over my dead body
.

I couldn’t help marveling at how organized her closet was already. I liked my things neat and well-ordered, but there was no way I could have unpacked my belongings as quickly and efficiently as she had, even though I had a quarter of the clothing.

I ran my fingers down the assortment of dresses that hung according to their length, stopping in the middle near the closer to knee-length dresses. Most of them fell under the family celebration category, meaning they looked a little too much like something a British monarch might wear.

Alexander’s grandmother
, I realized.

That definitely wasn’t going to work. I knew Belle would push me toward the shorter dresses, but the last thing I wanted was to feel self-conscious right off the bat. I’d never arranged anything this close to a booty call before, and as aroused as I was over Alexander’s promise that he needed to screw me all day, it was getting harder to silence my rational side. Without his presence—without the inexorable pull I felt around him—I could see more clearly the reasons I should stay away.

One time
, I promised myself.
And then it’s over.

It was late spring in London, which meant the weather was a little fickle but tended toward warmer temperatures. I rifled through the hangers, discovering Belle had a serious ball gown problem. No one could possibly need this many fancy dresses. Shoved between a Jenny Packham evening gown and a Vera Wang in champagne silk, I found exactly what I was looking for.

Stripping down, I tried on the flowing maxi dress. It was sleeveless, but its sweetheart neckline would support my bust, a problem Belle didn’t usually need to worry about. It was a soft shade of blue—romantic and dreamlike, which was a reflection of how I felt. With my freshly painted toenails, I’d be able to rock a pair of sandals for the first time this season. It wasn’t the amped up ensemble my friend would pick out for me, but with its low neckline and figure-skimming fabric, it was plenty sexy enough.

Belle arrived back half an hour after I’d completed her checklist, holding an Agent Provocateur bag triumphantly over her head. To my surprise, she wholly approved of the dress I’d chosen.

“It will go perfectly with this.” She opened the carefully wrapped tissue to reveal a pale lace bra and panty set that sparkled silver when she held it up. The set was delicate and feminine, managing to scream sex and wealth at the same time.

I took one look at the price tag and knew why.

“I’m paying you back for this.”

Belle waved off my declaration, her lips curving as I held up the sexy lingerie. She knew I wouldn’t have bought it for myself. Not because I didn’t have the money, but because I’d never had a reason to before. She grabbed the bra out of my hand and snapped off the price tag.

“No going back now,” she purred.

I snatched it away, pressing it to my chest as I imagined what it would be like to wear it, which only resulted in me thinking about why I would be wearing this. Heat flooded my cheeks as I pictured wearing this in front of Alexander. I’d worn lingerie before, but nothing as exquisite as this. It was beautiful and sexy and
delicate
—as delicate as the arrangement between him and me.

The nerves hit me as soon as I woke up in the morning. My stomach rolled at the thought that in a few short hours I was going to possibly be making the biggest mistake of my life or maybe the best decision of my life. The jury was still out on how bad an idea it was. Grabbing a shower, I tried not to look in the mirror as I finished my usual morning routine. But when I finally was forced to look up as I began applying the little bit of makeup I planned to wear, I discovered I was already flushed. I looked excited and slightly crazed. All in all, it actually didn’t look that terrible.

Belle was making a racket in the kitchen by the time I joined her, still in my robe. She was dressed in tiny pajama bottoms and a nearly sheer tank top, and for a second, I wished I had her body—toned, athletic with perky breasts and defined abs. Despite running several days a week, I was curvy and slightly too tall. I’d been told more than once that my voluptuous figure had scared a boy off.