Page 13 of Cross Me

“I don’t care if someone lit a match near her,” Edward exploded. “I want to hear about it from you.”

“You will. I wasn’t thinking. Listen”—I glanced up and down the hall to make certain no one could overhear us—“can you come home? I need your help.”

There was a pause, which lasted long enough for me to regret my request. He’d just gotten married. The last thing he wanted was to come home and help me run the country.

“We’ll be there,” he said at last. He hung up without saying goodbye.

It took a concerted effort to coax Clara from the nursery. Finally, with Penny’s help, Elizabeth was in her crib and I’d taken Clara to bed. She climbed in with her clothes on, mumbling sleepily as I began to undress her.

“Come on, Poppet.” I tugged the dress over her head. Throwing it on the ground, I rolled off a stocking. Without thinking, my lips went to the creamy skin it revealed. Clara sighed as I slowly repeated the action with the other, trailing kisses down her leg.

When I finally tore myself away, she reached out, her languid eyes widening. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”

I understood what she meant. Dreams awaited her on the other side of closing her eyes. I also knew that she couldn’t avoid nightmares forever. Once, I had suffered from night terrors, reliving the car accident that claimed my sister’s life. The dreams had faded when I’d fallen for Clara and she had come to my bed. Tonight, I would protect her from the horrors she’d seen.

“Let me help you,” I suggested. I stayed where she could see me, taking off my clothes quickly. Clara’s gaze didn’t stray, it saw through the mask of strength I’d worn all day. It laid me bare. Only she could see what I so carefully hid from everyone else. My scars. My fears. I could only face them—face myself—with the strength she gave me.

Now I needed to take that strength. Take her. But not tonight. Not after what she’d experienced. Still, we needed more than quick and raw. Taking her at the hospital had held me, but I realized now that what we both needed was skin on skin.

“Alexander,” she began as my body lowered over hers, “I know that you think I need”—

“Not now,” I said gently, stopping her mouth with a kiss. There would be fighting later. We both knew that. It was inevitable. Right now, though, we needed this. My hand slipped under her back and unhooked her bra. She shimmied in my embrace, until it was gone and there was nothing between us.

I began a slow descent, pausing to pay homage to my favorite spots: the freckles on her shoulders, the hollow of her collar bone. When my mouth closed over her nipple, I sucked it gently between my teeth, relishing the satin-soft skin and her breathy cry. My tongue traced a line down until I reached the apex of her thighs. My arms curved around her hips, my hands pressing her legs open. Clara flowered before me and I drank in her perfume before my tongue found a new, more delicate spot to tease.

Her hands fisted in the sheets as her body arched in greeting. I wanted to stay here and let the world fade away. Drive her wild with my mouth and make her come again and again. More than that, though, I needed to feel her body clench possessively on my cock once more. She was soft and wet and I needed to bury myself there and watch her fall apart.

There was a moan of protest when I pulled away, her hips writhing at the loss of contact. When I replaced my mouth with the crown of my cock, she opened in welcome. Entering her felt like coming home. I drew her body against mine and our lips met in deep, hungry kisses, our teeth and tongues nipping and sucking. I wanted to consume her, make her such a part of me that we were never separate. Her fingers found the scars I kept from everyone but her and lingered there.

We claimed each other with thrusts and moans, giving and taking, until there was no her. No me. Only us.

She met me at the first shattering pulse of my cock, her channel rippling over me as she melted in waves in my arms. We rolled in a sweaty heap onto our sides, not breaking contact.

Clara’s eyes were heavier and if she minded that I’d fucked her to sleep, she didn’t show it. I whispered that she was safe and loved and home until her breathing slowed to a soft, regular rhythm.

I didn’t want to leave her. It felt like ripping my heart out to untangle my body from hers, but there were matters to attend to, especially if I was going to see that she was safe. I dressed quickly and quietly, planted a kiss on her forehead, and hoped I’d chased the nightmares away.

Leaving our bedroom, I blinked against the bright lights of the hallway. It was early evening, the world outside had fallen to the early night of winter, but the household and the offices were still running.

No one questioned where I had been when I strode into my office and found Norris, Brexton, and a few others waiting there. Under normal circumstances, Brex might make a few insinuations about what I’d been up to. He might wink. Today, he couldn’t muster so much as a smile. That made two of us.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” he began instead. “I went—”

“You left her,” I cut him off. “I don’t need an explanation. Norris, I want to speak with you privately.”

The other men left the room without protest. Brex followed without a word. I recognized the self-loathing written across his face. I knew the feeling well.

When they were gone, Norris spoke first. “It’s not his fault. Clara refused to leave. Georgia had the Queen’s safety in hand.”

“It was not her responsibility,” I roared. My fist slammed into the oak desktop. I didn’t even remember taking my seat behind the desk. Norris took the chair opposite, a well-worn expression of patience taking over his features. There were times when he looked so much like my father—or what my father might have looked like if he’d had a soul. This was one of those times.

“It was mine,” Norris said after a moment. “The blame lies with me.”

“Brex was with her.”

“Because I allowed him to take my place. If you’re going to blame someone for following Clara’s wishes, the blame belongs on me.” Norris folded his hands in his lap as if awaiting his punishment.

“Or maybe Clara,” I said darkly.