The Royals: Alexander and Clara: Volume One (The Royals Saga) Page 2

  Stop telling him your life story, the tiny obnoxious voice that played critic to my every waking moment admonished me.

  “And a California girl, too,” the stranger said. “I can’t imagine why you’d trade the beach for rainy old London.”

  “I like the fog.” It was true but admitting it made me blush. It was a silly reason, but his head cocked, as if he were intrigued.

  I took a step closer to him, holding out my hand. Perhaps he expected a formal introduction before he’d fess up. “I’m Clara Bishop, by the way.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Clara Bishop.” His hand caught mine, and there was no hesitation as he raised it swiftly toward his lips. A surge of electricity passed between us, the air in the room practically crackling as the sensation seeped into my veins, spreading until I felt dizzy. Desire swam through my blood, pooling in my belly.

  I wanted to pull away. No, I needed to pull away.

  Belle’s words echoed in my head. I didn’t want him to stop touching me though. I wanted to melt into him and I was strongly considering it when a beautiful, blond woman sauntered into the hall and stopped to stare at us.

  I had to pull my hand away if I wanted to break the electric connection buzzing between us, but when I tugged free from his grip he grabbed my arm and drew me roughly to him. His lips crushed against mine with an urgency I thought existed only in films. Strong arms coiled around my waist, tightening possessively as he cradled my back. He tasted of cloves and bourbon, wild nights and reckless abandon, and my lips parted instinctually as his tongue slid into my mouth. His kiss was forceful—commanding—and I found myself slipping under his control, my body molding against his as I softened under the heat of our embrace.

  His tongue flicked lazily against my teeth, and my mouth spread wider in welcome. He accepted, thrusting his tongue deeper, drawing my own into his mouth and capturing it with a languid suction. My legs buckled weakly, my body ready to sink to the floor under him, but he pressed me closer to him, the hardness of his body bracing me. His hand slipped from my waist to the hollow at the small of my back. The intimate gesture spurred me to life and my fingers tangled into his silky hair as I held on to the kiss, certain I would fade to nothing without his body crushed against mine.

  When he finally released me, it was too soon, even though his hand stayed on the small of my back. I stumbled back a step, but he held me steady, as if he’d anticipated my reaction. Of course, a man who kissed like that probably had learned what to expect. I couldn’t help thinking he should come with a label:

  Warning! Content is extremely arousing.

  I searched his face for a clue as to why he kissed me, even as my body craved the taste of him, but all I saw was the ragged passion burning in his eyes. It sucked the breath from me and I couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “Why?” The question slipped out, equal parts spoken thought and accusation.

  “My motives are less than chivalrous,” he said, dropping his hand from me at his confession. I shivered at the loss of contact, wishing he hadn’t. “That woman is a particularly horrible mistake of mine.”

  “You kissed me to avoid your ex-girlfriend?”

  “I would not call her my ex, but my apologies all the same.” There wasn’t an ounce of regret in his words. His eyes cooled, the molten blue fire now hardened to sapphires. He took a step towards me, but then hesitated, changing direction toward the terrace.

  I deflated at his shift, and it was then that I realized I wanted him to kiss me again—a desire I knew was written all over my face. Silence fell between us, but even though he didn’t speak or touch me again, my heart continued to beat rapidly like a caged animal trying to break free.

  “Congratulations on your matriculation,” he told me.

  I blinked at the change of topic, remembering where I was and why. The world had faded away when he touched me, and it was only now that I recalled that I knew nothing about this man who could have taken me up against the wall moments ago if he’d wanted to. “Did you graduate as well?”

  His hand covered his mouth quickly but not before I caught that smirk flash across his face once more. “I took a rather different career path. Are we playing twenty questions?”

  “Will you tell me who you are?” I asked.

  He winked at me. “I think the point, poppet, is to figure that out.”

  My eyes narrowed, my lips still stinging with the memory of his kiss. If he wanted to play games, I could play games. “You took a different career path? But you’re here—” I gestured around us “—at a prestigious club, so you’re either a well-dressed waiter or you come from money?”

  I waited for him to answer, but he shook his head, wagging a finger at me. “That wasn’t a yes or no question.”

  “If you don’t want to play…” I shrugged, surreptitiously checking the hall behind me.

  “I merely want to play by the rules, unless you’d rather I ask you the questions,” he suggested.

  I swallowed, struggling to keep my body under control. “Do you come from money?”

  “You could say that,” he said with a shrug.

  “Yes or no,” I prompted.

  “Yes,” he said, leaning in and catching a lock of my hair between his fingers. “Is it my turn yet?”

  “I haven’t asked all twenty questions,” I whispered, aware of the proximity of his lips.

  “Don’t spend them all at once,” he advised me as he tucked the strand behind my ear. “It’s best to leave some anticipation.”

  “You already know who I am,” I reminded him.

  “But there are lots of things I’d like to know about you.” His breath was hot on my neck as he spoke. “And I’m dying to hear you say yes.”

  “What if the answer is no?”

  “Trust me, it isn’t.” His lips brushed across my jaw. My eyes closed to the sensation of his five o’clock shadow rasping across the delicate skin.

  He stepped away, and I choked back a pant of longing, adjusting my dress in an attempt to look nonplussed.

  “Last question,” he said, “and then let’s see if you can guess.”

  One last chance to unravel him and I was no closer than I’d been when we met. And now my body hummed with arousal, distracting me from my objective. There was only one thing for it. There was only one question I could ask.

  “Who are you?” I asked, calling his bluff.

  He shook his head and mouthed yes or no. Clearly he wasn’t going to be less cryptic, even after using me to avoid his ex. I’d been a convenient pawn, and the thought sent shame rippling through me. I didn’t think I could calm my racing heart if I stayed near him.

  Had I imagined the electricity in that kiss? I was certain that I hadn’t. As sure as I was that he wanted me, too. My mouth went dry at the idea. I thought of what Belle had said about snogging a man with wealth and power, and I forced myself to ignore the throb of ache traveling through my body. I wasn’t interested in being toyed with by a man like this. I refused to be.

  “I should be getting back,” I said, aware that I had to make a move before his scorching presence turned me into a puddle of want on the floor in front of him.

  His eyes blazed as he nodded, smoldering through my body, but this time it wasn’t my cheeks on fire. “I hope to see you again, Clara Bishop.”

  He didn’t wait for me to leave. Instead, he disappeared onto the terrace, vanishing into thin air. It wasn’t until he was out of sight, freeing me from the heady effect of his presence, that I realized I’d kissed a man without knowing his name.

  And I wanted to do it again.

  Chapter Two

  Slinking back to the cocktail party, completely distracted by the stranger and his kiss, I didn’t even see Belle until I was back in her clutches. She beamed as she grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the bar. Most of the people around us wouldn’t notice the slight pinch of her eyes as she smiled, but I knew it meant I was in trouble. Considering how dazed and infuriated I was after that
kiss—that incredible kiss—I wasn’t going to put up much of a fight.

  “What in the bloody hell was that?” she asked, shoving a bowl of mixed nuts at me.

  “I’m not hungry.” Food was about the last thing on my mind.

  “Are you pissed already? Don’t make me force-feed you.”

  “I’m not drunk,” I said, even though I felt like I was. His lips. The taste of them on mine. The press of his body. A wave of heat rolled through my body and I resisted the urge to fan myself.

  “Clara.” Belle snapped her fingers to get my attention. I shook my head and stared at her dumbly. “I said that you could have at least have had a drink with my brother.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I did feel genuinely bad for ducking out so gracelessly in front of her brother. But the only way she was ever going to learn not to set me up was if I made it an embarrassment to her. Belle was fluent in humiliation from a family disgrace years before. I hated to play that card, but it was the only thing that got through her obstinance. Still it was our graduation day.

  “I thought I saw my mother,” I fibbed.

  Belle’s face softened and she snatched a few nuts out of the bowl, holding them out to me. “Protein. You’re going to need your strength.”

  Truer words were never spoken, even if my excuse had been a lie. My mother was supposed to be here today, and I had little doubt she’d come. The Oxford and Cambridge Club was hardly a place she could expect to visit without an invitation, and today some of Britain’s most elite families were present to celebrate a graduation. Madeline Bishop wouldn’t miss that for the world. The press wasn’t welcomed since it was a private party, but there was always the chance there would be paparazzi outside, if she got lucky. Our family generally didn’t warrant such attention but she’d been seeking it ever since her and my father had made their initial fortune fourteen years ago. It was a little embarrassing, and I wasn’t exactly eager to see her. Belle understood this all too well.

  “Thank you.” I popped the nuts in my mouth. Their saltiness made my mouth water, and I realized I was famished. My gaze landed on a nearby mantel clock and I groaned. It had been over six hours since I had last eaten.

  “I won’t be held responsible for you fainting on your degree day,” Belle said, giving me a wink. She knew me well enough to know that between the stress of the ceremony and this party I would forget to eat. “Don’t look now, but the Bishops have arrived.”

  “God save the Queen,” I muttered, taking a deep breath and snatching up a few more nuts. I would be sure to follow them with a nice bourbon. Turning around, I caught sight of my mother decked out in a stunning but short peacock-blue garden dress that hugged her impressively athletic body but was hardly appropriate for her age. It didn’t seem fair that she was probably in better shape than I was. Of course, she considered looking fit to be her profession.

  I saw her searching the room, her hands artfully resting on a string of pearls at her neck. She might not have been born British but she could hold her own with any of the aristocrats in this room. Her head was high, her nose tipped slightly up, and her gaze scathing as she looked around her. There was a smile of benevolence on her lips as though she was deigning to enter a room of her subjects.

  Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand to wave her over.

  “Last chance to run,” I told Belle.

  “And leave you alone? Not a chance, but you do owe me a bottle of wine later.” She slipped a rocks glass into my hand, knowing exactly what I needed to get through this encounter before I even asked.

  “Deal.” Although by the end of the day we’d probably need more than one bottle.

  “Clara, my dearest girl!” Mom flew through the crowd to me, kissing me delicately on the cheek. Affection from her was always as fragile as a butterfly wing. Feelings were so easily broken, she’d once told me, so it was better to be cautious with them. I’d watched the same delicacy infiltrate her marriage since I was a child.

  Dad held out a hand, and as soon as I took it, he pulled me into a bear hug. “Clare-bear, you did it!”

  I flushed a little at the nickname from my childhood. Dad had never believed that love was fragile, even if he did treat my mother like glass.

  “A university graduate,” Mom said, thrusting her chest out in pride, and causing none too subtle looks of appreciation from the men around her. “An Oxford graduate at that.”

  “To my little girl.” Dad raised a glass to toast and I felt the slightest tug of emotion at the gesture.

  There’d been little doubt I would attend university, even though my father had fought to graduate years ago. My mom hadn’t been so lucky. It felt strange to know she was here celebrating the person that had kept her own ambitions from being fulfilled.

  “Future Nobel Prize Winner. Britain’s great hope,” Dad continued.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “More like Future Nobel Prize Winner’s errand girl.”

  “Everyone starts somewhere,” he reminded me. “Even small stuff is important. Gandhi started somewhere.”

  I had no doubt of that, but just the thought of the job I’d landed made me feel slightly nauseous. Thankfully, I had over a fortnight until I had to actually begin my work there, and plenty of things to do in that time to occupy my mind. “No hunger strikes from me,” I promised him.

  Beside us my mother froze. “That was in poor taste.”

  “I’m sorry. It was just a joke,” I reassured her.

  But my mom had begun to fan herself while casting glances around her. “It’s stifling over here.”

  Dad smiled softly. “Then let’s find another spot for you, love.”

  It was passive-aggressive tactic number one of my mother’s playbook. She had to be constantly moving. It didn’t matter how lovely her view was, how fascinating her dinner partners were, or the exclusivity of the party she was attending, she was always convinced that she was missing out. She was sure that around the corner there might be a better opportunity or a more important person. This meant that my family had hopped from house to house for the first several years after they’d sold their internet business. My dad had finally put his foot down and informed her this was it when they moved from Los Angeles to Kensington six years ago. It was the poshest home we’d ever owned, with the poshest address, right across the street from the former pop singer who was married to the famous soccer player. My mom had been game for it for the first few years but had been dropping hints for a while that she was ready for a change. Or rather, she wanted to seek greener pastures. Dad, to his credit, had not budged on the issue. But that hadn’t stopped her from engaging a real estate agent. Every few months, I would be dragged to look at properties. She’d hinted that she wanted to buy one for me but I was not about to let that happen. They’d paid my expenses at university and I’d managed to deal with my mother’s demanding and sometimes stifling curiosity regarding my life, but I was an adult now with a proper job and no desire to continue living under her thumb.

  “Clara, have you considered where you will live now that you’re back in the city?” she asked, linking her arm through mine as she displayed her uncanny knack for guessing what I was thinking.

  Not with you, I thought. London was still a strange beast to me, having only moved to the UK shortly before heading off to school, and my mother knew it. That didn’t make me want to live with her though. “I told you I was going to stay with Belle.”

  “But Belle is getting married,” Mom reminded me. She turned and flashed a brilliant smile at my friend. “I must hear every detail about the wedding.”

  Belle returned the smile, briefly raising a knowing eyebrow when my mother turned her back. She knew that my mom had just invited herself to Belle’s wedding. Mom would probably be game to take my place as a bridesmaid if I would let her.

  “Not for another year,” I said calmly. At least I sounded calm. This was actually a huge concern for me. I didn’t do well living on my own, something both Belle and my mom knew. I wasn�
�t certain what I would do when Belle got married and moved in with Philip. I was trying not to think about it.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Bishop,” Belle said, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve got a long list of men that are dying to take Clara on a date, and they are all excellent long-term prospects.”

  I willed the floor to open and swallow me up. I hated the idea of being set up, as though I needed someone to arrange romance for me. It made me feel undesirable, and this afternoon had proven I was anything but that. “Are we talking about men or investments?”

  “They’re the same thing.” Mom tossed the thought at me and returned her attention to Belle. “You’re such a good friend to set her up, and you must start calling me Madeline. We’ll be seeing each other all the time now.”

  Visions of lunch dates and high teas swam in my head. I’d never quite succeeded in reminding her that I was going to be busy with a job soon. My mother hadn’t needed to work in so long that I wasn’t sure she had a good hold on what a career actually required—like work.

  “I hope so,” Belle said. She found my mom hilarious, but even I knew she was lying. Madeline was best served in small doses.

  We’d relocated closer to the door I’d fled from earlier, and my thoughts drifted back to the kiss. Part of me wanted to slip away and look for him, but then would I be any better than the girl he’d been trying to avoid? Likely not. How would I feel if I found him only to have him grab the nearest tart and snog her? The new Clara Bishop doesn’t have time for playboys or baggage or drama, I reminded myself.

  But still, I couldn’t help but replay the kiss, slowing down each moment in my memory until I could almost feel the brush of his lips again. My hands clenched at my sides as I fought against the tremble of arousal that rolled through my body.

  My mother’s high-pitched giggle broke me out of my reverie. It was unlikely that anyone had said anything truly funny, but I smiled anyway, as though I was in on the joke.

  “Your father and I have been talking.” Mom glanced over to Dad, who was shooting her a frustrated glare, which she ignored. “Why don’t you move in with us? Surely, Belle will want to be alone with Philip, and we have more than enough room.”