X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes - Geneva Lee Page 0,82

briefed on, and yet you’re busy screwing that—”

This finally sends me to my feet. “Choose your words very carefully. She is precious to me.”

There are lines that, once crossed, will force decisions neither of us wants to make. I know my father well enough to guess the lengths he’d go to in an effort to separate us. He once sent me to face death itself to avoid bad press. What will he do to avoid an unwanted addition to his precious bloodline?

Before he can speak, Clara steps into the room. Her eyes are hollow, worn down, and empty. Edward is nowhere in sight. How long has she been standing there? How much has she heard? “I’m going to bed.”

It’s nothing more than a declaration of intention, but it’s a loaded statement. She’s drawn a line in the sand. Them. Her. What team will I choose?

“I’m coming with you.” I cross to her, taking her hand but carefully angling my body so that I can step in front of her like a shield if necessary.

“We are not finished speaking,” he says, his jaw tightening as I choose her over them.

“This conversation is over.” I dismiss his objection. I’m through with pandering to their snobbery and power games. “I’m not debating this with you any longer. I’ve made my decision.”

He pauses, his eyes scanning the woman next to me—assessing and dissecting. This isn’t over. Finally, he simply says, “Good night.”

When we reach the door to her room, we pause. Clara sinks against it, her hands wrapped behind her back.

“This is me,” she says. “Where are you?”

“The North Wing,” I tell her. “My old room, full of precious memories.” I don’t bother to hide the bitterness from my voice. Coming here is torture. It’s being forced to swallow poison one toxic drop at a time. Why did I bring her here?

“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning.”

I nod, steeling my resolve to walk away. She said she was tired, and after what she overheard, I can’t blame her for sending me away. “Clara, I…”

She waits for me to finish that statement, but I started it without knowing the words on the other end. Instead, I settle for a kiss. My lips linger on hers, wishing I could wipe away what she heard, how they make her feel, everything.

But my kiss isn’t what wakes her from this nightmare. It’s what started it for her.

Her hand fumbles for the knob as we break apart.

“Good night,” she says as she steps inside.

The door closes, shutting her away from me. I turn and begin making my way across the house. Why had I brought her here knowing what she would be subjected to? Because I hadn’t wanted to come alone. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of a weekend with these people.

No.

I couldn’t stand being without her.

The corridor is dark. My footsteps echo on the marble floors as the shadows close in around me. I’d left the only light in this fucking place behind me. I don’t want this world or its secrets or its shame. I want her.

My body realizes before my brain does, carrying me back to her door. By the time I raise my fist to knock, it swings open to reveal Clara, a look of stony determination on her face.

“I don’t want you to go to the North Wing,” she blurts out when she sees me.

My hands grip her face, crushing her mouth to mine as I back her into the room and kick the door closed. Clara’s hands slip under the lapels of my suit jacket and shuck it off my shoulders. I release her face and step back, unbuttoning my vest. Clara watches, firelight catching her eyes from the hearth before she reaches behind her and slowly slides down her zipper. I shrug off my vest and begin on my cufflinks. Clara watches as though she’s in a trance. Then I start on the buttons of my shirt. The movement jars her back to life. Her gaze skips down as if surprised to find me undoing my shirt. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I realize I’ve never done this before: causally undress in front of her. Without thought. Without hesitation.

When I reach the last button, I let it fall open before I strip it off.

There’s nothing left standing between us. We’ve stripped it all away.

Clara’s hands slip up to her shoulders, and she pushes her dresses to the floor. White lace cages her breasts, her nipples poking against