Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Alexander
The quarterly reports blur before my eyes for the third time in twenty minutes. It's no use. My mind refuses to focus on anything but her.
Alice.
Three doors down the hallway, curled up in my library with her delicate fingers trailing over book spines as if they're precious artifacts. Three days she's been in my home, sleeping under my roof, and I'm already a man possessed. A man obsessed . A man on the verge of breaking his own carefully constructed rules.
I toss my pen onto the desk and lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath my weight. The office suddenly feels too small, too confining, despite the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city I've spent years conquering. None of those conquests matter now. The only territory I'm interested in claiming is five-foot-four with soft curves and eyes that widen whenever I enter a room.
The memory of her face when I showed her my library this morning still burns bright. Her mouth had dropped open, those pink lips forming a perfect O that I'd been desperate to taste.
"All of these...are yours?" she'd whispered, her voice catching.
"They're yours now too, Alice. For as long as you're here."
She'd spun in a slow circle, nearly trembling with excitement. Not over jewels or designer clothes—over books. Used books, many of them, collected over years of travel. The wonder in her eyes made me feel like I'd given her the moon instead of merely access to some paper and ink.
"Go ahead," I'd told her, forcing myself to step back despite wanting to press her against the shelves. "Take your time. I have some work to catch up on."
A necessary lie. I'd finished my actual work yesterday, clearing my schedule in anticipation of her arrival. But I needed distance. Space to breathe air that wasn't perfumed with her scent—that clean, simple fragrance that clings to her skin despite the expensive toiletries I've stocked her bathroom with.
My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen.
Meeting in 30. Acquisition details finalized?
Jason, my CFO, expecting me to care about buying another company when my entire world has narrowed to the slender waitress who's been surviving on tips and determination.
Three days. Seventy-two hours of torture and bliss.
I haven't touched her. Not really. A hand at the small of her back when guiding her through doorways. Fingers brushing when passing coffee mugs. Each contact sending electrical currents through my body that leave me hard and aching.
My office phone rings, yanking me from my thoughts. I ignore it. What I can't ignore is the hollow feeling spreading through my chest—the growing certainty that this arrangement isn't enough. Having her in my home but not putting my cock inside her is its own special kind of hell.
I've built an empire on patience and strategic timing. On knowing when to strike and when to wait. But Alice has demolished my self-control without even trying.
The decision crystallizes suddenly, sharp and clear like everything else becomes when I set my mind to it. A change of scenery. A place where there are no distractions, no work obligations. Just Alice and me and the inevitable conclusion to this tension coiling between us.
I grab my phone and dial.
"Prepare the jet," I tell my pilot. "Departure for Isla Alexander in three hours. Just myself and one guest. And inform the island staff we'll be arriving tonight."
The island. My private sanctuary off the Caribbean coast, named with the particular brand of arrogance that comes from having purchased your own island before turning thirty. It's remote, secluded, and obscenely beautiful. The perfect setting to break down the remaining barriers between us.
I find her exactly where I left her, curled in a window seat in the library. The afternoon light catches in her dark hair, creating hints of chestnut and mahogany. Her feet are tucked beneath her, shoes discarded on the floor. A forgotten cup of tea sits cooling on the table beside her. She's so absorbed in her book she doesn't hear me enter.
For a moment, I simply watch her. The slight furrow between her brows as she concentrates. The way her lips move silently over certain passages. The gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the simple t-shirt she's wearing.
Mine. The word pulses through me with each heartbeat. Not yet, but soon.
She feels my presence eventually, glancing up with a startled little gasp that sends heat straight to my groin.
"Alexander! I—I'm sorry. I lost track of time." She starts to unfold herself, the book sliding from her lap.
"Don't move," I say, softer than my usual tone. "You look perfect right there."
The blush I've come to crave spreads across her cheeks. "I've read half your collection already, I think. I've never seen so many first editions."
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the window seat, close enough that her scent envelops me but not so close that she'll feel trapped. "I have a proposition for you, Alice."
Wariness immediately shadows her expression. Of course it does. Women like Alice—women who've had to fight for every scrap of security—recognize propositions as potential threats.
"Nothing improper," I assure her, though the lie stings. Everything I want to do to her is gloriously improper. "I need to check on one of my properties this weekend. A small island."
Her eyes widen. "An island? Like...a resort?"
"Like a private residence. My private residence."
She sets the book aside carefully. "Just us?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. I nod, watching her throat work as she swallows.
Three hours later, we're boarding my private jet. Alice clutches her hastily packed overnight bag like it's a shield. I'd offered to have my valet prepare everything she might need, but she'd insisted on bringing her own things. Her independence is as adorable as it is frustrating.
Her eyes dart around the jet's luxurious interior, taking in the cream leather seating and polished wood details. "I've never been on a plane before," she admits quietly.
Something tender uncurls in my chest. "Never?"
She shakes her head. "Never had the money. Or the reason, really."
I take her bag, handing it to the flight attendant. "Then I'm honored to be your first."
The double meaning isn't lost on her. Those expressive eyes darken slightly before she looks away.
The engines start with a low rumble. Alice jumps, her hand instinctively reaching for mine. I capture it, entwining our fingers.
"It's perfectly normal," I tell her. "Come sit."
I guide her to one of the large seats and buckle her in myself, deliberately letting my fingers brush against her hip. Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away.
The plane begins to taxi. Alice's grip on my hand tightens painfully.
"Distract me," she pleads. "Tell me about this island."
I settle into the seat beside her. "It's small. Private. About twenty acres with a main house and a few smaller structures. White sand beaches, crystal clear water, and complete seclusion."
"Sounds expensive," she murmurs.
"It is." No point pretending otherwise. "But that's not why I love it. I love the silence. The distance from demands and expectations. No one to impress. No one watching."
The plane accelerates down the runway. Alice squeezes her eyes shut, her nails digging into my palm. On impulse, I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide into her seat, lifting her onto my lap in one smooth motion.
"Alexander!" she gasps, eyes flying open.
"Shh," I murmur against her ear. "Let me help you through this."
The plane lifts off the ground. Alice whimpers, burying her face against my neck. I wrap my arms around her, one hand stroking her back in slow, soothing circles. She fits against me perfectly, her softness molding to my harder angles.
"Focus on me," I tell her, my voice dropping lower. "Nothing else exists right now. Just you and me."
We level out. The seat belt sign dings off. Alice's breathing gradually steadies, but she makes no move to leave my lap. I don't remind her.
"Better?" I ask, my lips brushing her temple.
She nods, then shifts slightly—and freezes when she feels my hardness beneath her. A small "oh" escapes her lips.
I should apologize. Set her aside. Maintain the pretense that my interest in her is merely philanthropic.
Instead, I tighten my arms around her. "This is what you do to me, Alice. Just by existing in my space."
Her pulse flutters visibly at the base of her throat. "I don't understand why. I'm nobody."
"You're everything," I correct her, one hand sliding up to cup her cheek. "And I've been losing my mind having you so close without being able to touch you."
Those wide eyes search mine, looking for deception or mockery. Finding none.
"You can touch me," she whispers, the words so soft I almost miss them.
Permission granted. The thin thread of my control snaps.
My mouth claims hers, no gentleness in the first contact. Just hunger and heat and the culmination of three weeks of wanting. She makes a startled sound against my lips before melting into the kiss, her inexperience evident but her enthusiasm making up for it.
I guide her, slowing down, teaching without words. My tongue traces the seam of her lips until they part for me. She tastes like the tea she was drinking earlier and something sweeter that's uniquely Alice.
My hands can't stay still. They roam her back, her sides, her hips—everywhere except where I most want to touch her. Not yet. Not until she's ready.
Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, uncertain but eager. When we finally break apart, her pupils have dilated, the color in her cheeks deepened.
"Fuck, Alice, if you knew all the things I wanted to do to you…it’s unholy," I admit, my voice rougher than usual.
She blinks, dazed. “Should I be scared?”
"Never," I vow as I press my lips to her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my mouth. "I would never hurt you."
Her head falls back, giving me better access. “Is this why you offered me the bargain?”
I nip at her earlobe, drawing a gasp from her. "I offered you help because you needed it. This—" I roll my hips slightly, letting her feel how hard I am "—is a separate issue entirely."
"Oh," she breathes, instinctively shifting against me.
The friction sends sparks shooting up my spine. Control. I need to maintain some semblance of control.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur against her throat, "and I will."
Her answer is to tentatively rock her hips, creating delicious pressure where I'm straining against my pants. I hiss through my teeth, my hands moving to grip her waist.
"Careful, Alice. There's a limit to my restraint."
She looks at me then, something new and bold in her expression. "What if I don't want restraint?"
The challenge in those words destroys what little composure I have left. I capture her mouth again, one hand sliding beneath her shirt to find bare skin. She shivers against me, making small, needy sounds that drive me wild.
I want to strip her bare. Lay her across the seats and taste every inch of her. But her first time won't be on a plane, no matter how luxurious. That will wait for the island, for a proper bed where I can take my time unwrapping her like the gift she is.
For now, though...
My hand slides down, finding the waistband of her simple jeans. I pause, waiting for permission or refusal.
"Yes," she whispers against my mouth. "Please."
That breathless plea shatters the last of my hesitation. I unbutton her jeans with practiced ease, sliding my hand beneath fabric to find her already damp for me. The discovery pulls a groan from deep in my chest.
"So responsive," I murmur, fingers exploring gently. "So perfect."
She buries her face against my shoulder, embarrassment warring with desire. I find the bundle of nerves that will make her forget everything but pleasure and circle it lightly.
"Oh!" Her whole body jolts.
"Look at me," I command softly.
She raises her head, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed.
"I want to watch you," I tell her, increasing the pressure of my touch. "I want to see your face when you come for me."
Her eyes widen.
I work her slowly, remembering what makes her breath catch and her thighs tremble. When I slide a finger inside her, she bites her lip to hold back a moan. So tight. So perfect. So mine.
"Don't hold back," I urge her, adding a second finger while my thumb continues its relentless circles. "Let me hear you."
Her body tightens around my fingers. She's close already, her inexperience making her hypersensitive to my touch. I curl my fingers, finding the spot that makes her gasp.
"That's it," I encourage, watching pleasure transform her features. "Let go for me, Alice."
She comes with a broken cry, her body clenching around my fingers as waves of pleasure wash through her. I work her through it, prolonging her release until she collapses against me, trembling and spent.
I withdraw my hand slowly, bringing my fingers to my lips for a taste that makes me groan with wanting. She watches with wide eyes, her chest still heaving.
"When we land," I tell her, my voice thick with promise, "that was just the beginning."
She swallows hard, but there's no fear in her expression. Only wonder and a dawning hunger that matches my own.
"Thank you," she whispers, the formality so sweetly incongruous with what just happened that I can't help but laugh.
"Believe me, Alice," I say, brushing my lips across hers, "the pleasure was mine."
And as the plane carries us toward my island—toward privacy and possibilities and the inevitable conclusion of this dance we've been performing—I know with absolute certainty that she is no longer just an obsession.
She is a necessity. One I have no intention of ever letting go.