The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(73)

Then he blinked, and it was gone. His hand hovered above her head, so close she felt the heat radiating from his palm.

His hand shook as it lowered inch by agonizingly slow inch. She moaned when he touched her—she couldn’t help it. His touch did something to her, made her feel alive, tingly and on fire. The sound spurred him on, and with a sharp groan, he wrapped a strand of hair around his shaking finger, lifting it to his nose.

He closed his eyes and inhaled. Tremors wracked his body as he moved closer. Something thick and large pressed against her thigh. She purred, responding to primal lust. Alice wanted to touch him, hold him. She slid her arms around his back, wishing she could touch naked flesh, hating that he was so covered up. She settled for laying her head against his chest.

Bump-bump. The beat of his heart was a song in her ears. Again her world tilted, flipped on its side, and made her question where up was, where she started and he began. She clung to him; he was the hope in a swirling torrent of senselessness.

“I know everything there is to know about you, Alice.” His voice, whiskey rough, was an erotic caress against the nape of her neck. “I always have.”

Alice’s heart thrilled, raced, and she could taste the adrenaline surge on her tongue. But then he stepped away, and she felt bereft. She dropped empty arms as he walked away.





Chapter 6




Hatter paced the length of his bedroom. His arms were crossed behind his back, fingers flexing as he contemplated what to do about Alice.

Danika said she wasn’t the same Alice. But she looked the same. From her almond-shaped brown eyes to the beguiling widow’s peak at her forehead.

He rubbed his jaw, pulse thudding. She even talked the same—soft, with an exotic lilt to it. And her hair, all black and silky, and when he’d inhaled he’d known she’d smell of salt and hints of buttery caramel. Just like the other.

He paused against his bed frame. But she did not act the same. Watching his world, her eyes sparkled with wonder rather than greed. She’d called a creature. Other Alice hadn’t been able to do that. She’d only been able to summon small things. A teacup, butterflies... His pulse pounded so hard he thought he’d choke on it.

Was this Alice really the one? Was she his? Blood rushed to his groin and he groaned. Danika wouldn’t lie; she was many things, but not a liar. She’d said this wasn’t the same girl, and as much as he wanted to hate New Alice for reminding him so forcibly of the evil one, it would be cruel and wrong.

Damn that meddlesome godmother. This was all her doing anyway. His nostrils flared, the essence of Alice’s scent lingering on his coat, his skin. She was beautiful and spirited. His lips curved in a slow grin. She’d thrown bread at him.

The minx.

Hatter couldn’t stop thinking about the skunk. She’d called it. With her silly nonsense words, she’d called it into being. Other Alice had manifested magic, and he’d thought then she might have been the one, but it hadn’t been enough. Wonderland had said no.

But a skunk, a large, fat, and drunken skunk, was vastly stronger magic than a mere cup of tea. His heart raced. And her look when he’d touched her—she’d not shied away from the contact but had leaned in. She’d wanted his touch, and he’d wanted to keep touching and petting and caressing. Pretty, silly little Alice. Maybe. Maybe...

He jerked as if slapped; he’d not go down this road again. He punched the wall, heart hammering a wild rhythm in his chest. Sick beyond endurance, he slammed a mental door on that thought. He could not afford to grow soft.

To want.

She had to go.

“I am not yours, not lost in you. Not lost...”





Chapter 7




Alice lay in her bed. The constant ticktock, ticktock of her Cheshire cat wall clock kept her from sleep. She stared with unfocused eyes at the ceiling fan, her breathing taking up the singsong rhythm of the clock. She shoved the silk sheets down, hot and confused, too awake to sleep and yet too tired to move.

It was strange, the dichotomy of feeling like she was at home, when in fact, this wasn’t her house and she wasn’t in her room. She’d thought crossing that threshold would somehow usher her back to her own time and reality. But no, she was still here—in Wonderland—stuck, maybe forever.

It was enough to make a person question her sanity. Too many times to count, she’d opened her door, thinking any moment she’d see her living room and hear the thud of Auntie Hamaka’s ten house cats running amok in the apartment next to hers. But each time she’d swing the door open, she’d simply seen door after door after door. Brightly colored throw rugs, frames with no pictures on the wall. Not her house.

Her stomach rose with each breath. The fan turned. She didn’t blink.

“Hello, dear.”

Alice yelped. “Bloody freaking hell!” She grabbed her chest and then did a double take when she noticed who was in her room. Crazy Cupcake Lady, but smaller. Like ten times smaller. Fairy size and flitting through the air.

“You’re that woman!” She stabbed her finger at her. “Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I? What’s going on?” The last almost came out a wail, her words warbling, and she clamped her lips shut on the hysteria threatening to choke her.

The fairy stared at her with sympathetic blue eyes, a soft smile on her round little face. “I know how you must feel, dear...”