The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(84)

Her lungs burned. They were empty, deprived of sweet oxygen. She’d never gone more than thirty seconds at the beach without gulping for air. Black dots swam in her vision.

She wanted to trust him so badly.

He shook her shoulders, wearing a frantic look. “Do it, damn you, breathe!”

And then the matter was out of her hands. Instinct took over and she sucked, waiting for fluid to fill her lungs. Drown her.

It was thicker than air, but clean, fresh, with a hint of salty brine. She could breathe. She sucked in harder, greedy for more. And then she laughed a desperate choking sound of disbelief. “I’m breathing water.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then that hot gaze of his, the one that made her want to strip off her clothes and his, demanded she look at him.

“You must know, Alice, I would never hurt you. Never.” His knuckles grazed her cheek, and she felt that touch move like lightning through her limbs. Her nipples hardened into painfully sharp peaks.

His eyes danced with light again, a swirling pattern of movement, a chaotic rhythm that matched the frenetic beat of her heart. She held her breath again as he leaned closer, his body heat pressing against her. Lips touched hers, a feather-soft whisper at first, hesitant. Exploratory.

She curled her fingers into his jacket, and he groaned. The rumble vibrated her chest, and then he was not so soft, not so gentle. He was demanding, kissing, touching, tasting, sucking on her lip and swiping his tongue across the seam.

She parted her mouth on a loud moan and he darted in, massaging her tongue with his own. He tasted so good, like spring rain and wildflowers, and then his hands cupped her ass, making her burn and shiver as she moaned loud and long.

Alice pulled him closer, wishing she could crawl inside him, lose herself completely to the untamed sensations he yanked from her soul. Her fingers slid through the thick waves of his hair. Soft silk.

He was kissing her face, her cheeks, her jaw, her forehead, the tip of her upturned nose. Her body was alive and dizzy with joy.

She slipped her hands under his jacket, and taut muscles flexed under her touch. If she were a cat, she’d be purring. She pouted when he pulled back. His breathing was hard, but his grip on her was tender. The caress of this thumb trailed fire, raised goose bumps.

Had anyone ever looked at her like that before? She touched the corner of his mouth, a mouth that had consumed her. Passion lay buried in the man, deep and bottomless. She wanted more. She wanted all of it.

A loud croak shattered the mood. Without her even noticing, they’d stopped sinking. She was standing on the bottom of a lake and a fifty-foot frog stared at them.

“Hatter?” She gripped the collar of his jacket.

“This is what I wanted to show you.” His nose was in her hair. Alice felt hot and cold at the same time, her body tense and loose. How could having a man sniff her hair turn her on so much?

She dropped her head onto his chest, loving the sound of his heart beneath her ear.

“Would you like to see?” He sounded anxious and nervous. Sweet. She smiled.

Did he realize how hard it was for her to focus when he touched her? She looked back at the big, ugly frog and wrinkled her nose. “A warty frog?”

His eyes glinted.

“Oh, Hatter.” She couldn’t help teasing him. “Just what every girl wants to see when she’s out on a date with the hottest man alive.” She fanned her face, not noticing how he’d stilled.

He dropped his hands, almost making her stumble back from his abrupt release. She frowned as he walked toward the green-skinned beast.

Just like before, when it seemed she was finally starting to make headway, he’d gone cold and walked off. She clenched her fists, nails biting into the palms of her hands.

Damaged goods. He was totally damaged. So why did it not make her want to run away?

It went deeper than her lifelong obsession with all things Wonderland. This wasn’t a book, and he wasn’t a faceless ideal. The Hatter was in pain. For reasons she could barely understand, she didn’t just want to help him; she wanted to make him better. Wanted to see him whole again, the perfectly wonderful, madcap Hatter.

She rubbed her arms and followed. He stopped by a webbed foot. The frog didn’t budge. It just sat, staring at them with the empty-eyed stare of a predator.

She tiptoed to Hatter’s side and slipped her hand into his lax one, trusting him, though her knees knocked at having to stand so close to the thing.

His fingers were spread, loose, and for a second she worried he might reject her. Then he sighed and gave her a squeeze.

“Ancient frog beneath the waves.” His deep voice rolled through the eerie blackness. “Hiding treasures of olden days.”

The frog’s giant mouth opened, a red yawning maw of death. Its pink tongue whipped out and wrapped around their bodies, the sticky wetness making her yelp. And then it swallowed them.

Alice held tight to Hatter’s hands. She’d show him she didn’t always panic, even though in her mind, she was frantically screaming.

Thankfully, the ride didn’t last long. She landed with legs sprawled, flat on her butt.

Hatter, of course, looked as devilishly delicious as before. Not a thing out of place. His clothes were perfect, his brows were raised, and every hair on his head was exactly as before.

He was laughing, and while the sound made her legs weak and stomach flutter, she was not happy that it was at her expense. Alice held her hand out to him with what little pride she had left.