Her Mad Hatter (10 page)

Alice slept. Her silky black hair trailed along the white pillow like cracks in the earth and he ached to touch her. To kiss her gently awake. To watch her eyes grow soft and liquid with lust, with love.

Hatter gripped the door frame. Once he’d been certain she’d fallen asleep, he’d tiptoed back to her room and stood outside, watching. Hoping. Dreaming. Hating.

Hating his existence. Hating her for coming. For looking so much like the other one. Hating her because he needed her so much, knowing she’d leave him like all the rest.

Each Alice had been an adventure. Each wild, unpredictable incarnation had imprinted an indelible mark upon his soul. He remembered one who’d loved to fish out treasures from the sea and another who’d spun dresses from the cotton candy orchards. Some had sat three days locked away in their rooms, never venturing out, never trying to know him. He’d enjoyed some more than others and at the time had mourned their not staying.

In the end they’d all left, ripping out a piece of his soul. For a time, he’d grown excited knowing another Alice would come, dreaming the next one would be different. But after several years the constant parade had lost its zeal and he’d yearned for the moment they’d leave him to his solitude.

She sighed, and rolled over. Her outstretched arm pointed toward him. A wild sleeper, she’d moved from one corner of the bed to the other, as if seeking something, even in sleep. Her fingers curled and her mouth tipped down.

So damn beautiful.

Skin the color of wild spring honey with hair like shadow, hanging long and low, with the tiniest widow’s peak on her forehead. A short thing, this Alice barely reached the top of his chest. Petite, but full figured in a ripe, luscious way. Her hips flared out, and his heart pumped harder. She was the perfect size to hang onto while she rode him, passion gleaming from the depths of her big doe eyes.

Heat pooled in his groin. It grew stiff, frustratingly so. But he did not touch himself. He’d stopped doing that a long time ago, when the other Alice Hu had left. After her, he’d sworn never again. Never again would he allow himself to care because to do so would weaken him.

It’d been years since she’d left and, with time, he’d realized he’d not loved that Alice at all. He knew because he’d survived, but it was that knowledge that made him fear to love. Because though he’d not loved her, the weeks that had followed had been some of the worst in his life. Only Danika’s stubborn willfulness had brought him back from the fog of his mind.

The episode had so frightened Danika that she’d stopped bringing him Alices for a while and he’d reveled in the peace and quiet thinking surely Danika finally understood there was no match for the Hatter.

Hatter leaned against the door, his eyes drinking her in. His body trembled remembering the rush of heat and fire that’d blanketed him when she’d touched him and forced him to touch her. This Alice was more dangerous than any of the others because not only did he not mind her presence, he sought it out like a man parched for drink. She needed to leave. To forget him in the hopes that he could forget her. In the hopes that, someday, he’d not be plagued with night terrors, with the dreams of having a life he was never supposed to have.

He was the Hatter, a lunatic, a madman. His life was nonsense and mayhem. Everyone within the Kingdom said so. So had the other Alice Hu— she’d hurled the words at him like a blade, cutting him to the quick. He ground his jaw.

This Alice whimpered. He wanted to rush to her, soothe her. Touch her fine skin and inhale the sweet scent of her body.

His mouth tipped, remembering her startled look in the hall. The shorts that had exposed a long expanse of thigh. He’d nearly come undone. It had been all he could take to stand there and watch, his throat working with a need to yank her to him, to beg her to end his madness.

And he couldn’t stop the queer feeling that they’d met before. But she hadn’t looked like this. He frowned and grabbed his head. Why couldn’t he remember?

All he knew was that when he looked at her he heard the haunting strains of a repetitive beeping noise. But then the sound vanished and he was left with questions.

She mumbled.

She’d quoted Poe. So different than all the others, even her grandmother had never done that. Evil Alice had never tried to know him. But this Alice made him want to know
her
.

Other Alices had lied before. Some had claimed love, others kindness. None of it had been true. 

His jaw flexed.

Why did he want to believe her?

“My Hatter,” she murmured, pink lips curling into a slow smile and his heart turned over. Lovely. Deadly. Peril. He closed his eyes and backed slowly out.

***

Ignore her. Make her want to leave.

The room trembled as a thousand clocks rang loud with the new hour. He stared at one in particular— a simple clock. No adornments, nothing about the small round pocket watch seemed particularly valuable.

He traced the grain seam, fingers gentle, the wood smooth from years (or was it decades? centuries? he could never remember anymore) of touching. Time. Always too much of it, and never enough.

It ticked on, endless, unceasing, unmerciful.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Unable to roll the hands back, unable to make it stop. Moving, always, always moving on and on and on. Marching forward in an endless cycle of time, time, time...

He drew his hand back, squeezing his eyes closed. Beautiful brown eyes filled his head. The scent of vanilla was so strong, he swore he could still smell it.

Satin skin, buttery brown, smooth and delicate. Hair as black as midnight. His body strained and he hardened. It made him sweat. Made him need.

He would not surrender. It was madness. Wonderland would say no and she would leave. As it’d always been.

But he’d never wanted another the way he did her. The moment he’d seen her, something inside him had quickened. Finally, he’d thought. Finally here. And that had confused him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Her with the vanilla sunshine-y smile.

The widow’s peak, alluring, sexy, devilish. Beautiful, dangerous creatures, black widow spiders were. Luring you in with their beauty. Killing you without remorse.

“Dangerous creatures. Dangerous.” He closed his eyes, resting his head against the mantle. “Dangerous, dangerous beauty. Beauty. Beautiful. Alice,” his voice cracked.

She’d leave him. Like all the rest. He must make her go.

His spine stiffened, fingers clenched against his thigh. Did she think of him at all? Even a little? Beautiful, sane, wicked little Alice?

Tick.

Tock.

Time moved on.

Chapter 9

Alice jerked to a sitting position, tired, and just this side of pissy. Sunlight poured in through the window. She glanced around: her room was the same as it’d ever been.

Just a dream. Maybe, she’d call in sick. A horrible thing to do to Tabby, and it was only the second day of her grand Cupcakery opening.

With a loud sigh, she got up and headed to the shower. But when she reached the bathroom door, there was no bathroom. It was the most enormous and empty walk in closet she’d ever seen. It stretched for miles.

Not a dream. Or a dream within a dream, she thought of Hatter and her pulse sped. Where was he? Was he thinking about her?

She glanced down, she didn’t want him to see her in the same clothes, but there was nothing here. She wished she had some clothes, something sexy, something that would forever erase any memory of her grandmother from his mind.

And this time when she glanced up, a crushed velvet gown hung from a hanger in a shade of burgundy so deep it almost resembled blood. Velvet dresses had always made her think of fake wigs and hideous dollar store Halloween costumes. Plus, it looked several inches too long, but... she shrugged and slipped it off its rack. Beggars couldn’t afford to be picky. It was either this, or wear the same thing for three days.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought, took her clothes off, and was pulling the sleeves on when she grumbled, “give anything for a toothbrush and shower right about now.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth her tongue tingled with the sharp nip of mint. Her body shone with a wet sheen, and the scent of flowers filled the room.

She hadn’t bathed, and yet, she was clean. Man, if she could patent this back home, she’d make a killing.

The dress was a perfect fit. But she didn’t question it, it was Wonderland, nothing seemed to follow any conventional rules of reason. Most especially when it came to the Hatter.

The dress fell to mid-thigh. Thankfully, she had great legs. Her stomach fluttered and she wished she had a mirror.

A displaced shiver of air brushed against her back.

She turned and there was a mirror. Suddenly she wondered, was Wonderland responding? Was the wind right now humming and the land rolling? She strained to listen, but there was nothing but empty silence.

Her heart sank and she shook her head. Silly Alice… hoping for what couldn’t be. Of all the Alices in the world there was no way she’d be his perfect match. The odds were more astronomical then winning the lottery ten times straight. In all of history, she was his Alice. The thought gave her a pang and she had to take several deep breaths before she could shrug it off.

Alice studied her reflection. The dress was tight, but comfortable. Though, she didn’t like the sleeves. Instantly they vanished, exposing the long lean muscle of her bare arms.

“It would look a lot better with a choker collar.” The fabric moved, sliding up her neck until it resembled the choker she’d requested.

She pointed her toes. He’d put her in heels last night. “Thigh-high boots.” The softest black suede she’d ever felt in her life suddenly hugged her legs. A stupid, wide grin covered her face from ear to ear.

This was crazy. She was crazy.
Paris Hilton, eat your heart out
. Free clothes— it was enough to make her head spin with dizzy possibilities.

Alice had gone through a Goth phase in a high school, much to her mother’s everlasting shame. She’d even managed to sneak an Alice dress replica to prom. She’d poofed her black hair and touched up her face with a light tint of lip gloss and a few strokes of mascara. A large black and white striped bow was the only accessory she’d worn. Rather than make her look like a Lolita, the effect had been stunning.

That’d been the night boys had finally started noticing her. Overnight, she’d turned from the nerd carrying around the worn Alice in Wonderland book, to the hot nerd carrying around a worn copy of Wonderland. It’d also been the night of her first real kiss.

Clinton Issac. Tall soccer player. Gorgeous, and with the cutest dimple in his right cheek. She’d closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and the rest was a gross blur of slobber and sweaty hands trying to unclasp her bra.

Gross kiss notwithstanding, she wondered if lightning would strike twice. She bit the corner of her lip and wished.

A large stylish bow materialized in the palm of her hand, a small blood ruby winking from its center. She slipped it on, her stomach a nervous mass of butterflies. What would the Hatter think of her now?

Two days left.

Feeling like she might puke, she walked out, not knowing what she’d see today. Now that she was here, she was ready and willing to embrace the impossible.

The hallway was just a regular hallway. She frowned, disappointed for a quick second that it all seemed so mundane. There were no empty frames on the wall, no vines appearing like slow moving snakes. Instead, the walls were painted with fresco designs. A carnival at night, its neon lights aglow.

She narrowed her eyes and walked to the wall. It all looked so real and when she closed her eyes she couldn’t help imagining the happy roar of a crowd. The sway of rides. For a moment, she could almost smell the greasy whiff of corndogs and funnel cake. Her stomach rumbled, snapping her instantly back to reality.

Food. Time for food. Lots of it. With a little sigh she turned on her heels-- and smacked head on into an unmovable wall.

“Oww.” She rubbed her forehead.

Hatter chuckled and the vibrations that laugh sent through her body weakened her knees. His hands slid down her arms and his touch was like fire. Her skin prickled as every cell became hyper-aware of his proximity.

“You look...”

Her stomach flopped. Did he like it? She held her breath.

Then the heat in his glance died, leaving his eyes cold and distant. “Hungry.”

The switch was almost too abrupt to follow. Hungry? She screwed her face up. “What?” After all the time she’d taken with her appearance— that was all he had to say to her? What about that initial heat, the look that said he wanted to turn out all the lights and do naughty things to her? She stifled a sigh of frustration. She wanted that heat back.

“I’ve not fed you well.” His deep voice rumbled.

She should be more than annoyed. She’d dressed up for him, tried her best to turn his head, and all he could talk about was food. In high school, that sort of passive aggressive rejection would have sent her scurrying back to her Wonderland book, too embarrassed to try again.