The doors to Alexander’s private master suite clicked shut, sealing out the rest of the world.
Unlike the echoing, gilded cages of the West Wing, this room was a fortress of darkness. The walls were covered in charcoal-colored velvet, the massive king bed was dressed in heavy black silk, and the only light came from the golden glow of a fireplace burning in the corner. It smelled deeply of his sandalwood, rain, and the faint, bitter scent of expensive scotch.
Alexander set Clara down on the edge of the mattress as if she were a fragile piece of crystal, though his grip rested on her waist a second too long.
The moment his hands left her skin, the cold air hit her. Clara shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Her white gown was ruined, torn at the shoulder, stained with spilled alco
