Page 69 of The Charlie Method

“You’ll find London far less yielding than the other cities you’ve conquered,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said, moving closer, “but I didn’t come here for London. I didn’t come for England. I came for you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as his hand brushed her cheek. His touch was electrifying. For all her power, all her famous control, she felt herself tremble beneath his gaze.

“I am England,” she whispered, her voice betraying a flicker of vulnerability.

“You are Elizabeth,” Alexander corrected, his eyes burning with intensity. “A woman, not just a queen. And even queens have hearts.”

He leaned in, so close that she could feel his breath on her skin.

“Surrender,” he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers.

Elizabeth’s heart raced, a storm of emotions raging inside her. She had faced countless enemies, defended her realm with unshakable resolve, but this—this was a different kind of battle.

“Never,” she breathed, though her voice wavered.

“Not the city. You’ll never surrender that.” He traced a finger along her cheek. “But your heart… That is another matter.”

Before she could respond, he kissed her, his lips capturing hers in a sudden, fiery embrace. The world melted away.

No kingdom.

No siege.

No war.

Just them.

Elizabeth’s hand rose to his chest as if to push him away, but her fingers curled into his armor instead. She could feel the power of him, the raw, virile strength, and for the first time in her life, she felt small. Not weak, but small in the presence of something greater than herself. She could feel her body blossoming like a dewy flower, begging her to allow a man’s touch upon her petals. She had deprived herself for so very long.

When they broke apart, her breath was ragged. “You would have me surrender my heart to you?”

“No,” he said softly. “I would never force that. But I would have you give it willingly.”

Elizabeth could feel the weight of centuries of rule, the legacy of her crown, pressing down on her shoulders.

But in this moment, all she wanted was him.

“I am the Virgin Queen,” she said.

“You are a woman,” Alexander repeated. “And no queen, no matter how powerful, should be alone. Ask me to share your chamber tonight, Elizabeth. Do not send me away.”

He kissed her again, slower this time. It was a promise. A vow not just of conquest but of devotion. A promise to tend to the garden she’d neglected for so very long. A conquering gardener with molten desire in his eyes and a blade strapped to his hip, the famous dagger with which he had slit throats and gutted his enemies.

“Alexander,” she whispered.

“Yes, Elizabeth. Tell me what you want.”

“I…”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BECKETT

This slow burn is excruciating

IDON’T HAVE ANY AFTERNOON CLASSES ONTUESDAYS, SOIHEAD HOMEaround noon and spend the day lounging on the couch in my boxers, watching dumb videos on my laptop and eating pretzels. It’s one of the few snacks Will keeps in the house. He follows our nutrition plan to a T, which means nothing tasty roams these halls. Unless you’re talking about my dick.

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