Chapter eight

Although she had not felt as good as she had tried to act, somehow she knew that Joseph had a tab on her emotional condition earlier. Maybe it was crazy of her to jump right into a flight. However it did seem to ease her mind now, as she looked back on it. Everything had been fine. There had been no need to worry. As promised, Joseph had been there, holding her. It seemed silly of her not to be comfortable in that situation. Though as she looked at the scar on her forearm once more, she knew that the fear was real, and had a rational explanation. So why did her doctor, along with Joseph, consider it irrational?

Tomorrow morning was her only chance of losing the scar. Clarisse had heard her doctor say over and over that it would only lessen the scar, however she blocked out those words and chose instead to believe that it would be totally erased. It sounded good to her. Who knows, maybe with the disappearance of the scar, the fear itself, along with the memories, would be erased also.

'False hope,' she thought to herself. She had enough of that in her lifetime to know when she was thinking it. That would only serve to hurt her emotional state even more when the reality of the situation hit. Still, it did seem a little plausible to her. If the scar became less noticeable, then she had a chance of not noticing it herself so much. Drowning herself in sorrow would not become such a habit. Neither would being so nervous.

Clarisse had strolled the hallways of the palace for the past half hour. He had watched her stem from monitor to monitor, wondering what she was thinking, yet knowing most of it already. It was good for her to think. She needed to clear her mind. Tonight he would find out her thoughts, and get to touch her again. She was always so close, yet too far away for him. Joseph wondered if that would ever change.

He picked up the phone off his desk as he searched and found the number he needed.

"Yes, good afternoon, this is Joseph. I was calling to check on your progress," he leaned back in his leather swivel chair.

"It's coming along nicely, I don't see any reason why it won't be finished by the weekend," a voice answered.

"Fine. I'd like my security to check it out before you finish, just to make sure it is up to standards for her."

"Of course. Anytime now would be good."

"Then I'll send someone up soon. Thank you." Joseph clicked it off, and set it back down.

It had been another sort of hell just to get the permits to have it done. At first Joseph had thought it to be impossible without her help. However, with a whole lot of string pulling, he had been able to get the permits granted, and now it looked as if all his hard work was going to be well worth it. Watching her enter her suite, he wondered if she would really appreciate what he had taken the liberty to do. Would it be a wonderful surprise, or another scar for her?

After giving up once again on getting any work done, Clarisse had taken her dinner early, and retired to her suite. Her mind had been on everything but what crossed her desk, so she gave in and resolved to have Charlotte handle most of it. She was already believing in her new aide. Charlotte had managed to organize most of the outer offices already, and had begun on her own. She had also taken the liberty of handling the 'small stuff', and only bothered Clarisse with the things that she knew a Queen must handle herself. It was, indeed, nice to have someone so competent and thoughtful again.

Clarisse wrapped her robe around her as she emerged from her bath. It had soothed her anxious body and mind a little, yet she knew only Joseph could do more for her.

"That's all for tonight, ladies," she excused her maids, more than ready to relax in privacy.

As she watched them leave, and the door shut firmly behind them, she wondered how long she would be alone. She crawled up on her bed, and let her body fall on its softness. It was so cool and so comforting, and she suddenly felt so sleepy.

It was still early, though Joseph knew she had retired over an hour ago. He paced the hallways, and eventually walked the gardens just to kill some time. Joseph wanted nothing more than to run up to her, yet, it was complicated. What about their relationship was not? He stopped to look up to her balcony. A solitary light was on, casting faint shadows against the glass doors.

When the palace became still, and night was upon Genovia, he finally allowed himself to slip up the stairway and to her suite.

"I thought I would fall asleep on you," she whispered as he slipped in bed beside her.

"Sleep love." Joseph wrapped his arms around her. "Rest." He kissed her cheek.

She turned her mouth to his, and gave him an appropriate kiss. "I do love you."

"I love you too. Tell me, how did you feel earlier today?" He had to know, and now would be the only time she would truly confess, although he was sure he already knew.

"Flying was easier said than done," she answered, watching him nod slightly. "I know I couldn't have done that without you. I wanted you to be proud of me more than I wanted it for myself."

"I am proud of you. You should be proud of yourself. Not everyone can walk away from a plane crash and ever attempt to fly again. Clarisse, you are one special woman. I wish you would realize that." He kissed her again, then again, until the feeling penetrated both of their souls and the need became a natural instinct.

"Make love to me," she whispered breathing heavily against his lips.

"No, not yet." He traced the outline of her lips with his fingers. "I will spend the night..." he trailed off, accepting her mouth again.

He ached to be a part of her. Yet with the years of training he had under his belt, Joseph submitted to withholding himself until her first real flight. Then, and only then, would he allow himself to be with her. Then, and only then, would he feel he deserved her, and she him.

"Let me touch you," he whispered in her ear as he slipped his hands under her silk pajamas. He could never forget the feel of her skin, the soft smoothness that glided over his rough palms. Closing his eyes, he used the sensations to memorize her every curve.

She had waited for two hours. If not for her anxiety, she would be fast asleep by now. Yet, if she were fast asleep, he would not have woken her up, and his hands would not be touching her body now.

As his face lay in the crook of her neck, Clarisse closed her eyes and concentrated on his hands. The hands that caressed her so delicately. They each took to their own pattern and trail, and marked their own territory of her body. One grasping at the moulds of her breasts, and the other clinging to her feminine retreat between her thighs.

She had missed his touch. Her body ached for it, cried out for it. His hands were so skilled, and her body so needy. She arched her back against him, but already knowing he would refuse. Still her body pressed against him instinctively as his hands fondled her soft, sensitive tissues.

The night would not be so long. His hands were slowly building her energy levels to their highest peaks, and soon enough, he would masterfully let them go, urging them to flow from her. It would send her into a peaceful slumber quickly, and she would sleep the whole night through. Right next to him.