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Chapter Five: You sure got his attention!

Sarah leaned against her bedroom door, balancing Jareth’s crystal on the tips of her fingers, as though to hold it more intimately would be repugnant.

“King...” she said, her lips curling over the word, the most impersonal title she knew for him.

“Do you always antagonize the men you call on?”

Jareth’s sardonic voice came from the window, where he was again perched.

Sarah turned her head to glare at him, arms crossed over her chest. “Who said that I call on any?” she shot back.

Jareth spread his arms, as though to point to his own presence in her room.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “That is because you didn’t give me a choice. Besides, most men are less pushy and arrogant and self-absorbed and controlling.” Each word brought her closer to Jareth’s seat, where he sat watching her with interest, taking in her fiery eyes and aggressive pose.

“What you’re saying is that most men are pussies,” he corrected amusedly, rising leisurely to loom over her, grinning his crooked smile down at her. “Unlike me.”

Sarah flicked out a hand to slap him, the action as impulsive as it was unsuccessful—Jareth had caught her wrist almost before she realized what she had meant to do, and she was left with the backlogged intention which she suddenly had no way to carry through.

She did manage to cut off his words, though, speaking too quickly for his assuredly smart ass comment to make it out his mouth.

“No. Most men know how to be a gentleman. They don’t steal innocent babies, hold grudges from words that were never meant, corner teenaged girls in their bedrooms, or practically force themselves on said girls!” She twisted her wrist viciously at the last statement, trying to break free, but Jareth was ahead of her.

He simply let her follow through with her movement until she had twisted herself in his arms, ending up with her back pressed firmly to his chest, his other arm wound tightly around her waist, doubly insuring her captivity.

“Oh really?” he asked, leaning down to purr in her ear. “May I remind you that it was you who wished Toby away, not me? I would never even have felt the summons if you hadn’t meant it at least in part...which takes care of your second prerequisite. As for the last two...” He chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying her torment.

“You know that I only come when I’m called. It’s not my fault that you’re so often in your bedroom when you do so...” he continued silkily, suggestively. “And isn’t there a saying—something about ‘Treat others the way you wish to be treated’? You’ve tried to hit me three times now, and succeeded once. Aren’t I justified in being a little bit...physical...in return?”

He ignored her sudden stillness as he quoted the Golden Rule, just as he had ignored her continued struggles to escape—which she had kept up since the moment that he had pinned her to his chest. With his final question, he tightened his arm around her hips to pull her into him as he rolled his own hips against hers insistently.

Just before she exploded.

“How dare you use the Golden Rule to justify your twisted fantasies?” she snarled, now fighting against him more wildly, more than ready to sink an elbow into the soft flesh of his sides, or a heel into his tender instep. Jareth suddenly had to tighten his arms around her once again, preferring to use his own body to restrain her to using his magic.

It did, after all, let him keep her against him.

“And you were forcing yourself on me long before I tried to hit you!” she pointed out angrily. “You were the one who ruthlessly forced yourself into my life, not I into yours!”

“You were the one who wished Toby away! Did you honestly think that that would have no repercussions?” he shot back.

“It already did! I had to defeat your labyrinth, and you know what? I did! I won! I kept my brother and went home; game over! It’s you who can’t get over it!” she snapped, finally managing to land a sharp elbow to his ribcage. “And you know what? Even when you decided to try to come back, did you do it in any intelligent or reasonable way? No! You had to force yourself on me, act like some god-awful preening asshole, and then go behind my back to blackmail me with my brother!”

Jareth finally interrupted her, whirling her around in his arms so that she faced him once again. “And what if I had?” he asked. “Would you have paid attention to me then? If I had acted just like any other man you know? Or any other boy, that is, because you don’t know any men. Not yet.”

He had trapped her against his chest, his eyes burning into hers as he answered his own question. “No. You wouldn’t have. You would have blown me off, just like last time. If I wanted your attention, I had to take it. And now you’re crying because you don’t want to know a real man; you want to be left alone with your sad, milksop boyfriends at your pathetic school.”

Her face twisted in fury at his assumptions—boyfriends? Where does he get off?

“Well, you have my attention now,” she hissed back at him, her voice as smooth and icy as his had been rough and impassioned. “And a fat lot of good it’s doing you, too, since you’re only giving me even more reasons to hate you than I already had. Smart plan, Jareth. Real smart plan.” His name became an insult in her mouth, his title forgotten.

She pushed away from him, and this time he let her go.

Hatred? he wondered to himself. “What, no second chances for your nobly beaten foe?” he teased, striving to sound as light as he always did.

This time her hand connected with his face, leaving a bright red handprint on his right cheek.

“You don’t even know the meaning of the word ‘noble,’” she shot back in his face. “And no. You don’t get one. If you want it, you’ll have to earn it—the hard way. Stop hitting on me, stop threatening my family, stop appearing out of nowhere, stop stalking me!”

They traded a long, heated glare before she finished her ultimatum to the most powerful man she had ever met.

“And get the hell out of my room!”

* * *

Jareth turned on his heel and disappeared, returning to his private suite in the castle, half-snarling to himself over the confrontation.

I’m better than her pathetic boys! he thought, enraged. Why would she compare them to me? How could she compare them to me? They’re worthless; pathetic! Even she has noticed that! He thought angrily of the putrid human boy who had manhandled her in the cafeteria at that scheming shrew’s direction, and his thoughts grew sulfurous.

He paced around his room impatiently, ignoring the large, ruby-covered bed and the opulent bathroom, hidden through a discreet opening in the wall. He glanced out his window for a moment, resting a hand on the wall by the sill, looking out over his Labyrinth and seeing the copse of trees just beyond the Goblin City’s walls, where once Sarah had lain, had received her dreams—their dreams.

He flung himself off the wall in irritation, determined not to think of that night. Fat lot of good those crystals ever did me...

Her words came back to him, sharp as broken glass.

“More reasons to hate you than I already had.”

He growled to himself, stomping across the wide expanses of wood and rug that made his floor. I only ever did what she expected of me! he wailed to himself.

A timid scratching came at the door, and he barked “Leave me!” brusquely. A high squeak came from beyond the closed portal, and he scowled in his foul humor.

A gentleman, he thought ironically. First a villain, now a gentleman. Damn.

He knew how the storyline was supposed to go: The fair maiden met a man whom she believed to be callow and heartless, completely without remorse, and summarily rejected him. Through time and gentle coaxing, he slowly revealed to her his softer nature, led her to believe that he was not the emotionless villain that she pictured him as. Then, of course, she fell willingly into his tender embrace and they...did nothing. Oh, there was the usual blather about “staring into each others’ eyes” and “embracing tenderly,” but it was all a load of crock.

Those heroes were about as exciting as dish soap. Used dish soap.

He was not going to be one of those heroes, even for her...though he would respect her wishes. Mostly. In general, at least. A good percentage of the time—whenever he thought about it.

...or as little as he could get away with. Whatever worked.

He set to work on his next plans, humming happily to himself, pondering her reaction to his next set of tricks.