The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (6 page)

‘Alexander, please …’ Hell,
why
am I saying ‘please’!

He has moved without me realizing and is now kneeling beside the sofa with me in his arms. Every nerve is alive and screaming as his lips meet mine, gently at first then, as I respond, he claims my mouth with a fierceness that wipes away any resistance I had.

His tongue pushes inside my mouth, exploring, and I devour him. I want him inside my mouth, inside me. The muscles around his spine and shoulder blades are firm through the cotton of his shirt. He is solidity, uncompromising, maddening.

Sparks of desire shoot through me and I buck my hips upwards. He pushes his hand inside the rugby shirt and under my tank, flattening his palm against my abdomen. His fingers brand my skin, and I start to pull his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Half-crazed with lust, I want to have his skin on mine and I want it now.

The phone rings from the other side of the room and I tense. Alexander presses on, pulling aside my sports bra to close his fingers gently around my breast.

‘Wait!’

‘What for?’

I can’t answer him because I can’t answer myself.
Why
do I hesitate?

‘Your phone …’

‘Ignore it.’ His voice is gravelly and impatient, but all I can think of is the door slamming as he took the other call. A call he didn’t want me to hear, a call I shouldn’t
have heard because I shouldn’t be in his house, on his sofa with his hands all over my body. He glances over at the phone on the side table, buzzing like an angry swarm of wasps, and his eyes cloud with anger and frustration.

‘You should answer it. It might be someone important.’

‘I don’t care. They can wait.’

Through my clothes, my hand closes over his. ‘Like everyone does for Alexander Hunt?’

The phone sounds even louder to me now.

He pulls his hand from under my top and swears under his breath. ‘Will you go away?’

‘What? Your caller or me?’

‘I think you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I think I do.’

He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration and gets up. He towers over me as I shuffle up the sofa and swing my legs on to the rug. I’m left asking myself, did that really happen?

‘We both know what we want so why wait? At least I
thought
I knew what you wanted, but clearly I’m wrong.’

‘I got here three days ago, I’ve only met you a few times so if you were expecting me to leap into bed with you …’

He blows out a tiny breath of derision. ‘I hardly think you’re in a position to leap anywhere right now.’

I watch him struggle to hide his irritation under a veneer of politeness, but it’s too late. I now wish I’d never run past his house or even heard of him. I’m damned if I’m going to stay here any longer explaining
why I won’t have sex with any man who snaps his fingers and expects me to fall at his feet. Actually, I
did
fall at his feet … But I’m not going to dance to his tune, no matter how much I want his body and I’m definitely not naive enough to mistake the chemistry between us as anything other than lust.

‘Maybe not, but I can still walk out of here and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

He nods. ‘Of course. I’ll get the car and drive you back to college.’

Gritting my teeth, I manage to stand on my injured ankle. ‘Don’t trouble yourself. I can walk.’

‘If you think I’m going to stand and watch you hobbling down the street, you’re mistaken. Wait here.’

‘No, you wait!’

Ignoring me, he marches out of the sitting room. In the past few minutes we’ve gone from scorching the sofa to freezing it solid.

Well, Immy told me he’s a heartbreaker and I already know he’s ruthless and treads on anyone who gets in his way. No matter how much my body tells me I want him, I’d need to know a lot more about Alexander Hunt before I’d even think of jumping into his bed. Actually, no, it’s far better to know nothing about him at all and keep a wide berth.

There’s a rattle from the hall as the front door opens. I pick up my iPod from the side table where he left it.

He stands in the doorframe to the hallway, keys in his hand. ‘Ready?’

With a nod that’s as curt as his ‘ready’, I hop towards
him and, without asking me, he takes my arm to help me down the steps.

Five minutes later, the Range Rover stops outside the front of Wyckham. Our conversation during the drive has been non-existent, the atmosphere brittle with confusion and frustration on both sides. Ignoring the scowls and toots from other road users, Alexander double parks at the entrance. In seconds he is at the passenger door with his hand out.

‘Be careful,’ he says, helping me climb down to the sidewalk. I take his hand for the minimum time possible.

‘Thanks.’ Then, ‘What about your shirt?’ I ask, now I’m safely back on terra firma.

‘Please, keep it.’

‘I’ll get it laundered and bring it back.’

His mouth twitches proudly. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘I know it’s not necessary, but I’d like to do it all the same.’

He shrugs. ‘As you wish.’

‘I
do
.’ I am surprised at the firmness of my voice and maybe Alexander is too. Horns blast from the street behind us and his eyes narrow in irritation. ‘I have to go.’

‘I know.’

Yet he does
not
go. He hovers by the door, his blue eyes intent on mine, and my body betrays every rational thought I had about ignoring him. Despite everything that has passed between us and all my better
judgement, I still want to feel his naked body next to mine. And damn it but I’m compelled to break the silence, to explain myself and I have no idea
why
.

‘Look, Alexander, I don’t sleep with a guy because he snaps his fingers. If you knew me better, you’d realize that.’

‘I’ve never met anyone like you before.’

The look he gives me is icy and fiery all at once. It burns into me and I don’t know how to reply or whether I want to believe what he just told me or not. I want to believe it a lot – and that’s exactly why I won’t.

‘I should go now.’

‘I’ll call you.’

‘Sure you will,’ I mutter, and he can make of that what he likes. I don’t even know if he heard it because he’s dashed round the front of the car and is about to climb into the driver’s seat, ignoring the queue of shouting, hooting drivers. In a few seconds, he executes a U-turn into the traffic and is gone.

Despite his shirt, I shiver as I limp through the Lodge and drag my aching body up the three flights to my room. Now that the adrenaline and endorphins have ebbed away, my bumps and bruises have begun to throb and I’m suddenly as exhausted as if I’d run a marathon. And the first thing I do when I close the door on the world is to rip off his top and toss it into the darkest corner of my room.

Three days later Alexander’s shirt lies in the same place. He hasn’t called, of course, and I’m annoyed that I even entertained the possibility that he ever would. The fact that he didn’t take my number is no excuse. He could have got it from Rupert or Immy, but he hasn’t, and I’m not going to waste another second thinking about him. There are way too many other interesting places to visit, things to do – and people to meet – in Oxford, to spend my time on Alexander Hunt.

However
.

No matter how hard I try, in my fantasies – and there have been some since Tuesday – I took that leap into Alexander’s bed.

Enough. I’ve not even told Immy what happened between Alexander and me – not that anything
did
happen. It’s not that I don’t trust her to be discreet, I
do
. It’s more that I can’t cope with the interrogation that would follow and the fact that she’d make far more of our brief encounter than it deserves.

I’ve seen her every day after my classes, and she’s introduced me to some more of Oxford’s institutions: dinner at Brown’s and cocktails in the Duke of Cambridge with its legendary hot bar staff, not that I noticed them much. We were also meant to squeeze in a game
of tennis on the college courts this afternoon, but my ankle is still too sore.

Somehow, Friday evening has come round and we’re sitting in a dark corner of the Eagle and Child in St Giles – another Oxford institution and the place where Tolkien and C. S. Lewis used to meet and read out their works. I feel as surreal as Alice in Wonderland or Lucy when she found herself in Narnia.

We’re celebrating because Immy has scraped through her Collections and is free to complete her final year. She’s returning from the bar, but instead of our drinks she waggles her phone, a grin on her face.

‘You are so not going to believe this.’

For a second, I think she’s going to say that her call was from Alexander, but why would that be? There have now been a whole three days of nothing between us, despite his remark about calling me. I could curse myself for even giving him a second thought and I’m mad that I checked my pigeonhole this morning to see if he’d decided to go the snail-mail route and drop a note in there. It seemed ironic – and also a warning – that all I found was a bunch of circulars about the Speculative Fiction Society (scary), a badger cull (horrible) and some evangelical group warning me about the dangers of promiscuous sex (hilarious). There was also an invite to some upcoming USSoc grad events, which could provide an interesting contrast to Rupert and his Hooray Henry friends.

Now, Immy is popping with excitement. ‘Well, don’t you want to
know
?’

I have to smile. ‘You want to tell me and I have no objection to hearing it.’

‘Oh, stop it, Lauren!’

‘Sure I want to know and you better tell me before you burst.’

‘OK. Right. So …’ She pauses for dramatic effect. ‘Are you doing anything tomorrow evening?’

‘I was thinking of going to a USSoc intro party?’

Her face falls. ‘Oh, fuck.’

‘But … I’m always wary of “expat” events and I did come to Europe specifically to immerse myself in a new culture and get away from my fellow Americans, much as I love my country …’ Her face brightens and I really shouldn’t tease her. ‘So if you’ve got a better idea.’

If she could, I think she’d actually hop about in glee. ‘How would you like to go to a ball?’

‘A ball? Sounds awesome.’

‘It is, indeed, awesome. One of my old friends from Marlborough called. She’s at Oriel and she’s been invited to a winter ball at Rashleigh Hall. Jocasta can’t go because her boyfriend has broken his ankle and she wanted to know if we would like to go instead.’

‘I’d love to come, but what about Freddie?’

She waves a hand airily. ‘Oh, he’s going on his older brother’s stag do. Rupert will be there, though, and Oscar maybe if he isn’t knackered after being on the river.’

‘Rupert? That’s a mixed blessing if ever I heard it.’

She laughs and then there is a moment when neither
of us speaks because there is a big gap in the conversation that I realize is an Alexander-sized gap. One of us has to fill it and it turns out to be Immy.

She pretends to fiddle with her phone. ‘I suppose there’s a chance Alexander might put in an appearance. He was at Eton with Jocasta’s brother, Hugo.’

‘Oh, really?’ I take refuge in the dregs of my Diet Coke.

‘He’s bound to have been invited. He generally gets invited to everything, though he rarely turns up of course.’

‘Of course.’ I try not to show I am disappointed by this, or to actually
be
disappointed. Because I am
not
.

Immy goes on. ‘Then again, Hugo
is
a friend of his, Rupes is definitely going and it’s a private party, so he might be there, especially if there’s the chance of a game.’

Briefly, I have visions of Alexander and Rupert tossing a rugby ball to each other across the dance floor. Then a vision of Alexander naked in a communal locker room, towelling himself down. I give myself a mental rap on the knuckles.

‘What kind of game?’

‘Poker, of course. Alexander loves playing it.’

‘What for? Castles? Small republics?’

‘Gosh, no, although rumour has it that he did once win a polo pony in one game.’

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

She shrugs. ‘Actually, no. Oscar told me about it a while back. But don’t get your hopes up. I haven’t seen Alexander all week. Have you?’ She glances up at me, eyes wide with innocence.

‘No. Why would I?’ It’s fortunate that the pub is so
dimly lit because otherwise Immy would see the red in my cheeks as I utter what is plainly a bare-faced lie.

Immy tuts. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I’ve no interest in whether he turns up at the ball or not, but it has crossed my mind that I haven’t seen him around this week.’

I am not going to lie any more – it makes me look and feel as if I’m protesting too much where Alexander is concerned and Immy deserves my trust. ‘To tell the truth, it was outside his house that I twisted my ankle on Tuesday. He strapped it up for me.’

Her eyes are wide again, but with surprise. ‘Alexander Hunt asked you into his
house
?’

‘Sure. He had to fetch an ice pack and some vet tape for me.’

She squeals in delight. ‘Vet tape!’

Oh, hell, what have I started now? ‘He, um, said it was the best thing for sports injuries and that he’d used it on his horses.’

Immy’s shriek attracts the attention of some of our fellow drinkers.

‘Immy,
please
.’

Her face is mock solemn. ‘And, pray, what happened after he’d done his Nurse Alexander act?’

And?
Should I tell her that he kissed me and had his hand inside my shorts and that we were on the verge of having sex on his sofa? No way. We may have got to know each other pretty well in a short time, but I’m not ready to share that info with anyone.

I shrug. ‘He drove me back to college.’

‘So,’ she says, leaning forward. ‘Let me get this straight. Alexander Hunt carried you into his house, laid you on his sofa, strapped up your injured ankle and brought you home in the Range Rover and you say it’s
nothing
?’

‘He didn’t carry me into his house and I didn’t say he’d laid me on his sofa.’

‘But you
were
lying on it?’ Wow, Immy could work for MI6.

‘Sitting, actually. I had no choice.’

Immy snorts. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re saying here?’

‘That I fell over outside some random guy’s house? That he taped up my foot? Is that such a big deal?’

‘It is when Alexander Hunt is the random guy in question!’

I shrug my shoulders. ‘So?’

‘
So
, he’s incredibly choosy about his women and a huge catch and when this gets out half the girls in Oxford will have the knives out for you.’

‘His women? Hey, I’m deeply flattered to be one of the chosen few – I don’t think – but there’s no need for anything to “get out”. I’d hate people to get the impression I set out to “hook” Alexander or something, which incidentally makes him sound like some huge great fish that I’ve landed.’

Immy wipes her eyes and I see her mascara has run where she’s been laughing at my horrified response. ‘I know you haven’t set out to get him and that’s probably
half the attraction with him – not that you’re not gorgeous and glamorous, of course.’

I roll my eyes and Immy smirks mischievously. ‘And he also totally cannot resist a challenge.’

That figures. ‘And I suppose he rarely gets any opposition?’

‘What do you think?’

‘That he needs a reality check. He may be wealthy, titled and I’ll admit he’s pretty good-looking – but I’m not that shallow.’ But am I? I’m thinking, because deep down there’s a part of me that is, damn it, very flattered by being singled out by Alexander. And another part that’s annoyed for
being
flattered.

‘I don’t think for a moment you are, and actually you’re probably driving Alexander insane by not taking his bait. So, after he dropped you off at college, did he say anything else?’

‘Like what?’ I study my fingernails as if I’m about as interested in the topic of Mr A. Hunt as the shipping forecast.

‘Like seeing you again,’ says Immy.

‘I … um … kind of got the impression that he
might
contact me again.’

She frowns, suddenly serious. ‘Did he actually
say
he would call you?’

‘Well, yes, he did.’

She blows out a breath. ‘Did he say exactly when he’d call?’

‘No, and I haven’t seen him around college for the
past few days either, not that I’ve been looking out for him.’

‘Hmm. I wonder if his mysterious absence may have something to do with his military work.’

‘The military?’ I shake my head as small but telling details slot into place, like a few things Rupert said at dinner and the way he waded into the fight. ‘So he’s in the army?’

‘Not sure it’s the army, strictly speaking …’ She lowers her voice. ‘Rupert hinted to me that Alexander’s in the special forces, but he’s not supposed to spread it about.’

‘Special forces?’ Momentarily I’m thrown off kilter. ‘He’s a marquess’s son and now he’s in the SAS?’

‘I don’t know for sure that it’s the SAS and I’m not sure Rupert does. He might be embellishing the facts. He’s hardly the most discreet man in Oxford and there’s no way Alexander would trust him with any detail, even if they are cousins.’

‘Alexander doesn’t seem old enough and how will he find time to study for his master’s if he keeps disappearing off campus to do all this stuff?’

‘He’s almost twenty-six and I think he was in Afghanistan before he came here, but I don’t know the details. As for disappearing off all the time, I can’t imagine the Master or his tutors would be thrilled about him being away so much during term time, but then Alexander doesn’t play by the normal rules. Of anything … Look, Lauren, I hate pouring cold water on things, but I’d tread extremely carefully where Alexander is concerned.’

‘You mean he has a girlfriend?’

‘Not now … not as far as I know, though he’s so bloody secretive, you can’t tell for sure. There
was
someone but it’s totally over now and, whatever you say about Alexander, I don’t think he’d ever lead a girl on. I’m only suggesting you go into this – and him – with your eyes open.’

‘Thanks for the warning, but I’ve no intention of going anywhere with Alexander. He’s hot, I won’t deny that, but I’m not into all that macho, stiff-upper-lip posturing and I can see that he’s a player.’

‘I didn’t say he was a player, more that he’s … well … difficult to get close to.’

‘Don’t worry, I already put crime-scene tape round him. Besides I want to concentrate on my studies. Did I tell you that Professor Rafe is trying to organize a trip to the Klimt Museum in Vienna?’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘No. Really? Does he plan on inviting anyone else along or is it just you and him?’

‘Ha ha.’ I may laugh but I must admit I haven’t seen any notices about the Klimt trip on the faculty notice board.

‘He mentioned it when I bumped into him on my way back from the faculty. I’d stopped for a hot chocolate in Georgina’s while I checked my emails on my iPad.’

‘Rafe was in Georgina’s?’

‘Yes. He came in after me.’

‘
Quelle
surprise.’

‘Don’t look at me like that. He’s entitled to drink in a cafe and that place does have an arty bohemian vibe.’

‘Of course it does, Lauren.’

‘Stop it!’

Though I join in her laughter, I can’t suppress my uneasiness that Rafe might have stalked me to the cafe. Then I see her laughing eyes, and realize Immy’s teasing me, and it’s pure coincidence he walked in there.

‘Tell me more about the ball,’ I say, and her eyes light up.

‘It’s a masked ball,’ she says, barely able to conceal her delight. ‘Take a look at this.’

She scrolls through the Rashleigh Hall website on her iPhone.

‘Wow. That looks fantastic. But
tomorrow
?’

‘Yes. It’s very short notice, but there’s no way I’m going to miss it.’

‘What’s the dress code? Black tie? Cocktail?’

‘Noooo. White tie for the guys and full-length glamour for us. I’ve got a few things I could wear already, but my parents have treated me for passing my exams so I was thinking of getting something new. Jocasta said that
Tatler
might be there and I would
kill
to be in Bystander. What about you? Haven’t you got anything in your luggage mountain?’

‘I brought a few cocktail dresses with me. I’ve got an Alexander McQueen dress at home that would be perfect.’ For a nanosecond, I think of having it couriered over on the night flight then think better of it as Immy’s eyes widen.

‘Oh my God. Really?’

I laugh. ‘Yes, my parents took me to New York to
choose it for my twenty-first but there wasn’t any more room in the luggage for it and I wasn’t aware I’d need a mask.’

She laughs. ‘In that case, be ready at nine tomorrow. We’re off on a rescue mission.’

‘To London?’