by Croft, Pippa
‘Oh, I don’t believe in luck, Lauren, and by the way …’ His gaze flames me from head to toe. ‘… have you any idea how fucking sexy you look tonight?’
Any words stop in my throat. How can I reply to that?
‘That dress is … something else, and at the risk of getting my face slapped you have the most amazing breasts in Oxford.’
‘Only Oxford?’ I murmur as he gets up slowly and deliberately from the chaise.
‘Perhaps I could extend it to the whole county. Your bottom is pretty sensational too. I’d go so far as to say it’s the most spectacularly pert arse I’ve ever seen.’
Frozen in position, I’m trying to crush the ball to powder. Alexander lifts up my wrist, opens my fingers and takes the ball from me. He drops it on the table and it rolls across the baize until it bumps the cushion with a soft thud. We’re so close now you couldn’t slot a business card between us. The next thing I hear is my intake of breath as he pulls me tight to him. My back bumps the edge of the table and he takes my face in his hands, tilts my chin upwards and kisses me.
It’s a slower, more considered kiss than the one on the dance floor. Maybe it’s because we’re alone now, or it’s quiet, but I’m alive to every sensation. His mouth is warm and he tastes bitter-sweet from the whisky he must have been drinking with his army buddies earlier. It’s a gentle kiss at first, but quickly becomes harder, insistent and greedy. I can’t help myself; I crave his body under my hands. As we kiss, I tug his shirt out of his trousers and slip my hands beneath the cotton.
It is the first time I’ve felt his bare flesh beneath my fingers and I feel almost faint with lust as my hands settle on the smooth skin of his back. The bunched muscles tense and ripple as I press my fingers against them. There’s intense pleasure in his sigh when I slide my hands higher to the ridges of his shoulder blades. His response makes me dizzy with power. The tiny down hairs on my neck rise and my skin tingles as his tongue explores my mouth. His fingers drift lower, stroking the bare flesh between my shoulders and my whole body tightens with desire.
‘Oh …’
The rasp of a zip is loud in the quiet room. Cool air whispers across my back as the side of my dress opens under Alexander’s guiding hands. He runs his knuckles from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine. Any lower and he will reach my panties … It’s only the pressure of his chest against mine which is stopping the front of my dress from slipping down.
A shiver wracks me as he pulls the front of my dress away from my breasts. My inner muscles clench almost painfully as his hungry gaze travels slowly up from my now bare breasts to my face.
‘You’re beautiful.’
He lowers his head and his lips close around my nipple. My sigh of pleasure feels as if it’s coming from a place deep inside me that’s been buried for a long time. I have fantasised about him touching me like this, kissing me and undressing me. I’ve fought against those fantasies and now – the flesh-and-blood reality is beyond anything I’d imagined. He flicks his tongue over my nipple and it puckers instantly in response. Then he alternates the flicks by blowing softly on my breast until I squirm with pleasure.
‘Not going too fast for you this time?’
My fingers dig into his back so hard I must be hurting him but I don’t care. I’m selfish, abandoned, and reckless. ‘I’ll um … ah … let you know.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
The table digs into me as his mouth comes down on mine again, stealing away my reply. My breathing quickens as he presses his pelvis into mine, leaving me in no doubt of how aroused he is. When he nips the soft skin on the top of my shoulder I whimper out loud with pleasure. He instantly then soothes the place with his tongue. It didn’t really hurt and the remedy makes my knees feel soft and the inside of my mouth tingle deliciously. He kisses his way across my décolletage and down to my cleavage, leaving a trail of fire.
Then he stops and looks into my eyes. ‘You have far too much on, Miss Cusack.’
‘You think?’ My voice is ragged, my resistance in shreds.
It’s a second before I realise what is coming next because Alexander has sunk to his knees in front of me. He slides the dress over my bottom to my feet, slowly and deliberately, teasing me. Only my panties, and there’s not much of those, protect me from the full force of his gaze.
He stands up, shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on to the floor. It’s my turn to devour him now as he pulls off his bow-tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. Those trousers leave nothing to the imagination and I can see how much he wants me. I want him too, my nipples are like pebbles and my muscles clench in anticipation, ready for him. Shamelessly, I run my hands over his backside, revelling in the hardness of his glutes. He needs no further encouragement and his hands cup my bottom, lifting me up on to the edge of the billiard table. Under the baize cloth, the slate bed of the table is hard against my body. From outside the window, there’s a shriek and laughter … and I am almost naked, lying on a billiard table in a stranger’s house, with Alexander Hunt above me, looking at me as if he wants to devour me whole.
He hooks his fingers into the side of my panties. My damp panties … I want him to take them off; I want him inside me. I’ve never wanted any man to make love to me like I want Alexander to, but –
He’s in a hurry, pulling down his trousers.
Without warning, my body tenses as I think of how I have ended up here. We’ve had one proper conversation in our lives, I don’t know a thing about him and I’ve let him strip me naked. The dance, the private room, the locked door, the careful lowering of my defences … was it really that easy for him to wear me down?
What Alexander wants, Alexander gets and now I am one of his conquests.
And, yes, he’s given me a glimpse of a different side to him, but did he share it because it was one more way of getting me where I am right now?
A scream from outside pierces through the quiet then a cork pops and the sash rattles. People must be right under the window. They can’t see us but … Alexander is above me, trousers and shorts down. Oh fuck.
I grab his wrist as he starts to slip my panties over my hips.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Stop!’ I struggle onto my elbows. ‘I don’t think we should be doing this.’
‘You don’t think we should be doing this?’ His jawline hardens, but he lifts me up from the table until I’m sitting, painfully aware of my nudity. ‘Why not?’
Oh, shit. How did I let things get this far? This situation, this Lauren, is not quite me. It’s not only the champagne. I don’t know myself tonight otherwise I’d never have let Alexander manoeuvre me into this situation.
‘It’s a bad idea. Terrible, in fact.’
His hiss of frustration cuts through the air. ‘For you or me? It didn’t seem terrible half a minute ago.’
‘For both of us, trust me.’
He sneers. ‘Well, thank you for your concern.’
I open my mouth, shut it then shake my head, knowing he wouldn’t understand me if I tried to explain why I have to leave. If I let him make love to me, I’ll be lost, another of Alexander’s conquests, and, boy, I made it so easy for him. He snapped his fingers and I dropped my panties. But that’s not the real reason. The real reason is that I wanted to make it easy for him; I wanted to be conquered and after Todd I vowed I’d never feel that vulnerable again. And I sense – no, I know, that Alexander is ten times more of a threat to me than Todd ever was.
‘Wait. Let me help you.’
‘No. I can manage.’
Ignoring me, he lifts me down off the table to the floor where my dress and his mess jacket lie tangled in a heap like two casualties of war. My face is burning as I wriggle my panties back up my thighs and snatch up my dress from the rug. I tug it over my chest and struggle with the zip.
Then I make the mistake of catching sight of my face in the mirror on the wall.
Oh God. Are those my cheeks flushed with booze and sex? My lipstic
k smudged like I applied it in the dark? My hair half down like I got dragged through a hedge backwards?
Alexander’s face appears behind me, his expression unfathomable, buttoned up as tight as his waistcoat. ‘I hope you’re not regretting this.’
I can’t give him an answer. ‘I should go now or Immy will guess what I’ve been doing.’
‘I doubt that will be too difficult.’
Oh shit. Does everyone know that I have been fucking Alexander? Except I haven’t.
‘I’ll unlock the door.’ With no more than that brittle comment, he produces the key and turns it in the lock. I hover by the door, my only aim to get out of here before anyone sees me; to sober up and try to make sense of what just happened.
‘Wait. Don’t run away.’
‘I’m not running.’
‘That’s not the way it seems to me.’ There’s a sharp edge of irritation back in his voice as he blocks the way to the door.
‘I don’t run away.’
He folds his arms. ‘Really? Prove it, then. Walk out of here with me and fuck what anyone else thinks.’
Oh, the bastard. He must know that I would never back down from a challenge like that. Now I’m caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea; I either do as he wants or I prove him right.
‘I have absolutely no problem walking out of here with you but first’, I reply, ‘it might be a good idea to zip up your dress properly.’
I’ve been so focused on getting out of here I haven’t even realized. The brush of hands on my skin as he draws up the zip awakens my senses again and when he drops a parting kiss on the back of my neck I want to scream with frustration.
He locks the door behind us and I give a silent sigh of relief that the library is empty. Maybe no one will, after all, know we were in there because, no matter how cavalier Alexander is about anyone guessing, I really want to keep our encounter private while I calm my raging emotions. He may think the world can go to hell and be able to cast off the snide remarks and innuendo, but he’s been born to it; he has a hide as tough as a rhino. I don’t find it so easy, no matter how confident I may sound.
The music ramps up in volume and the shouting and laughter are louder as he follows me through the book-lined room to the outer door that opens into the vestibule. At the door I hesitate, knowing that I will have to face Immy and the rest of the guests. Will what we have done be written on my face?
Alexander twists the handle and the light and noise hit us. People dash across the hallway, girls giggle on a padded bench, a guy is passed out next to them and a couple are entwined under the stairs. A uniformed butler opens the front door and Rupert, drinking from a bottle of champagne, walks in. My stomach tenses sharply. Was it him underneath the window? Was he spying on us? I tell myself that not even he would have sunk to that, but then he catches sight of us and his mouth turns up in a triumphant smile.
I wish he didn’t hang out with Alexander so much. Just because they’re cousins doesn’t mean they have to be friends. Yet the ties of blood and friendship are strong; I only have to think of my own family and of my sorority sisters to remind me of that. I half wish they were here now, to help me kick Rupert’s massive ego into touch.
Alexander mouths ‘Fuck’ as I curse Rupert and myself. He saunters over with a smug smile and I find myself smoothing down my dress guiltily.
‘I must say, Alexander, you’re taking this international relations thing very seriously.’
Alexander’s eyes glitter dangerously. ‘Fuck you, Rupert.’
‘Fuck me? Haven’t you got the wrong person?’
‘Tread very carefully.’ Alexander’s tone drips with danger.
All I want to do is leave. No, all I want to do is rewind to when I was reeling with Angus in the ballroom. Maybe rewind to the moment I rushed out of the welcome dinner and bumped into Alexander in the cloisters. A quick apology then, and I should have walked away, not stayed to fence with him. Not stayed to find out how much I wanted him.
‘No offence intended.’ Rupert holds up his hands in conciliation then shoots me a glance that makes my skin crawl. ‘You seem a little flustered, Lauren.’
I dare not look at Alexander; I don’t have to. I can feel the struggle he has not to retaliate. I hate Rupert knowing our private business. I hate the sneering way he speaks and the assumption that I’ve jumped into bed with Alexander. It’s been a week since I arrived – less than a week, and already I have been sucked into a world that I despise.
‘While I’d love to engage in scintillating banter, I’m going to find Immy,’ I say.
‘Lauren, wait.’ Alexander’s hand brushes my forearm.
‘I expect I’ll see you later.’ I flash him the briefest of smiles before turning my back and heading for the ballroom. I wanted to keep my head down here and immerse myself in this amazing opportunity to study. Yes, I wanted to have a little fun, but I never asked for this: to fall in lust with a man who epitomizes a decadent, privileged world that will use any tactic to get its own way.
He doesn’t come after me, of course, not that I want or expect him to. I don’t even know what I want or expect any more.
And that, of course, is the problem.
Chapter Eight
‘Forty–fifteen!’
Immy raises her arm, serves and the ball flies over the net. I may lose the match but I’ve got this point. People who don’t play tennis much don’t realize that you have more time than you think; the important thing is not to panic, but to slow down, prepare and think. The ball bounces in front of me, I swing my forehand at it – and my racket connects with fresh air.
When she said she can ‘get a few balls back’, she wasn’t joking. The sweet, fun-loving Immy turns into a ruthless demon when she gets a racket in her hand and not even my Wilson can save me from a drubbing – again. It’s Thursday of Second Week, five days since the party and, even though my ankle twinges when I lunge for a ball, I’m more than grateful for the distraction. It’s been hard concentrating in seminars and although I’ve made a start on the research for my submission essay my mind keeps wandering to Alexander.
‘Sor-rrry!’ Immy calls cheerfully from the other side of the net, obviously embarrassed by almost doing a double doughnut on me.
‘I’m the one who should be sorry. I can play a lot better than that.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You can beat me tomorrow if the weather stays dry.’
‘You think?’ I glance up at the schizophrenic sky. One half is benign and blue, the other steel grey and threatening clouds. As a metaphor for the conflicting emotions I’ve battled since the ball, it couldn’t be more perfect. I zip up my top over my tennis dress, pick up my sports bag from the side of the court and swallow the lump in my throat. Immy’s cheeks are pink and she’s buzzing with adrenaline as we walk off court towards the Wyckham sports pavilion.
We hover in front of the drinks machine. ‘Evian? Coke?’ I ask.
‘Definitely Coke. Full fat.’
I grab an Evian and we flop down on benches under the pavilion terrace as the first drops of rain fall on the roof. I had to open my bag to get some change for the machine, but I still haven’t checked my phone. Alexander has now called three times and texted seven since Saturday night and I have ignored every single one. I have the phone set to ‘meeting’ and it must be exhausted by vibrating so often, for so long.
The rain comes in sheets now, driven by gusts of wind that were no more than a breeze while we were playing. As I watch the leaves eddying around the court, I come to the conclusion there is something austerely beautiful and melancholy about Oxford in the rain, as long as you’re watching it from inside, that is, not squelching through puddles, shivering with cold. Or perhaps that’s purely my state of mind. Or does it remind me of Alexander?
That gorgeous shell around him, the sharp cheekbones, and the uncompromising way he speaks. Is it arrogance – or brutal honesty? He hates bullshitters, that’s for sure.
An insistent buzz fr
om the depths of my bag startles me. Immy sips her Coke as I keep my eyes on the rain, driving across the tennis courts.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ she asks.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It could be your parents.’
‘Not this early.’
‘Or Professor Handy?’
‘I think he’s lecturing this morning.’
‘Alexander, then?’
The phone stops and I slump with relief, sipping my water as Immy drums her heels against the wooden deck.
My phone buzzes again and, mouthing a curse, I reach into my bag, check the screen, see the number on it and stab the off button.
There’s a pause then Immy says quietly, ‘You can’t keep ignoring him, you know. He won’t give up. He’ll carry on going until he gets what he wants. That’s what Alexander Hunt does.’
Is the reason for my irritation with the phone so obvious?
‘He hasn’t dealt with Lauren Cusack yet.’
‘If you really want him to go away, you’ll have to meet him face to face and tell him to leave you alone.’
‘I’d have thought ignoring thirteen attempts to contact me might have given him the message by now.’
‘Perhaps he feels the messages have been mixed so far.’
‘What does that mean?’ I sound a little snappy and it’s not like me, more like something he might say. ‘Sorry, Immy, I don’t mean to gripe, and you’re right. I shouldn’t have gone off with him at the ball.’
‘I knew something had happened, but you clearly didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t want to push you.’
I raise an eyebrow and she sighs. ‘OK. I did want to be nosy, but you clammed up so tight on the way home, that I knew I’d have to be patient and wait for you to tell me what went on. It’s almost killed me.’
I have to smile, even in the midst of angsting over the situation.
‘What went on? I’m not sure myself. Alexander and I, well, we kissed and things went further than I’d expected.’ A whole lot further, but that would be way too much information.
‘Did you shag him?’
