The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (15 page)

I don’t know how long it is before I open my eyes to find the room still in a state of gloom. Is that dawn on the way or my wishful thinking? The floorboards creak softly and my body stiffens as I reach for Alexander and find the sheets next to me cold. My eyes refocus and a sliver of light reveals him standing in front of the window, holding the drape aside. He drops the drape but the gap leaves enough light to see his face by.

‘Alexander? What’s the matter?’

He turns sharply. ‘Nothing.’

‘Can’t you sleep? Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Of course I am. I just got up for a glass of water. Go back to sleep.’

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours and then fall into a doze.

When I finally wake, it’s to the aroma of coffee and baking and the sight of Alexander by the bed, track pants sitting low on his hips. He holds a tray containing freshly squeezed juice for me, an espresso for him and a plate of pastries. The autumn sun, filtering through the blinds, seems to have chased away whatever demons found him during the night.

He smiles warmly, yet I have the impression he’s only doing it to fend off any questions.

‘To what do I owe this honour?’ I push myself up the pillow, going along with the pretence. Because I’m not sure which is best, ignoring the dreams or confronting him about them.

He sits on the bed next to me. ‘Does there have to be a reason?’

‘You tend not to do anything without a purpose.’

‘I don’t see any point wasting time on things that aren’t productive.’

‘What about poker? Skiing? Sex?’

‘I can see you’re going to be trouble today. Shut up and eat your croissant – you’re going to need your strength.’

I do as I’m told, in the hope, but not expectation, I’ll find out more about last night’s episode. All morning, he’s been acting about as close to amiable as Alexander ever gets. I’m half wondering if I really did dream last night’s episode – which, of course, is what he wants me to think.

After we’ve made love, and forced ourselves to do some work, we take a walk over Port Meadow to the Trout for lunch, and wander back, chatting about our coursework, friends and Emma – everything but the dream. Before I know it, we’re back in the city and walking down Broad Street.

‘Hey, can we stop here? I need to go into Blackwell’s to pick up a book I ordered. Do you want to go back to college while I get it?’

He squeezes my hand. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll come with you. Who knows what might happen if I leave you in there on your own.’

‘Like I might get kidnapped by a crazed Klimt fanatic and you’d have to take him down?’

‘It would certainly be more interesting than writing an essay on international political economy.’

‘I thought you were passionate about your subject.’

‘I am, but I’d rather conduct an in-depth study of something else this afternoon. I’m not sure I’ve paid enough attention to your right breast yet and there’s a little dimple at the top of your bottom that needs more of my time.’

Warmth rises to my face. ‘If this is some kind of D. H. Lawrence fixation, I’d rather you saved it until we’re not out in public. Right now I have to pick up this book and go back to work. And your mind should be on higher things in a store like this.’

His palm travels to my butt, curving round the denim of my jeans. ‘Sadly, my mind has descended even lower.’

‘Lauren! Hey there.’

The familiar deep voice makes me turn sharply. ‘Oh, Scott. How are you?’

‘I’m good. How’s things?’

‘Good. They’re good …’ Shit, why do I feel suddenly guilty?

‘And this must be Alexander?’ He folds his arms.

‘Yes, of course. Scott, meet Alexander Hunt.’

Scott thrusts out a hand. ‘Scott Schulze.’

Alexander takes it and I’m grateful not to be a part of the bone-mashing contest that I suspect is going on.

Scott grins in a super-friendly way. ‘It’s good to meet you at last. Lauren’s told me so much about you.’

Alexander seems puzzled. ‘Has she?’

‘Oh yes. I feel I know you already.’

Despite wanting to strangle Scott, I laugh. ‘Don’t believe a word he says, Alexander, he’s trying to bug me. Scott’s a cousin of Todd’s and we met at the US Grad Soc cocktail party last week. I didn’t know he was in Oxford so it was a big surprise.’

‘Really?’ It’s at this point that I might expect Alexander to politely tune out but there’s a gleam of interest in his eye that I’m not sure I like.

‘We were just about to go into the bookstore,’ I say, aware that Alexander’s arm has snaked round my waist.

‘Are you an art historian, then, Alex? You must know that Lauren’s very talented.’

I cringe but Alexander seems encouraged by this statement. ‘She definitely has hidden talents but I can’t describe myself as an art historian.’

‘Alexander’s doing an MPhil in international relations, Scott.’ I turn to Alexander. ‘Scott’s supposed to be studying water policy, but he’s really here for the rowing. He’s training with the Blues squad.’ Shit, I sound like I’m setting up two people on a date, though I suspect it may turn into something more like a duel.

‘International relations, huh? I have to say you don’t look like a diplomat.’

‘I’m not.’

‘What do you do when you’re not doing international relations, Alex? Do you row?’

I wince at the shortening of Alexander’s name again, but he answers like a lamb. Which worries me a lot.

‘I’m afraid not.’

Scott raises his eyebrows. ‘You don’t say? A big guy like you? You look in shape – you should try out for the Blues squad. Do you play any other sports? Soccer? Tennis?’

‘No.’

‘Surfing, maybe?’ asks Scott with an air of innocence that defies belief.

‘Not these days.’

I feel compelled to defend Alexander, even though I’m itching to get into the safety of Blackwell’s. ‘Alexander likes winter sports,’ I say.

Scott’s interest in piqued. ‘Oh, where? I do a bit of snowboarding in Aspen. Have you been?’

Alexander smiles. ‘Not yet, but I may go heli-skiing over the Christmas vac.’

Scott whistles. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘Please don’t be.’

I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I’ve never seen guys conduct a fight by sheer politeness. Scott’s superpower is obviously suffocating bonhomie and Alexander is relying on cryogenic civility.

Scott grins. ‘I’ve an old college buddy who runs a heli-ski operation out of Whistler. Where are you going?’

‘The Kamchatka Peninsula.’

‘Mmm. Can’t say I’ve heard of it.’

‘We tend to go places people haven’t heard of.’

Scott whistles. ‘We? Is Lauren going with you? I didn’t know you were into extreme sports, Lauren.’

‘Not as a rule,’ I say, unless dating Alexander counts. ‘And I’m going to be home in Washington. Alexander’s going with his army buddies.’

I see the cogs whirring in Scott’s brain. ‘So you’re in the military? Lauren didn’t mention that.’

‘She didn’t mention you at all.’ Alexander gives him a smile, the kind a crocodile is supposed to give before he swallows his prey whole. Oh, fuck.

I check my watch ostentatiously. ‘Look, boys, you can stand around chatting all day if you want to, but I need to track down this book and get back to work on my essay. Professor Rafe wants to discuss my progress in tomorrow’s tutorial.’

‘Well hey, I wouldn’t want to keep you both from your studies.’ Scott doesn’t actually bracket the word ‘studies’ with his fingers, but no one could miss what he’s implying.

For once in his life, Alexander seems lost for words so I jump in. ‘Scott, I really
have
to go. I’ll see you around?’

I know Alexander is
so
going to make me suffer for this, but for now his fingers rest lightly on my lower back, lightly but proprietorially.

‘I’ll look forward to bumping into you, Lauren.’ He turns to Alexander. ‘But that’s not a bad idea about a chat. Alex, here’s my card. If you want to have a beer some time, give me a call.’

Without glancing at the card, Alex slips it in his jacket pocket and says crisply, ‘Thank you. I may just do that.’

The book still lies in its bag on Alexander’s coffee table. I haven’t mentioned Scott and Alexander has waited until we are back at his house – and until I am naked – to say anything. I have a sneaking feeling this may be some kind of special-forces tactic.

‘So, my ears should have been burning the other evening. Funny, you never mentioned Scott. Is he an ex?’

I shift in his lap, the denim of his jeans under my bare butt. ‘No, he is not. He’s a distant cousin of Todd’s and I haven’t seen him since the Adlers’ silver anniversary party.’

‘Really? He seems to know you very well.’

‘Not as well as you’re implying.’

‘I’m not implying anything, Lauren.’

I run the edge of my fingernail down his chest, pretending to be intent on his pecs. ‘So, are you going to take Scott up on his kind offer of a beer and a chat?’

‘Would you mind if I did?’

‘Hey, far be it from me to come between a budding bromance.’

He treats me to a scowl, but it’s such a sexy one it only makes me want him more.

After we’ve had sex, he’s sleeping peacefully beside me, moonlight dappling his face. His eyelashes flutter on his cheek and he looks boyish, beautiful even. I find it hard to imagine that this is the same man who last
night had such violent dreams or the one who has done and seen things that haunt him.

‘There you go.’

I plonk a drink on the table in front of Immy, who sighs with something approaching ecstasy. A few days after the Scott–Alexander bout, we’ve retreated to the G&D ice cream cafe on St Aldate’s after trying out a new contemporary dance class.

‘Is that right? A double espresso with ice cream, whipped cream
and
M&Ms?’

‘Absolutely.’ She takes a large sip of the drink and smacks her lips. ‘God, I
so
needed this and it would be even better with a couple of shots of Stolichnaya in it.’

And I
so
needed the distraction and relaxation of the class. Not that I’ll tell Immy, but last night Alexander had another dream. I was tired out after a tennis, session, a jog and an early-morning essay crisis, but his cries still woke me. By the time I came round properly, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. I pretended to be asleep and saw him get up, go to the bathroom and splash water on his face.

Immy surfaces from her drink. ‘Who knew that prancing around was absolutely knackering?’

‘Prancing? Is that what you were doing?’

Her pink tongue captures a smear of cream from her lip. ‘I certainly felt – and probably looked – like a Lipizzaner.’

‘
That
elegant?’

She bats my arm. ‘Hey, I didn’t look that bad.’

Despite the cool shower and the make-up, I have to admit she is still a little red in the face. ‘Maybe I can find a little colour corrector in my purse?’

‘You’re enjoying every minute of this, aren’t you?’

My smile almost hurts my face. ‘I’m only joking – you look fine – but I did love the class. I’d forgotten how much I love dancing and I really appreciate you coming along. I know it wasn’t really your thing, but it makes up for all the times you thrashed me on the tennis court. Are you sure you won’t come back next week?’

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll pass. I think I’ll have to accept I’ll never be a dancer. Thank God.’ She pulls a face. ‘Did you say Alexander’s coming to pick you up?’

‘Uh huh. We’re going up to London for the night. He said we’d go straight from here so I can’t wait around too long.’

‘It seems to be going well for you two.’

My lemonade sorbet tastes sharp in my mouth. ‘It seems like it. Are you seeing Skandar later?’

‘Yes. We’re going to a club.’

‘I’m glad it’s going well for you too.’

Her eyes shine. ‘So far, it is, I have to confess. We didn’t get much sleep last night, which may explain my crappy dancing. Or not.’

Immy is making her way through a choc-chip cookie when Alexander appears outside the window. When he spots me, his face lights up with pleasure and he breaks into a smile.

Immy’s voice, low but wicked with glee, reaches me. ‘Lauren?’

‘Uh huh?’ I say as Alexander rounds the corner into the cafe.

‘What the fuck have you done to Alexander Hunt? I could be mistaken, but for a nanosecond there I could have sworn he looked happy.’

Whatever I’m supposed to have done to Alexander, I hope I can keep on doing it. Since the night before my dance class, there have been no more nightmares and I don’t want to spoil what has been, apart from the bad dreams, a truly magical few weeks.

It’s the start of Seventh Week – the last one in November – and the time since I arrived at Wyckham has been the most intense of my life. I arrived here determined to study and to start a new Todd-free life. Now, against all expectation and judgement, I think I may have fallen for a guy who is the antithesis of what I would have chosen: arrogant, privileged, titled and dangerous.

Despite all my misgivings, I’ve never been so happy. We’ve walked through the Parks and Christ Church Meadows in sunshine and showers. We’ve been out to dinner at Brown’s on our own and with Immy and Skandar. I feel I can concentrate on my studies now we’ve finally admitted we don’t, in fact, hate the sight of one another – the opposite, in fact.

But I’m not about to confuse this relationship with security. I feel safe with Alexander in the physical sense, of course – but emotionally? Not a chance. He’s too guarded, too closed up, too much like an unexploded
bomb to ever feel secure in that sense and, besides, I’m self-aware enough to realize that the excitement and danger are heady drugs that keep me craving more.

Today is Sunday and we’ve taken a punt up the river. Huddled inside Alexander’s down jacket, which he’s made me wear over my DKNY pea-coat, I watch the pole slide through his hands and feel the punt slip effortlessly through the black water. He guides the boat steadily upstream from the punt station at the Cherwell Boathouse to our destination: a pub called the Vicky Arms where we’ve got a table reserved for lunch. Even now, as the tip of my nose reddens with cold, I’m imagining toasting my hands by the log fire and the tang of wood smoke in the bar.