The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (24 page)

Stumbling over his discarded boots, I’m dragged towards the ensuite bathroom. He shuts the door and strips off his breeches and boxer shorts while I pull my sweater over my head and unclasp my bra. My jeans and panties follow the rest of our clothes on to the tiles.

In seconds, we’re packed inside the shower cubicle and the door slides shut.

My shriek is snatched away by the jet of cold water hitting my body. He hugs me to his body as the heat finally hits the shower head and takes away the stinging shock. I’m still struggling for breath, but Alexander plunges his mouth on to mine as water thunders on to our heads. I lean back out of the spray. ‘You’re filthy.’

‘I know. Do something about it, then.’

I reach for my shower gel and squirt it on to his pecs,
rubbing it in with my palms, sliding my fingers through the hair around his dark nipples and down over the ridges of his stomach. My hands slip lower, through his wet pubic hair and along his penis. I cup his balls in my hand, holding their weight in my palm, squeezing gently. My reward is his moan of undiluted ecstasy and his erection prods my stomach.

‘Turn around,’ he orders over the deluge of water.

‘It’s tight in here.’

‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’

I shake water from my eyes and he works a lather between my shoulders, down my spine, across my buttocks and between them. My nipples stand to attention, but I have to close my eyes. This is so intimate, more intimate than being bathed, because he’s soaping my behind thoroughly, his roughened palms rubbing my soft skin. I tense my butt as his index finger drifts slowly down the cleft between my cheeks. My throbbing clit tells me I want him to go further, but my mind backs off. I want him to touch me
there
with his fingers and more, but I can’t do it. Sensing the tension in my muscles, he withdraws his hand and turns me round to face him.

Through the haze of spray and steam, his expression is laden with sensual threat. He knew what he was doing, hinting at what will come between us, if not now then sooner or later, and that I’ll be thinking about it every time we make love from now on.

Maybe that’s why I’m trembling a little as his teeth graze my shoulder, but I buck against his erect penis.
The nip was short and sharp and shot fire right to my sex. He massages my clit with his fingers. Skin on skin, our bodies slick, we devour each other’s mouths. The water roars in my ears as he backs me up against the cool polish of the tiles. His big hands scoop my thighs up and lift me. Braced against the wall, he holds me up, biceps shaking with strain and slides me down on to his rigid shaft.

My arms cling to his neck, hands locked across his shoulder blades as he thrusts upwards into me. I’m sliding up and down his shaft, my butt slipping on the tiles, his face almost obscured by steamy mist that fills my nostrils and eyes. His penis grazes the core of me and I rub my clit frantically against his abdomen, seeking my climax. Then Alexander’s muscles tauten like wet cord as his cock pulses deep inside me. He’s still holding me up, his head thrown back, his eyes screwed shut, in an agony of release.

I’m on the edge myself, but then I find my soles touch the tiles and I’m lowered.

The spray dwindles and the silence is startling. Alexander folds me softly against him, like I’m some fragile treasure. His body is soft, his face pressed to my shoulders, water droplets glistening on his back and buttocks. Still not quite there, I press my hips against him to let him know what I need.

It’s enough of a hint and his fingers find my clit, feathering it. Craving more, I part my legs a little to give him access to my pussy.

‘I love baring you,’ he whispers.

‘I love to be bared. Oh my …’

The words die in my mouth as he draws a line from my clit through my labia with his fingertip, resting it at my entrance. One, then two fingers plunge inside me and my muscles clamp around them. I grip the muscles of his shoulders as he pushes his fingers in and out of me and presses my clit lightly with the thumb of his other hand. I’ve no resistance against this twin assault, only greed for my release. I’m half aware of my nails puncturing the flesh of his back when my desperate howl echoes around the cubicle.

All is dark, quiet, steamy mist. When I open my eyes, I’m still holding on to his waist, my clit pleasantly swollen, my limbs soft as water.

He pushes a sopping strand of hair out of my eyes and leans back to see my face. Those ice-blue eyes glow with pleasure, his face is relaxed. ‘Good?’

‘Mmm.’

The corner of his mouth quirks. ‘I aim to please.’

‘No, you don’t. You don’t aim to please anyone. You’re Alexander Hunt; you do what you want and screw the world.’

He laughs. ‘I want to please
you
. The rest of the world can go to hell.’

I shake my head because we both know this isn’t true. He can’t and won’t upset Valentina – nor Rupert, nor the people coming to this ball. He’s a creature of his upbringing, no matter how much he wants to play the rebel.

‘I can’t change,’ he whispers, and I’m not sure if it’s a statement of fact or apology.

‘I don’t want you to. I wish that things could stay like this, just you and me here right now.’

He slides back the cubicle door, and a blast of cool air licks our bodies. ‘Me too, but I’m afraid that duty calls.’

‘Duty calls.’

I’m still mulling over Alexander’s remark when a sharp rap on the door is followed immediately by the sound of him striding across the boards of my bedroom. I turn round from my seat in front of the dressing mirror to find him standing a couple of feet away. Once again, he’s wearing mess dress rather than white tie or hunting dress. Is it purely out of pride or one more way of winding up his father?

He glances at his watch.

‘Am I late?’ I ask.

‘No, I’m a little early.’

His smile can’t erase the tension etched on his features and it’s clear he sees tonight as an ordeal he has to get through.

The fabric of my gown shimmers in the bedroom lamplight when I stand up. Pleasure flickers in his eyes and he pulls me to him. ‘You look good enough to eat and that’s exactly what I’d love to do right now. In fact, I’ve some plans involving a very rare bottle of my father’s single malt and your amazing breasts.’ He kisses me and my lipstick must be all over the place, but I don’t care. ‘You look, smell and feel fucking incredible.’

‘Well, hey, you’re not so bad yourself, but you won’t
quite
do.’

I tweak the Para wings on the lapels of his mess dress until they’re perfectly symmetrical. Whatever his motives for wearing the uniform this evening, I’d forgotten how handsome he looks and the way it makes him seem even taller than his six feet three inches. His pride is evident in the way he stands even more upright in it, with his shoulders back and his chin held high.

His hands span my waist and he smiles. ‘So, you’ve no regrets about accepting the necklace now?’

My hand strays to the delicate stones at my throat. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

‘Only because of the wearer.’ He drops a kiss on my shoulder and my exposed skin tingles in anticipation of his touch.

‘I’d love to ditch the ball and spend the evening naked with you,’ I whisper.

Almost idly, he lifts a strand of hair from my cheek. ‘There are a lot of things I’d like to do with you, but we have to get through tonight first.’

I search his face, looking for clues as to how he really feels. ‘Alexander, is everything OK?’

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘You seem a little on edge.’

‘I just want to get it over with. Are you ready?’

The swirling in my stomach tells me otherwise, but I give him a confident nod. ‘I think so.’

I take his outstretched arm and the realization hits me. I’m the special guest – the partner – of the heir to
Falconbury. Twice before, that role must have been taken on by Valentina; twice before, Alexander must have come to her room, told her she looked beautiful and led her down to the ballroom.

I don’t need to ask how she must feel tonight, knowing that I have taken her place. I’d be lying if I said I feel sorry for her; she’s made it clear she’d rather roast in hell than have my pity, yet the thought of taking on her role makes me fizz with nerves. While I might have stayed anonymous in the melee and mayhem of the hunt, I’m hyper-aware that every eye will be upon us when we walk into Falconbury’s ballroom. Faced with that prospect, I’m not sure if I’d not rather melt into the crowd again. My hands tighten on Alexander’s arm.

‘Relax. They’ll love you,’ he says, as if he can read my mind.

I don’t need them to love me, respect will do …

I shake my head and give him a wry smile in return. ‘You think?’

‘I do. Come on.’

He gives me that smile; the one that sparkles with tender warmth and sexiness, the one I glimpse occasionally and would love to see more often. My legs wobble a little, not only due to the teetering silver heels I have on. Exhilarated by a day’s hunting and resplendent in his uniform, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted him more. It really is a
very
big thing to be his partner for the evening, but that’s not what makes my heart rate speed up. It’s the way I feel about him right now, the lurch of unexpected emotion that seizes my throat and chest that
really scares me; but I have to swallow it down and keep it for another time, another place. As he says, we have to get through tonight first. What lies beyond – and on the other side of the long Christmas vacation – I’m not ready to contemplate.

The velvet of my gown rustles on the boards as we walk out on to the landing. I decided to give the Kristen Stewart dress its first outing tonight. The deep V-neck plunges lower than I normally wear, but I thought it was OK when I checked myself out in the mirror. I had to do my own hair, so I went for a simpler version of the style I tried for Rashleigh Hall and added a vintage marcasite clip my grandmother gave me for my twenty-first. The antique design seemed to fit the occasion, and it feels like a small but comforting connection to my family.

The buzz of chatter swells in volume as I walk downstairs on Alexander’s arm. Below us, I can see the tops of a dozen or so heads as the staff take coats and wraps from guests. The sudden draught from the open front door chills my skin. As we step on to the black and white tiles in the hallway, the strains of a string quartet drift out of the ballroom, underlying a rising tide of excited voices. Although I recognize a few faces from the hunt earlier, the vast majority of the people are strangers to me. They nod and smile deferentially at Alexander and regard me with mild surprise, like I’m some exotic animal they didn’t expect to find here. Though I’ve thrown on a confident facade, I can’t help wish Immy were here, or that I could beam down my friends from Brown.

My arm tightens on Alexander’s when we reach the double doors into the ballroom. ‘Good evening, sir, Miss Cusack.’

Robert is presiding, of course, in white tie no less, and he beckons to a waiter with a tray of champagne. I’m so busy taking in the room that it’s a few seconds before I realize Alexander’s arm is gone. While I’m more than capable of managing without him by my side and would hate him to think I was clingy, I can’t help feeling I’ve been cut off from my lifeline in a stormy ocean.

It’s only a social event. Smile, Lauren
.

Laughing at my own paranoia, I take a glass from the tray, and marvel instead at the transformation that’s taken place in the ballroom since I made my tour of the art collection this afternoon. Back then, the portraits of Alexander’s ancestors stared sightlessly down on the white-clothed tables that had been set up for dinner. The only sound was my own footsteps on the parquet floor as I skirted the room, gazing at the aristocratic faces, searching for some resemblance to the present-day Hunts.

And now? It feels as if I’ve stepped into another dimension, as if the people in the pictures have come alive again, ready for this feast. The tables are laid with snowy white linen and silver cutlery. Candelabras sparkle and the scent of exotic flowers fills the air from the table centrepieces and decorations.

Alexander has reappeared at my side after a brief word with an older couple.

Taking a deep breath, I exhale. ‘Wow.’

‘Hmm. Although it pains me to admit it, Falconbury scrubs up well when it needs to.’ He sips his champagne and seems a little more at ease now we’ve actually taken the plunge and made it into the ballroom. Then General Hunt carves a path towards us and the clouds descend on his mood again. My heart sinks at the expression on the general’s face. I’m predicting ice storm versus hurricane, but I’m determined not to be intimidated.

‘Good evening, General,’ I say.

He barely spares me a nod before launching into his son. ‘You deigned to attend after all, then?’

‘I always intended to.’

The general snorts. ‘Then why did you allow me to think otherwise? Determined to be bloody awkward as usual, were you?’

‘I wonder where I get it from?’

Dying with embarrassment at being dragged into another family war, I feign a great interest in an imaginary mark on my dress.

‘Damn you, Alexander. If your mother were alive, she’d weep to see the disrespect you show your home and family.’

‘If my mother were alive, she’d probably have left you by now.’

Jesus
. I can’t imagine talking to my father like that and can’t help but try to intervene. ‘Alexander …’

My words draw a fierce scowl from the general and are completely ignored by Alexander, who takes my hand and practically drags me away to the other side of the room.

He stops by a French window and murmurs obscenities under his breath.

‘What the hell was that about?’ I ask.

‘The usual. Me staying here and doing my duty instead of pissing around with my mates. If he only knew –’

‘He’s a soldier too. Are you sure your father doesn’t know exactly what you’re doing and this is his way of trying to protect you?’

He curls his lip and for a split second I’m blasted by a glare of contempt that rivals his father’s. Then it’s gone and he murmurs, ‘Take my advice and keep out of this. I know you mean well, but you can’t possibly understand.’

‘Maybe not, but I’d like to try. I knew there was something wrong when you called for me. I guess you two had a row earlier.’ I may be stinging at his brusqueness but I’m determined to keep my cool.

‘A row? All-out war is more accurate, but I’m done with him.’ He calls over a waiter and swipes a glass of champagne from the tray. ‘Bring me a whisky. A large one.’

Alexander knocks back his fizz in two gulps then spots a group of hunting friends from earlier, of which, to my dismay, Rupert is at the centre.

‘Come on,’ he growls. ‘If I have to be in the same room as my father, I’m at least going to make the evening fucking bearable.’

Rupert greets us with a raised eyebrow and a theatrical glance at his watch. ‘So, Alexander, you made it down here, then?’

Alexander allows himself a small smile. ‘Eventually.’

My face heats up, but at least I get the satisfaction of his fingers brushing the small of my back. Still, this wasn’t how I’d hoped the evening would go: once again, I’m ammunition between Alexander and his family and friends – his father, Valentina, Rupert. A weariness overtakes me though it’s only the start of the evening. Why can’t things between us be simple? Why is there always a battle?

An older couple of about forty butts into our little group and the man seizes Alexander’s hand. ‘Alexander. How the devil are you?’

He greets the man’s wife with a kiss and then she looks at me with an amused twist of her lips. ‘And this must be your new friend?’

‘Aunt Celia, this is Lauren Cusack, Lauren, meet my Aunt Celia.’

She shakes my fingers limply for a second as her husband claims Alexander.

‘Good to meet you,’ I say.

‘Oh gosh, you really are an American!’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Oh shit, I hope that didn’t sound sarcastic. Oh shit, it probably
did
– probably because I meant it to. ‘Even worse, I’m from Washington.’

Celia raises her eyebrows. ‘How … interesting. We went to the Bahamas in January. There were a lot of Americans there.’

‘You don’t say?’

‘Gosh, yes, hordes. You couldn’t get to the buffet in the hotel for them.’

‘That’d be us. Always first in line for the food.’

Her husband interrupts. ‘Celia, can’t you persuade Alexander to stop playing soldiers and come back to Falconbury? His father needs him.’

I hold my breath as Alexander fixes a rigid smile to his face and mutters something about having to circulate.

The smell of whisky almost overpowers me as Rupert sidles up to me. ‘That’s a nice dress you don’t have on, Lauren.’

‘Thanks. I see you couldn’t get a red coat to fit.’

‘These are drinking pinks, but you couldn’t possibly be expected to know that … Ah, Alexander, your glass is empty and we can’t have that. I do hope Lauren is going to let you off the leash tonight? I must admit, I’m surprised she didn’t find far more appealing things to do back at college.’

This is a moment when I really wish that spontaneous combustion actually existed because it would be wonderful to see Rupert go up in a puff of smoke, but Alexander shakes his head.

‘What the fuck are you on, Rupert?’

‘The same thing you ought to be on. Take the poker out of your arse, mate. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.’ Clapping his arm round Alexander’s back, he snaps his finger at a passing waitress. ‘Whisky for Lord Sledmere and make sure it’s a bloody massive one. He needs it.’

Alexander laughs. ‘I already ordered one.’

‘So what? Unless you’re scared of what Lauren thinks. She disapproves of hard liquor, you know.’

‘Actually, Rupert, I disapprove of assholes.’

He winces. ‘Ohhh, I’m cut to the quick.’

Alexander shakes his head. ‘You’re lucky she didn’t kick you in the balls, you arse. Now, tell me where you were for half the day because oddly enough I can’t find anyone who saw you after lunch until we met up back at the house.’

He has his arm round Rupert’s back in a guy kind of way and I can’t help thinking he’s trying to steer him away from baiting me. Within no time, a group of young guys in pinks bears down on us and Alexander is the centre of a bunch of braying testosterone of which I want no part. There’s no way I’m going to hang around the edges like some groupie. I see not one but two waiters approach with whisky tumblers. Nearby, in a room off the side of the ballroom, a small army of catering staff fusses over the buffet that’s due to be served soon, when I can reclaim Alexander. After that, there will be dancing so we’ll be together again.

With a fresh glass of champagne in my hand to steady my nerves, I skirt the room, an observer again, like I was from the window of my bedroom. Normally I enjoy people-watching; it gives me ideas for sketches and some small insight into the minds of real artists. I’ve always believed you have to be an outsider to create great art or literature and it’s good to step out of the herd.

You could also look at it another way. I’m not an observer; I’m an outcast – an interloper into this exclusive, tribal club of which Alexander is king. No amount
of money or manners or education could buy you a ticket into it. Unless you’re born and bred among them, you might be tolerated, but you’ll never be truly welcome. Oxford seems a soft, nurturing world in comparison.