The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2 (21 page)

Oh fuck, I can’t tell him an outright lie. ‘She didn’t say much about your father. Did she get into trouble at school last year?’

‘Yes. Dad was called in a couple of times about her being involved in late-night parties, and once or twice I think she was rude to the staff. The only reason they’re
willing to have her back in school is because of all the upheaval she’s been through, though the headmistress thinks she’d benefit from another week at home. But they’ve made it clear they want her to settle down to her A levels when she does get back. She’s so fucking bright, the problem is she doesn’t need to work as hard as some of the girls; it’s like it comes too easily to her.’

‘I guess it’s a very difficult time for her.’

He sighs. ‘Thanks for trying, anyway. I’m afraid I’ll have to have her to stay with us in Oxford for most of the week. I need to spend some time with her.’

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

He frowns. ‘Taking her to Oxford? I’ve no choice.’

I can see he thinks I don’t want Emma with us, which is the last thing on my mind. ‘I meant, is it a good idea to let her go to her friend’s house?’

‘I can’t keep her in the whole time. She could tell me to piss off now if she really wanted to. All I can do is my best. How many people have lost both their parents at her age and have a brother who’s never around?’ He rakes his hands through his hair.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ I reply, reminding myself that I can’t police Emma’s movements every minute of the day, even if I wanted to.

He pulls me to him suddenly and kisses me. He smells of exertion and earthiness, of clean sweat and cold, damp air, and this turns me on more than the two-hundred-dollar aftershave. ‘Look, Lauren, I know you’ve
done far more than anyone could expect you to for Emma and you’re busy, but I am grateful.’

‘You
really
don’t have to be.’

‘I think I do. In fact, I owe you a special treat, but first I ought to shower.’ I should feel bad that he wants to ‘treat’ me for something I probably shouldn’t have done, but honestly? I’m too relieved that the conversation has moved on from Emma.

I lick the tip of my finger and dab at a speck of mud on his cheek. ‘Don’t bother on my account.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘I forgot you like me fresh from the field.’

Sparks fire at this reminder of when we had sex after he’d been hunting last year. I should hate myself for loving the whole red-coat thing, but I couldn’t wait to rip his clothes off then and I can’t now. I want to lose myself in wild passionate sex.

‘It’s only the jodhpurs …’ I say.

‘Oh, really? As long as they have the desired effect, that’s fine by me.’

‘Is this the kind of treat I’ve had before?’

‘Possibly, but with a twist.’

Very shortly afterwards, I’m lying on my back, minus my clothes, with Alexander between my legs. He makes slow circles with his tongue around the rim of my clit, first one way, then another, teasing me. Wow …

‘Good?’

‘Mmmmm.’

‘I’m going to make you come like this, however long it takes.’

‘Even if your tongue gets tired?’

‘I have plenty of stamina. Now, be quiet.’

He resumes the circling, then reverses it and then, God knows what he’s doing with his tongue, but I’m fisting the bedcover and trying not to knock him out while I’m bucking my hips. It goes on and on and every time I open my eyes, his dark head is between my legs, his hands keeping my thighs apart. Part of me wants to hold on, to defeat him and not to come …

‘Sometimes it’s good to lose,’ he says, a while later, as he unbuckles the strap of his watch. I’m lying face-up on the bed, my thigh muscles aching and wrung out.

‘Alexander, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

He bends down to plant a soft kiss on my lips. ‘Have it your way.’

‘Oh, I did.’

He lays his watch on the nightstand and I shuffle up the bed, watching his shirt tauten over his shoulder muscles while he unfastens his cuffs. He’s still wearing the soft check shirt he went riding in. He turns around and starts to unbutton it, slowly, keeping his eyes on me the whole time.

I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching him undress especially for me before. Usually he insists on stripping me or that I undress for him. The role reversal – him in a position of vulnerability, with me
watching – is a massive turn-on that makes me feel powerful and in control.

The shirt is undone, his broad chest bared and the ripped abs I love are exposed. I want to run my tongue over the ridge of muscles and circle his nipples with my tongue but I know I have to stay where I am. Maybe he
is
in control, after all.

The shirt is off, tossed on to the bedroom chair. Socks next, and he stands up again, bare-footed and bare-chested on the carpet.

Cleanly, smoothly, he slides the zip of his jodhpurs down and pushes them down his thighs. His growing erection strains against the cotton of his black briefs. So what if I only came ten minutes ago? It’s not a crime to want to touch myself, is it? Or to want him inside me?

‘Tut tut. I obviously didn’t do a good enough job.’

I whip my hands from my between my legs. ‘You did but I want to do it again to check.’

‘Patience is a virtue.’

He shoves his hands down the sides of his briefs, pulls them down, taking his jodhpurs with them. Hell, I want to worship his penis, not that I would ever tell him. Not in a million years. I want to get on my knees right now and bury my face against the soft hair that surrounds it and take him in my mouth, feel the girth and taste him.

He picks up his shirt from the pad of the chair and tosses it on to the dressing stool. Then he lifts the chair and moves it to the centre of the rug so it’s facing me.
I’m on fire with anticipation, and my ought-to-be-sated clit is a knot of nerves again.

What the hell is he going to do? Take me over it? Bend me over it?

My mind spirals into a cocktail of lust and panic.

Alexander crooks his finger. ‘Come here, Ms Cusack, and don’t look so scared.’

I laugh in his face. ‘Scared? Of you? Don’t be ridiculous.’

He pats the seat of the chair. ‘Then get yourself over here.’

He smiles in that way and I almost think of folding my arms and telling him to go screw himself, yet I won’t, because I want to taste what’s on offer, and he knows it. He sits down on the seat, his legs a little way apart, soles planted squarely on the rug. I notice his feet for some reason, like I never saw them before. They’re big, of course – he’s six foot three – and his toes are long with pale square nails. Then my gaze travels up his muscular calves to the powerful thighs and his erection, jutting out of the dark soft hair.

‘Lauren?’

His voice is softer now, and I think he realizes I’m genuinely hesitant, which makes me even more determined to play it cool. If he could see inside me, he’d see mush, a mass of lust and wantonness. I scramble off the bed and stand in front of him. His thighs are closed now, his cock signposting where he wants me. Where I want to be.

‘Face the bed, away from me.’

So now I see. From behind, his fingers slide between my legs and gently part my lips, spreading my juices around my entrance, smoothing the way for him.

His voice is husky. ‘Sit down.’

I sit down, in a manner of speaking, because it’s more of a wiggle in which he nudges into me and I slide down on top of him.

‘Oh my.’

‘You feel amazing. You look amazing,’ he breathes, holding my waist and burying his face into my hair, his intake of breath long and languorous as he savours me. I give a little wiggle against his thighs, and feel the blunt tip of his shaft deep inside me. He palms my breast, capturing my nipple between his thumb and forefingers, rolling it gently, but in my super-sensitive state, the lightest pinch makes me wriggle and writhe in his lap.

‘Fuck, but this feels good.’

My eyes are shut, revelling in the heat of his palm over my breast. ‘Oh yes.’

‘You’ll need to touch yourself while I hold you.’

I reach between my legs and stroke myself. It’s only been a short time since I came but I’m still slick and ready to go again. His teeth graze my shoulder, softly, and I moan in pleasure. When I’m getting close, he holds on to my waist while I slide up and down, rocking in ecstasy. He groans. ‘Lauren, fuck, I can’t hold on much longer, if you do that. Are you close?’

My answer is to touch myself again until I feel my climax build and then focus begins to splinter and shatter.
Alexander must sense me losing control and he starts to circle his hips and lift me up a little with each thrust. His grip is tight on my hips, the fingers dig into my flesh. Then his fingers are pressing down on mine, circling my clit, a surprise I didn’t expect that finally tips me over the edge. My orgasm stutters, fails, then rips through me. Alexander takes it as a signal to go for it, using the seat for leverage, lifting me up and down until his body stiffens and his eyes close in a shuddering climax.

The next morning, while I’m doing my make-up at the dressing table, Alexander emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung around his hips, though I have no idea why he feels the need for modesty when I got closely acquainted with every inch of him last night. In the end, I stayed overnight. I have a tute today, but not until the afternoon so I can still get back to Oxford in plenty of time. I’m glad I did stay because it would have been a shame to miss the sight that greets me now. He’s been for an early-morning run and his hair is still damp from the shower. Beads of water dot his torso and glisten on his pecs. The woody scent of Creed shower gel hangs around his lean, honed body.

‘Lauren?’ He crosses to the dressing table and stands behind me, hands on hips.

I put down my mascara wand. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘Are you feeling all right?’

I see his face in the mirror, watching me. ‘Yes. Great. Why?’

‘Because I saw Brandon this morning and he told me he’d taken you to the pharmacy while I went for my ride yesterday.’

Screw Brandon, the snitch! My pulse rate speeds a little, even though I’m well prepared for this eventuality. ‘I needed some women’s stuff,’ I say, picking up the wand and rubbing the excess off against the bottle.

‘Really? You seemed OK, earlier.’

‘False alarm.’

He studies me intently while I kick myself for my choice of words. ‘I thought I was due but I wasn’t.’

‘Should I be worried?’ he says.

‘No. I’m sure it’ll happen soon enough.’

‘Good.’ He moves right behind me and skims my shoulder blades with the back of his hand, almost idly, yet I know that nothing he does or says is ever idle. ‘If you were worried about something, anything at all, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?’

I laugh, though inside I shiver. ‘I’m not worried and anyway, some things are private, even from you.’

‘But not if they involve me.’

I put the mascara wand down and turn to him. ‘What does that mean?’

‘This, perhaps?’

He holds up the drugstore receipt for the test kits and my heart skips a beat.

‘What’s that?’ I make light of it.

‘I dropped my razor and I found it on the floor behind the bin.’

‘So you’re in the habit of reading my receipts?’

‘I couldn’t help but see it and after Brandon told me about your trip to the pharmacy I did put two and two together. Imagine what you would have thought, if you were in my shoes.’

‘That’s hardly likely.’

His mouth hardens in a line. ‘If you’re pregnant, I’d appreciate it if you shared the information with me.’

‘I’m not pregnant, Alexander, so you can relax.’ I pick up the wand again and lean forward to the mirror.

‘But you thought you might be?’

‘It’s always better to be safe than sorry.’

‘So you’re late with your period?’

I cover my annoyance – and a little panic – at being interrogated in this way with a casual shrug. ‘It happens.’

Which is different from saying: ‘It happened.’ Isn’t it? A little white lie to protect Emma is justifiable, surely?

To signal the conversation is over, I apply the mascara to my upper lashes, hoping my unsteady fingers won’t give me a poke in the eye. When I’ve done one eye, Alexander has moved out of view.

‘I’m sorry for giving you the third degree,’ he says from somewhere behind me. ‘I’ve not had much sleep over the past few days and I’ve been worrying about Emma.’

‘No problem,’ I say, not daring to do my other lashes yet. ‘Like I said, it was a false alarm.’

And it was. Just not mine.

The shops are full of tea dresses, beachwear and picnic sets and I can’t believe that it’s already Seventh Week. Emma has been staying over at the Oxford house, but I decided to give her and Alexander some time together and take the chance to catch up with my work and friends. After finally seeing a late-night showing of
Shame
, earlier this week, Immy and I went to a club last night with Chun, Isla and a few more of the gang. I also managed to fit in my dance classes and today we’ve squeezed in a lunchtime game of tennis.

The yellow heads of the daffodils nod in the spring breeze next to the clubhouse.

‘So, how’s the babysitting going? Any more dramas?’ Immy asks as we walk off the tennis courts. ‘Is Emma still behaving herself?’

I’ve told Immy about the trip to the ER, and it’s been on the tip of my tongue many times to confide in her about the pregnancy scare, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I do trust her to keep the secret but telling Immy, and not Alexander, feels like a double breach of trust.

We grab Diet Cokes from the drinks machine. ‘I haven’t seen so much of them, partly because I wanted to give them some time together and also because it
seems inappropriate to be shagging his brains out with his sister in the next room. But did I tell you we went up to London on Wednesday night to see
Billy Elliot
?’

‘And?’

‘Musicals aren’t normally my thing, but I have to admit it was brilliant.’

‘I know. I saw it last year. Do you fancy going up to town to a club at the end of term, now that you’re staying on? I need a treat and we could stay over in my parents’ flat for the night and hit the shops too, if you can bear to leave Alexander for that long.’

I know she’s teasing me but I still rise to the challenge. ‘Sure, that would be fun, if you can bear to be parted from Skandar.’

‘How long have you got your college room for?’ Immy asks as we find a sunny spot on the clubhouse porch to sit with our drinks.

‘Same as you, an extra week, but if I want to stay any longer, it’ll have to be with Alexander. The rooms are needed for conferences.’

‘We could go up to London then for the Boat Race. Jocasta’s family have a house by the river and she always has a massive party. If you’re still here, you have to come. Alexander too, if it’s his thing. You’re not going to miss Scott’s moment of glory, are you? Some of the Blues rowers sometimes turn up later in the night. Jocasta’s parties are legendary.’

‘Yes, the masked ball she gave us tickets to was pretty
memorable.’ I think back to Alexander almost getting my panties off and having sex with me on a billiard table that night. ‘Alexander’s not into rowing but I’m sure he can suffer it for one day, as long as Emma’s OK. He might want to see her that weekend if she’s not busy at school.’

Immy winces. ‘Looking after Emma in the vacs must be a nightmare on top of all the other stuff he has to deal with.’

‘At times, but there’s nothing he can do about it. She is his sister.’

‘True and I’d do the same for George, I suppose, if anything happened to my parents, but it would be tough. Do you mind babysitting her?’

‘Ouch, she’d go batshit insane if she heard you call it that. It’s not ideal having to keep an eye on her but she’s – um – entertaining to be around and she’s had a shitty time.’

‘
But
?
’

I tap the toe of my tennis shoe on the deck. ‘She can be a little challenging at times.’

Immy laughs, then covers up a tiny hiccup. ‘She sounds like tackling an army assault course.’

‘Oh, no, I’d have said more of a scaling-Everest level of challenge. And then some.’

‘Then it sounds as if you’re totally justified in having a night off and coming to the party, with or without Alexander.’

‘It’s a deal. It sounds great and I haven’t booked my flight home yet. I learned my lesson after what happened last term.’

We finish the Cokes while quietly laughing at a quartet of middle-aged Fellows attempting to play doubles, very badly, on the court in front of us.

‘Have your contacts still no clue who sent that sex tape?’ I ask, after a while.

‘Sorry, none. I did ask but Skandar’s been stressing over his Finals, so I haven’t wanted to push it.’

‘Thanks for trying. Alexander hasn’t mentioned it again either, and I’m sure he wants to forget it. He also has a lot on his mind.’

‘I’ll bet. Are you OK, Lauren? You’ve been quiet the past few days.’

‘I’m fine. A little apprehensive over the take-home exam we get at the end of term. “Take-home” sounds so casual and tempting, like you’re going to get a delicious Chinese meal. In reality, we get three short essays to write and they’re expected to be fantastic.’

‘Yuk. I have a dissertation too, but the main marks are made up by the whole horrible round of Finals. It’ll probably coincide with the only heatwave of the year, prime hay-fever period and we have to wear stupid subfusc.’

‘I remember the subfusc from my matriculation ceremony at the start of last term. We all had to get dressed in gowns and attend a ceremony at the Sheldonian Theatre. It seemed like fun then, but doing exams in the whole outfit must be a pain.’

Immy throws her empty bottle at the trash can and misses. ‘Fuck.’ She picks up the bottle and sighs. ‘Even if they didn’t make me wear a Hallowe’en outfit, I’d still be stressing that I haven’t put in enough work.’

‘I need to make up for what I missed earlier this term. Professor Rafe still hasn’t forgiven me for skipping his
Il Conformista
party, even if I did go to Rome itself rather than watching it in a movie.’

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to spend your study time with Alexander?’ She brackets the words ‘study time’ with her fingers.

I smile. ‘I think it’s a very bad idea but that won’t stop me.’

She bites her lip. ‘I have to admit that Alexander – any guy – is a major distraction. Alexander more than most. It must be hard not to get swept along by all the glamour …’

‘Believe me, I have no intention of being swept away.’

‘You said that before. Last term and at the start of this one, and guess what happened to us both?’

Immy laughs and I think she’s joking or maybe she’s telling herself not to get too hooked up on Skandar. The thing is, I am worried that I spent half the term in bed and much of it caught up in the drama of Alexander’s life and now the term has whizzed past in the blink of an eye.

‘Is everything OK between you and Skandar?’

She laughs but I think there’s a touch of nervousness
behind her smile. ‘More than OK, and now the Unthinkable has happened to me. I’m wondering what happens after my Finals. I don’t know what I’m going to do, whether to get a job in London or go travelling. I’ve certainly no idea what Skandar might do; he mentioned coaching tennis in the States or Oz for a year.’

‘And you want to go out there with him?’

She shrugs. ‘You know me, I’m the good-time girl. We haven’t talked about what happens next and I’ve obviously no intention of settling down.’ She brackets ‘settling down’ and rolls her eyes.

‘So does that mean you really like him?’ I bracket ‘really’.

‘Hmm. I have a horrible feeling I probably do. Shall we cycle back to college now? I don’t know about you, but I’m getting cold now the sun’s gone in.’

A week or so later, I can’t believe I’m walking up the steps to the Hall on the final Friday of term. The time has raced by, or it seems like it because I’ve finally managed to get my head down (not a term I’d use to Professor Rafe) and get some serious work done. Alexander has been back to Falconbury twice, if only for the night, and he’s also been to London a couple of times, once to see his lawyers and the second time, from what I can gather, on military business. Even Immy has been in the library, working on her dissertation, and she crammed in as many lectures as she could before her Finals term, which starts when we get back after Easter.

I’m staying on for a couple of weeks to work and go to the Boat Race – an excuse my parents accepted readily enough. But tonight, I’m going to forget work and enjoy Wyckham’s end-of-term Formal Night, for which everyone has broken out the suits, ties and academic dress. Miraculously, the sun is out again, the evening rays mellowing the golden stone of the Front Quad.

My gown stirs in the breeze when I reach the top of the Hall steps and pause to look back over the lawn, now bright with new spring growth. There’s something different about the light these days, and this evening, I cycled back from the faculty without my lights. They’re small details that tell me that a new season is definitely here, but I’m still glad of the extra layer of the grad gown over my dress as the breeze freshens and tugs at a stray strand of hair.

Alexander has gone to a drinks reception with his tutor in the minstrels’ gallery above the Hall and said he’d meet me inside, which I’m looking forward to. I want to make the most of our final weeks together before I fly home.

Just when I’m thinking that life is pretty good, I find that every silver lining has a cloud, and in this case it’s a big black one in the shape of Rupert de Courcey. He saunters up the steps behind me, a smirk on his face. He follows me into the Hall and plonks himself next to me on the bench seat.

‘Lauren. Nice of you to grace us with your presence at college dinner. How’s Alexander?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’ll be down any minute.’ I glance up at the gallery, where Alexander is nodding at his tutor, champagne in his hand.

‘I don’t need to; you’re so close to him now that you can tell me what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling, can’t you? When can we expect you to announce the engagement?’

I put my hand over my mouth, stifling a mock yawn. ‘Change the music, Rupert; hearing the same old song is getting very boring.’

‘Make a joke of it, but you know how much you’d like to be Marchioness of Falconbury.’

‘Actually, I don’t think I could get that on my business card and I have no ambitions to be lady of the manor. I’ve got plans and ambitions of my own.’

‘Oh dear. Does Alexander know yet? The poor boy seems smitten and much as it pains me to say it, it’s going to hurt him when you fly off.’

‘Get a life.’ I glance up at the gallery again where, much to my relief, Alexander can no longer be seen, which means he’ll be down here very soon. Even better, Oscar, one of the few friends that Rupert and I have in common, sits opposite. He’s a cox and is as close to an elf as a man can be. He puts his hand over his glass when the waiting staff arrive with the wine.

‘Still on a diet?’ I ask.

He pours water into his glass. ‘Sadly, yes, but I’ve been training with the Blues squad.’

‘I thought I hadn’t seen much of you this term. How’s it going?’

His face lights up. ‘Not too bad. I’m the reserve cox for
Isis
, the reserve boat, so if someone drops out, I’ll be in charge of
Isis
for the Boat Race.’

‘Wow. Congratulations, that’s awesome.’

He pushes his specs up the bridge of his nose, like the compliment was too much for him. ‘Well, not
that
awesome because it needs something terrible to happen to one of the other coxes before I would get my chance.’

‘Still, you never know. I could sort out one of the other coxes if you wanted, Oscar?’ I grin at him.

‘Nice thought, Lauren, but I think someone would suspect.’

‘I could be discreet.’ I persist, laughing now.

Alexander arrives, catching the last part of our conversation, and squeezes into the space next to me. He rests his hand on my thigh and I try not to smile too widely, but I half wish Rupert could see what was going on under the table.

‘So,’ says Rupert, watching Oscar chase a few vegetables around his plate, ‘being in the Blues squad, you must know a friend of Lauren’s.’

Oscar frowns. ‘I don’t think so.’

My antennae twitch and not in a good way. It was Rupert who told Alexander I’d been for a drink with Scott last term. I just know what’s coming. ‘I think his name is Scott. American. Big friend of Lauren’s, isn’t he?’

Alexander is intent on cutting up his steak.

‘Oh, yes, I do know him,’ says Oscar. ‘Excellent rower and a nice bloke. I’m not surprised he made the First Eight. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours, Lauren.’

‘Yes, he is.’ Scott called me last week to tell me he’d made the First Eight, but I’m not revealing that over the dinner table.

Rupert smirks. ‘I guessed you two were close when I saw you in the pub.’

‘He’s my ex-boyfriend’s cousin, actually. I’ve known him for years.’ So screw you, Rupert. I glance at him in triumph as Alexander pops a forkful of steak into his mouth.

Rupert seems momentarily silenced by my honesty and Alexander’s lack of reaction and to show how little I care, I re-start the conversation with Oscar about his training. I knew it couldn’t last long however, and once the dessert arrives, Rupert starts on another topic.

‘How’s Emma?’ he asks. My hackles rise and I wonder if Alexander has told him about Emma’s night in the ER. He may have done because he did get Rupert to warn off Henry. Even though they don’t seem to like each other much, they are cousins and his father is an executor of the Falconbury estate. I go for a neutral answer, hoping to take my cue from Alexander.