by Anna Durand
But Alex hadn't been embarrassed. He'd worn the kilt proudly.
Seeing him like that, I'd felt…something. I don't know what it was.
When he lost his grip on his caber, and the tree trunk had crashed down on him, pinning him to the ground…
My throat constricts at the memory of that moment. Aye, in my own thoughts I can admit to the truth. I'd been terrified Alex was seriously injured.
Until he ruined the moment by asking if I would be his physical therapist.
Now, he stands at the edge of the stage, lit by a solitary spotlight, once again proudly wearing the pink, glittery kilt. He holds his chin up, surveying his students with a confident smile, his entire demeanor infused with that indefinable essence of Alex, while he continues his lecture.
I clutch my hands to my belly, though not from nausea this time. My tummy flutters like a thousand tiny butterflies swarm inside me. All the hairs on my arms and at my nape tingle and stiffen. I can't deny it. Alex is magnificent. I want to run onto that stage and kiss him, then rip off that kilt and—
No. Oh God, no. I am not still infatuated with Alex Thorne. He's gorgeous and sexy, and I'm not immune to that aspect of his charms. He's also a liar and the most secretive, conniving person I've ever met. I do not like that part of him.
I will never have sex with him. Solving the mystery of Alex, I can do that. But no sex. None.
My body voices its opinion about my "no sex with Alex" decree when he resumes his slideshow by revealing his favorite image, one I've seen before because he loved to show me this bit of ancient erotica—and he even convinced me to try reenacting the image with him. Aye, that had been an interesting night.
The image shows a temple carving of a couple enjoying a poke. The woman is bent over and grasping her ankles while the man takes her from behind. It isn't the most bizarre of the Kama Sutra statuary, but it's always been Alex's favorite. Seeing the image now, I can't stop my mind from conjuring memories of that night with him, the most erotic and intense night we'd ever shared. We re-created more than one Kama Sutra position before we fell asleep in each other's arms.
I let the memories pour through me like warm, spiced rum, intoxicating me with a mental reenactment of everything Alex did to me that night and the incredible pleasure we gave each other.
Suddenly, I realize the students are filing out of the lecture hall. All but a handful of them have left already.
Alex leaps off the stage and saunters up the aisle toward me, passing a group of students who are having an animated conversation. Everyone else has gone, but that one small group lingers halfway down the aisle.
I move out of the dark spot at the back of the hall, standing at the wall beside the doors.
He stops in front of me, his gaze traveling over my body from head to toe and back again, his lips forming a hungry smirk. "Have I told you how much I love those trousers and that blouse? You look good enough to ravish."
And his tone of voice suggests he wants to do exactly that. Right now.
"Your lecture was very good," I say. "I'm impressed."
His smirk slides into a suggestive smile as he moves closer, standing near enough I can smell his spicy aftershave. "But did it make you randy?"
Aye, it has done that. He has done that. He's still doing it.
Why can't I get over this lust for him? I convinced myself I had gotten over it for all those years when I didn't see him. Maybe I've been in denial about how often I made myself come while fantasizing about him. That denial was shattered the first time I laid eyes on him again, at Dùndubhan.
Today, my willpower is strained to the brink of snapping.
Even in a pink kilt, Alex Thorne is the hottest man on earth.
The few students who linger in the hall shuffle past us. One lad, the same boy who heckled Alex about being a princess, pauses to glance at his kilt.
"Whoa, dude," the boy says in a snarky tone, "you've got some cojones wearing a sparkly My Little Pony skirt. My baby sister would love it."
Alex ignores the lad, his gaze still locked on me.
The boy notices me, his focus veering to my breasts. "Who are you? And when can I get it on with you?"
"She is Dr. Catriona MacTaggart," Alex says in a cool tone. "And she doesn't take pity on children who can't get a leg over with the bearded cafeteria woman."
A girl who's standing beside the bod ceann tugs on his sleeve. "Cut it out, Darren. Don't harass the hot professor."
Darren rolls his eyes. "All you girls are so totally hypnotized by this dweeb in a skirt. When do the guys get a hot woman professor to drool over?"
Alex tips his head down, staring hard at the bod ceann. "You're looking at a hot woman professor right now."
He nods toward me.
Darren grins.
"Not that a twat like you has a chance in hell of seducing a woman like her," Alex says. "Move along, boy."
The laddie and his friends exit the hall, snickering and muttering to each other.
And I'm alone with Alex.
He backs me up to the wall, caging me with his hands at either side of my head. "You never answered my question."
"Why should I? Ye donnae answer any of mine."
"Have it your way." He sets a hand on my hip, sliding his fingers inside the waistband of my trousers. "I'll find out the answer for myself."
I know what he's about. I know, and I don't care. His lecture has gotten me randy, not because of the imagery he offered, but because of him. Alex in his full glory, lecturing to an enthralled class, is the single most arousing thing I've ever seen.
"Did I ever tell you," he says, "about the ancient Egyptian woman who wanted a certain man so badly that she paid a priest to cast a sexual binding spell on him? She wanted him to be so overcome with desire for her that he couldn't stand it. Only one thing could cure his affliction."
He slides his fingers further inside my trousers, and further still until his whole hand rests over my knickers, the heel on my mound.
"To stay sane," he murmurs into my ear, "the man had to copulate with the woman every night. You've cast a spell like that on me, haven't you? Nothing will save my sanity except penetrating the soft, slick flesh inside your body."
His fingers tease me right where my taut nub nestles within the slick folds of my sex.
The breath catches in my throat. My nipples shoot hard.
"Yes," he purrs, our faces millimeters apart, his gaze nailed to mine. "You're wet already, aren't you? Wet and aching, desperate for me to make you come. And it's your fault, because you made me want you this much."
He shifts his hand, sliding it inside my knickers, pushing two fingers between my folds. His thumb finds my clitoris, rubbing gently, while his fingers glide up and down, up and down.
I choke back a whimper, already teetering on the edge. I can't stop myself from moving my hips, thrusting into his touch, starved for more, more, more.
Alex drags me into the dark alcove.
His rigid cock tents his kilt, and intense need tightens his features. He shoves me against the wall, pinning me there with his body, his erection trapped against my belly. "I need to fuck you, Catriona. Can't wait any longer."
"Aye." I can't squeeze out any other words. I want him even more than I had years ago, when I thought I could never want any other man as intensely as I craved him. Today, I crave him more. So much I can't breathe or speak or move a muscle.
Here? In the lecture hall? With the doors open?
Alex yanks my trousers and underwear down to my ankles. From his shirt pocket, he produces a condom packet, tears it open with his teeth, and covers himself.
I fight for every heaving breath, my body alive and sizzling with electric tingles that ripple through me in waves and pulse in my sex. Alex. Inside me. After so long apart. I need his cock buried deep in my body, driving me toward a climax I know will devastate me with its power.
He kicks my feet apart, grasps my
hips, and plunges inside me.
My mouth falls open, but my voice has abandoned me, leaving me so speechless that I can't even cry out.
"Try to be quiet," he rasps in my ear while he consumes me with slow, decadent thrusts. "I know you can do it. Remember that day in the library?"
Bod an Donais, I remember—and the memory makes me more aroused, more desperate to hit my release and shatter from the bliss only this man knows how to give me. Once, years ago, we found a dark corner deep in the stacks of the library at the university where he worked and where I was a student. He shagged me in that corner, shagged me like I'd never known anyone could. The need to stay quiet made the whole encounter more erotic, more intense, more…everything.
"Hurry," I whisper to him. "Cannae hold out much longer. Alex. Oh…"
"Catriona…"
My name falling from his lips, it pushes me over the edge. I come like a tidal wave breaking on sheer, vertical cliffs, the spray shooting up and over the top, drenching the landscape. I clutch Alex with my arms and my thighs, my knees bending of their own volition while I squelch my rasping cries against his neck as wild, unstoppable waves break inside me and my body grips him again and again.
He buries his face against my neck, muffling his own hoarse shout while he spends himself inside me.
For a moment, we just stand there. Breathing hard. Wrapped around each other. I feel his shaft softening, but I don't want to give up the sensation of him filling me quite yet. How long has it been? Too long. No one makes me feel the way Alex does. No one understands what I want and need the way he does. When it comes to sex, that is. His secretive nature keeps him from giving me the one thing I've prayed for since the day I met him.
Total honesty.
Alex withdraws, taking three steps backward. "You might want to fix your clothes before you walk out of this room."
He turns and leaves me there, tossing the condom into a rubbish bin alongside the doors.
The bastard fucked me and left.
I pull up my trousers and underwear, attempting to calm my pounding heart and ragged breathing.
He ran away.
And the next time I get him alone, he will tell me why.
Chapter Eleven
Alex
I rush back to my office, exchange the kilt for trousers, and collapse into my chair. I'm breathing hard, from fornicating with Cat and from running away. Why did I do that? Because I'd finished with her, that's why. Not because our encounter disturbed me in ways I prefer not to examine too closely. Catriona will always be the most sensual woman I've ever known, and the most incredible shag on earth. Maybe I loved her once, maybe a part of me still does, but that doesn't matter. I'm meant to be alone, and I will not get entangled in any sort of relationship with her.
My desk phone rings.
Lifting my hand, intending to pick up the receiver, I realize my hand is trembling. I squeeze it into a fist until the tremors subside. Sex doesn't normally have this effect on me, but the suddenness of my lust for Catriona must have shot a massive dose of adrenaline through my body. Adrenaline, yes, that's the problem.
I grab the phone. "Dr. Alex Thorne."
"Why have you been ignoring us?" a familiar female voice asks, her accent mirroring mine. "We're so worried about you, dear."
The tension gushes out of me on a huge sigh. "I'm fine, Imogen, don't worry. Why are you calling my office phone? How did you even get this number?"
"I rang the university switchboard and asked for you."
Of course they would give out my office number. Faculty phone numbers are public so students can call us anytime.
"Well, now that you know I'm alive and kicking," I say, "you can go back to knitting or taxidermy or whatever your hobby is today."
She laughs with deep affection. "You sweet, darling boy. Taxidermy? Don't you know by now that you can't scare us away with that sort of talk? You were much worse about it when we first found you, but we helped get you through the transition. Don't slide backward now, after all these years."
Am I backsliding? Possibly. Does it matter? No.
"I have to go," I say. "It's my office hours, and lots of students need to talk to me."
Few students ever come to my office, mostly females, and all determined to seduce me. Even I'm not a big enough wanker to let them have their way. Those nubile coeds are scrumptious, but I can't muster one iota of desire for any of them. Besides, though I might be a monumental arse, even I don't sleep with students.
What do you know? I have one up on Iain MacTaggart. He'd shagged a student in America and gotten run out of the country for it. He was a resident alien at the time, whereas I'm a citizen, so if I ever should decide to sleep with a student, I can't be run out of the country.
"Goodbye," I say, about to pull the phone away from my ear and hang up.
"Don't you dare hang up on me, Al—"
"Stop that this instant. I can tell by your tone of voice that you're about to say my full name. You know I hate it, especially the last bit. And that part isn't even accurate anymore."
The daft woman will give away everything one day, since she seems incapable of biting her tongue.
Imogen sighs. "We miss you, Alex. Please let us visit you. We've never been to your home, not any of them. No matter how many times you move, you will never escape from your past. It's time to stop running and settle down."
"Maybe I will. Sometime."
Never in a million lifetimes. I can't stay in one place for too long. It isn't in my nature, and a man can't change his essential nature no matter how hard he tries.
Not that I have tried.
The fact I've lived in this place for five years has no bearing on the issue.
"All right," she says. "But ring us more often. Next time, we'll both get on the phone. Henry's at the hardware store right now, getting advice on how to install a dishwasher."
"Dishwasher? And you're letting him do it? The nutter will electrocute himself for sure."
"Unless you want to come and help him…"
"I can't. Sorry. Goodbye."
And I hang up on her. She is the only woman, the only person, who can make me feel guilty about anything.
Catriona walks through the open door into my office, halting at the desk. She raises her brows, her chin lifted.
Well, maybe one other woman can inspire a twinge of guilt in me.
But only a twinge. Hardly one at all, in fact. A tiny pinch is more like it.
"Yes?" I say, leaning back in my chair, elbows on the arms and hands linked. "Did you want something else? I'd thought a good, hard poke would do you for a while, but if you need another one—"
"A poke? You said that during your lecture too."
"Isn't that the Scottish term for it? You say it all the time. Serena thinks the term poke is the 'cutest word on earth' for sex. Interestingly, she started out thinking it was crude and—"
"Shut up, Alex." Catriona bends over to stare at me, resting her palms on the desktop. "I know why you ran away like a flaming ersehole, and why you're trying to distract me by havering about the term 'have a poke.' You're not fooling me."
"Aren't I? Guess I'll need to try harder."
"Nothing you say is what it's bummed up to be, which is why I'm ignoring three-fourths of the words that come out of your mouth." She leans against the desk, her lovely arse perched on its edge. "I know you've never been afraid of much, but I know two things that terrify you—intimacy and honesty. That's why you ran off."
"I honestly wanted to fuck you, and having my cock inside you is as intimate as it gets."
"Bollocks. Intimacy involves more than sex." She slants toward me, planting a hand on the desk. "Honesty terrifies you most of all, but you can't have real intimacy without it."
"Well then, it's a bloody good thing I don't want that."
She shakes her head, clucking her tongue. "Alex Thorne, you naughty laddie. Every word that comes out of your
mouth is a con, a half-truth, or an evasion. But sooner or later, you'll have to be honest. Don't wait too long to do it."
"Or what?" Why have I asked? I don't care.
Cat stretches her hand out to touch my lips with one finger. "You know what's at stake."
She hops off the desk, squares her shoulders, and marches out the door.
What the bloody hell?
I grab my mobile phone and ring Logan's number.
"What do you want, Alex?" he demands. "I was seconds away from convincing my wife to have a poke in the backyard."
Ah yes, the lovely Serena. Logan is one lucky bastard.
"Serena having sex outdoors?" I say. "She really has adapted to being married to you."
"Aye. Now what did you want?"
I scratch my neck, just inside the collar of my shirt. "Your cousin has lost the plot. Please retrieve her immediately and rush her to the best psychiatric clinic in Scotland."
"My cousin?" Logan falls silent for a moment, then chuckles. "Catriona's getting to you, isn't she?"
"She will drive me insane if you don't do something about it."
"Afraid Cat's your problem now. You lured her to your corner of America, so you have to figure out how to deal with her."
"Maybe Evan will help."
Logan chuckles again. "No MacTaggart will interfere. If Catriona wants to torment you, better learn how to handle it. A bit of the old hochmagandy ought to do the trick."
"Hochmagandy? Catriona told me no one says that anymore."
"When did she say that?"
I squirm in my seat, though I have no idea why. Possibly because I don't know which MacTaggart to believe. "She told me that at Aidan's birthday party, when you forced me to dress like a Scottish stripper, so I decided to act like one. When I suggested hochmagandy, she informed me nobody uses that term anymore. Then she threatened to slap me and called me a bleeding ersehole."
Logan laughs rather loudly this time. "You really do bring out the beast in her. Cat's normally the sweetest lass you'll ever meet."
Maybe she used to be that way, back when I knew her as a naive grad student who adored me. Today, she's determined to grab me by the balls and strangle me with them.