The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1

by Croft, Pippa

  ‘Didn’t feel you could do justice to it?’ He turns to me with a teasing smile that irrationally makes me want to jump him even more.

  ‘Have I ever told you that you are beyond arrogant?’

  ‘Frequently.’ He lays down the sketch pad and holds out his hand. ‘I’m glad you found something to amuse you while I was out. I was worried about you.’

  ‘You didn’t look worried,’ I shoot back, recalling the exhilaration on his face during the hunt.

  ‘I was. I did try to get to you at the hunt breakfast, but there were too many people.’

  I remember the loss I felt as he was sucked away from me by the tide of strangers this morning, but I don’t want him to know how isolated that made me feel. I also won’t tell him about Rupert’s taunts or the remarks I heard as he and Valentina rode to the top of the hunt this morning. Nothing else is going to spoil tonight or our last weekend.

  ‘I’ve been fine, but this is all so … alien to me. You have to admit it’s a pretty arcane world to those of us who aren’t part of the club.’

  ‘But you are part of the club, Lauren.’

  ‘I’m not sure everyone would agree with that.’

  ‘I agree with it and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Thank you for saying so.’

  My fingers graze the muddy streaks on his cheek and his mouth twitches.

  ‘Sorry, I’m absolutely filthy.’

  I throw him a crooked smile. ‘That suits me.’

  ‘You really want me like this, after I’ve spent all day in the field?’ Salt makes my lips tingle as I taste his mouth. My body responds to the sharp scent of clean sweat and testosterone.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  His jacket is rough and damp against my cheek. How can I tell him that I want him like this, with the exhilaration still pulsing in his veins and clinging to his skin? That it’s my way of sharing in his world? He wouldn’t understand; I don’t understand – I just know I want him now.

  ‘Look what you’ve done to me,’ he whispers, guiding my hand to the bulge in his breeches.

  His cock, already hard, stirs and swells beneath my fingers. ‘That’s only the thrill of the chase.’

  ‘In that case, you don’t want to deny a man when his blood is up.’

  ‘And what will happen if I do?’

  His hands cup my bottom, pressing me harder against his pelvis. ‘I can’t answer for that.’

  I let my fingers drift to the white silk stock at his throat. ‘Then perhaps it’s time for you to get out of these dirty clothes.’ Carefully, I draw out the gold pin that’s holding the silk knot in place and hold it up in front of me. Lamplight glints off the metal. ‘This is beautiful.’

  ‘My mother gave it to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For reminding me about her? You don’t have to be.’ He holds out his hand, palm upwards, fingers calloused from the day’s hunt. I drop the pin into his hand and he places it on the table next to him.

  ‘Why so tight?’ I ask, struggling with the knot of the stock.

  ‘To save me from breaking my neck, of course, and to use as a makeshift bandage if I do.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No. Obviously, it wouldn’t have been much protection in a bad fall, but a century ago that’s all they had.’

  ‘And here’s me assuming you only wear it to make you look hot.’

  When he laughs, his throat ripples beneath my fingers. ‘Hot? You really think?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  He loosens the knot so I’m able to free the silk band from his neck and drop it on to the floor. The silver buttons on his scarlet coat are easier to unfasten, and he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders and throws it on the bed. I bury my face in the cotton of his shirt, feeling his chest rising beneath my cheek. Taking my time, I work my way down the buttons of his collarless shirt, savouring the slow, delicious revelation of his firm pecs and hard abs.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ He breathes the words into my hair.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  I drag his shirt from his breeches and he pulls it off his arms. Wow. The sight of him, bare-chested, in his muddy breeches and boots makes me fizz from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes.

  ‘I’d better take my boots off.’

  He sits on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots and socks.

  He pops the fly buttons on his breeches one by one. There’s hunger in his eyes, his nostrils flare and my pulse quickens. I’m the watcher, but I’ve no illusions; it’s me who’s being stalked and hunted. Sure enough, in two quick strides, he springs off the bed, catches my hand and pulls me hard against his torso.

  ‘I want you naked now and I need a shower and there’s only one answer to that.’

  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.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘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.’