by Anna Durand
Anger doesn't suit me. It makes me feel sick. Not because I have residual feelings for Alex, but because I'm not the sort who gets boiling mad, or who shouts at people, or who curses like a sailor. My brothers do all of that. My baby sister, Jamie, learned to curse from Aidan, Lachlan, and Rory, but I always resisted the urge.
Why, then, did I invent obnoxious names for Alex? Why had I kept spouting them every time someone mentioned his name? For twelve years?
I turn to face the door, staring at the words etched on it: "Dr. Alex Thorne, Archaeology and Ancient History." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly chilled. Because Alex is a lying bod ceann, that's why. Arguing with him hasn't made me uneasy for any other reason.
My thoughts rewind to that day nine months ago when I saw him again for the first time. When I spotted him, a storm of emotions had raged inside me, driving me to lash out.
No, that's not entirely true. When I got my first glimpse of him, my heart raced, and my stomach fluttered. A thrill shivered through me, tingling on my skin, raising every hair on my body.
Then the storm had struck.
"You bastard!" I screamed, and barreled toward him, roaring like a wild animal.
While my entire family watched, I slugged Alex. Aye, he had deserved that. When I tried to hit him again, he caught my fist and wouldn't let go. The feel of his hand wrapped around mine affected me in ways I hadn't expected. Why should one touch make my pulse race even faster? Gazing into his eyes, those pools of molten dark caramel, brought back memories I never wanted to relive.
Alex kissing me. Alex smiling at me. His strong arms around me. The look on his face when we made love.
With my fist contained in his, I howled like a banshee.
"Now, now," Alex said in that wryly patient voice, the one that used to make me want him but now infuriated me. "Let's behave like adults, Catriona. Did you honestly expect I'd let you hit me again? One punch, I deserve. Two is a bit much."
That's when I kicked him in the shin.
He winced, but only for a split second. "If I let go, will you promise to end the violence?"
I called him a bod ceann right then, though labeling him a dickhead didn't seem to affect him at all. Aye, I remember that about him too. He can conceal his emotions better than anyone. How could I have ever loved him? He's a bloody liar. His scheming had gotten me arrested, and all these years later, I still have no idea why.
But standing here at his door, I can't help reminiscing about the old days with him.
The first time I met Alex, he'd been sitting on a bench under a tree, on the campus of the university where he was a professor and I was a grad student. Coming to America to study had sounded like a great adventure. This was before my brothers, my sister Jamie, and several of my cousins met and married Americans. Iain had lived in the US before, but he never talked about it. So, when I announced I'd been accepted to the PhD program at an American university, no one complained. They were happy for me.
On my eighth day in America, I saw Alex.
He was the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on, with those warm brown eyes and short hair that seemed almost the same color. His face belonged on a Michelangelo statue, so angelic and yet with full lips that seemed made for sin. I'd loved that about him, the juxtaposition of the angelic and the sinful. The first moment I saw him, I wanted him, but I've never been the kind of woman who approaches a strange man.
I'd been about to walk away when he looked up from the open book on his lap and noticed me.
Those lips curled into a sweet, tentative smile, and he waved at me. "Hello there."
A shy smile was all I could manage.
"You must be new here," he said in a British accent, his voice so sexy I'd wanted to kiss him right then and there. "You have that slightly dazed look about you."
I nodded, still unable to speak.
He closed his book and scooted over on the bench, then patted it. "Have a seat. Maybe I can help you with that confusion."
And then he smiled. Really smiled.
My heart stuttered. When Alex smiles, it's like the sun beaming its warmth and light straight into your soul.
I scuffled up to the bench and settled onto it.
He held out his palm, as if for a handshake. "I'm Alex Thorne."
"Catriona MacTaggart," I said, my voice soft and almost breathless as I took his hand. "I just moved here from Scotland. To get my PhD."
"Ah, a grad student." He held onto my hand, his palm warm and his grip firm but not too tight. "What department are you in?"
For a second, I couldn't remember. "Archaeology."
"Me too." He moved his thumb over my skin, eliciting a warm tingle that spread over my whole body. "I'm not your adviser, that I'm sure of. I'd remember being assigned a Scots student."
"No, you're not my adviser. I haven't met her yet."
"Just set foot on campus, have you?"
"Aye."
He smiled again. "I do love the way Scots speak. Your accent is lovely."
"I like yours too." I felt idiotic the second I spoke the words, but I couldn't take them back. He heard what I said, even though I almost whispered it.
"Thank you," he said, tipping his head to the side as if considering me. "I hope we'll see each other again sometime. Even though I'm not your adviser, feel free to stop by my office anytime."
"I appreciate that." Sliding my hand free of his, I stood. "I need to go, or I'll be late for my first meeting with my adviser."
"Good luck, Catriona."
I walked away.
And glanced back at Alex five times before I lost sight of him.
I'd loved the way he said my name. If I'm completely honest with myself, I still love hearing him say it.
The doorknob jiggles, like Alex is about to open the door.
Bod an Donais, I'm still standing here staring at it.
And the thought of him catching me has spurred me to curse in my mind again, thinking my brother Rory's favorite Gaelic curse. Bod an Donais, or the devil's penis. It always sounded silly to me, but lately, I find myself muttering it or thinking it often.
I bolt down the hall as Alex opens the door.
Does he see me? Christ, I hope not. That's just what I need, for him to be smugly aware of the fact I've lingered outside his office door. Like I want to see him again. Like speaking to him, simply being in his presence, affects me.
Maybe it does, but he has no need to know about that.
Despite the time it took to confront Alex—a fruitless effort—I still arrive at the dean's office three minutes early. Gus Hooper greets me with a smile and a handshake.
"Welcome to Thensmore University," he says. "We're so pleased to have you here, Dr. MacTaggart."
"I'm pleased to be here," I say, only partially lying. I've looked forward to starting my new job, but not with Alex Thorne here. "I was surprised you chose me for the position, since my resume has been a wee bit slender for the past several years, but I'm honored to have this opportunity."
Hooper waves for me to take a seat and sits down behind his desk. "If Alex Thorne recommends you, I'm sure you'll be exceptional."
Though a chill washes through me, I manage to sit down instead of collapsing onto the chair. Yes, Alex got me this job. I learned that from the woman in human resources who helped me fill out the requisite paperwork. And yes, I fumed while filling out those forms. I fumed and fumed and fumed until I burst into Alex's office. Shouting at him let me expel all that steam.
Well, most of it.
"It was kind of Dr. Thorne to recommend me," I say, and now I am lying outright, like the British Bastard himself. A nasty little part of me wants to mention that Alex had been fired from his job here last year, thanks to his affair with a wealthy donor's ex-wife. The man used his influence to get Alex kicked out. That won't matter anymore. According to Logan, ever since Alex retrieved three stolen Babylonian tablets and returned them to the university,
no one cares about his indiscretions.
Except Alex didn't retrieve the tablets. Logan and his wife, Serena, did. I still can't fathom why my cousin let Alex take the credit for it.
"We're so grateful," Gus Hooper says, "that you could fill this position for us on such short notice. Dr. Edwards left so suddenly, it was a huge shock and left a gaping hole in our curriculum."
Three weeks ago, Gus rang me out of the blue to offer me a position here as an assistant professor. I assumed he'd chosen me because no one else would take the job with so little notice. How was I to know Alex had schemed to make it happen? He'd probably kidnapped the professor who quit and forced her to write a resignation letter.
No. More likely, he'd paid her off.
I half listen while Gus Hooper gives me the standard spiel about the university, how wonderful it is, how the faculty are like one big family, et cetera. But my brain keeps torturing me with memories of Alex. The old Alex. The one I'd loved, the one I'd moved in with after knowing him for a month, the one I'd hoped would ask me to marry him. He never had.
Of course not. I'd been nothing but his patsy.
Hooper finishes his spiel, clasping his hands on the desktop. "Now, about your housing situation…"
"What about it?"
"There's been a slight hiccup." He glances down at his hands, then looks at me again. "Faculty housing is all filled up."
"I'm sure I can find something off campus. Or I can stay at the hotel a bit longer."
"Uh…" He looks down at his hands again. "I'm afraid there aren't any rentals available in town either, or in the surrounding area. And we had booked your room at the hotel for one night only. It's no longer available."
"What about another hotel?"
He shakes his head. "We do have another option, but it's a little unorthodox."
Every hair on my body shivers and stands at attention. I have a sinking feeling I know what will come out of Dean Hooper's mouth next.
He sits up straighter. "A member of the faculty has offered to take you in until something else becomes available."
Those hairs, already stiff, now tingle—but not in a pleasant way. "Which faculty member?"
"Alex Thorne."
Bod an Donais. That bleeding ersehole has planned this. Somehow. I don't know what machinations he used to make this happen, but I'm dead certain he did.
"He lives in a great old mansion," Hooper tells me. "Fifteen bedrooms or something like that. I understand you two have met before, so you know he's a nice guy, very personable."
Nice guy? How can anyone call him that after he was fired for sleeping with a donor's ex-wife? But oh, aye, Alex knows how to be very personable.
Hooper eyes me with a guilty expression. "I know this isn't what you were promised. I'm sorry about that, but I hear Alex's house is really something."
"You've never seen it?"
"No, he doesn't do much entertaining at home."
Of course not. Alex probably keeps the mummified bodies of anyone who gets in his way stashed in those fifteen bedrooms.
I groan inwardly, so Gus Hooper can't hear it. No, Alex isn't a murderer. A liar, a cheat, a con—aye, he's all those things. But not a murderer.
The bastard not only conned his way back into the job he'd been fired from, but he also conned his way into my life again.
"So," Hooper says, "are you okay with bunking at Alex's house?"
What else can I say? "Yes, that sounds fine. Thank you."
That old anger swells inside me, but I tamp it down. No more erupting every time I see Alex. He likes that, I'm sure. He enjoys having an effect on me, so I will no longer let him do that. Since I'm forced to share a house with him, I need to stay calm and rational and adult about the whole thing.
No problem.
Who's the bloody liar now, eh?
Chapter Three
Alex
Does Catriona think I didn't see her scurrying down the hall? I'd watched Cat's backside retreating down the hallway while she sprinted away from me, enjoying the view of her sweet arse and the way her pantsuit accentuated those generous cheeks. I've never seen her in a suit of any kind until today. When I knew her before, she was a grad student who wore casual clothes. When I saw her again, at the ill-fated Highland games at her brother Rory's castle, she'd been dressed in a similarly casual way. Today, on her first day of work at Thensmore, she dresses like a businesswoman.
I might've thought she dressed that way to discourage me from seducing her, but she didn't know I worked here until she arrived on campus. Lydia, the fiftyish lady at the human resources office, must have told her. And maybe I had charmed Lydia into keeping it a secret that I'd been responsible for Cat's new job and that I'm also a professor here. It's surprisingly easy to sweet-talk a middle-aged woman who wears Christmas sweaters year-round.
Charming any woman is surprisingly easy for me.
For the rest of the day, I grade papers, plan lessons, and fantasize about Catriona MacTaggart. Maybe I spend the better part of the day doing the latter. Maybe I even neglect some of my duties because of that. Can anyone blame me? Cat in a business suit affects me like…catnip. I laugh softly at my own joke. Yes, I like that one. Catnip. Maybe that should be her new nickname. Can't believe I never thought of that one before.
All right, I can admit it. I'm an arrogant, self-important prick.
By four o'clock, I decide I've done enough work. What little of it I managed to do.
Cat's arse looks fantastic in those gray trousers.
I stroll across the campus toward the faculty parking lot, glancing around as I walk, nodding to students and staff I know. When I cross the grassy lawn that separates the sidewalk from the faculty parking lot, I stop.
Catriona is standing beside my car, leaning her lovely arse against the passenger door.
What a sight she is. She has her arms folded under her breasts, pushing them up a touch, enough to make those lush mounds even more enticing. I remember vividly the flavor of her skin when I tasted her nipples, and how it felt to have her breasts in my hands, almost spilling out of my palms.
A breeze tousles her long hair, and she brushes the locks away with one hand.
God, she's beautiful.
Cat notices me and pushes away from my car. She crooks a finger at me.
I stride over to her. "Good afternoon, Catriona."
"You are a right bastard." She pokes my chest with one finger. "I don't know what sort of underhanded scheme you concocted to make this happen, but it won't work."
"Scheme?" I play innocent at least as well as Logan MacTaggart, the former MI6 agent. I'd learned deception in a different way, though, one far less noble.
"You know what I'm talking about," she says. "What did you do? Bribe the dean to claim there's nowhere else for me to stay?"
"Oh, that." I smile. "Come on, Cat. You can admit the truth to me, I won't tell anyone."
She scowls.
I keep smiling. "You want to stay at my house, that's the truth. It'll be easier for you to crawl into my bed overnight if I'm down the hall instead of fifteen miles away."
"Being clever doesn't work with me. I know what a slimy cacan you are."
"Cacan? I'm assuming that's Gaelic, but I don't remember you using that word before."
"It means you're a wee shit. Though you aren't small. But still, the 'shit' part applies to you." She folds her arms again, pushing those luscious breasts up again. "How did you maneuver me into this corner?"
"You're standing in a parking lot, not a corner."
She fists her hands at her sides. "Do I have to punch you again?"
I consider her for a moment, weighing the options with my mental scale. Option one, tell her the truth. Option two, lie and evade and hope she won't pull out brass knuckles and beat me to death right here in the faculty parking lot. Truth or death, truth or death. The sides of my mental scale stay balanced for a few more seconds, then I decide.
The truth it is.
Not because I feel guilty for what I've done. No, that annoying little itch behind my ribs has nothing to do with it. My conscience likes to, on occasion, pester me to be a good boy. I've been ignoring it for years. Why listen to my conscience now? I'm too old to change—not that I want to. The fact that I've suffered this itch more and more frequently since the day of our reunion at Dùndubhan means nothing.
My hand rises to my chest without my permission, my fingers twitching like they want to scratch that itch.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my trousers. "Maybe I reserved every room at every hotel, motel, and bed-and-breakfast in the area. And maybe I convinced the chap in charge of the maintenance crew that he really needs to redo the plumbing in the two available faculty housing units."
Cat's eyes widen as she clenches her fists tighter. "You did what?"
"That's how I maneuvered you into staying at my house." When was the last time I told anyone the unvarnished truth? I can't remember. It feels odd.
"You bribed the maintenance man?"
"No, I…" My mental scale starts to wiggle. Truth, death. Truth, death. So bloody hard to choose. I rub my neck and sigh. "I might have sneaked into the two housing units and sort of…loosened the pipes. There was an unfortunate amount of flooding in those units, and the maintenance crew needs to clean up the mess."
I might have encouraged those chaps to take their sweet time with the cleanup, but Cat doesn't need to know that.
Her lips pucker, and a breath blusters out her nostrils. "You sneaky, smarmy, conniving jackass."
"Don't you get tired of telling me what an arsehole I am?" I take hold of her upper arms. "Let me make it easy for you. I admit I'm a bastard, a cacan, an arse, a bod ceann, and anything else your adorable little brain can come up with."