Third Time Lucky (7 page)

‘Hi, Mom.’

There’s a pause on the end of the line before my mother replies.

‘Hi, honey. Are you OK? Only we haven’t heard from you for a week now and we wanted to know when you’d booked the flight.’

Even though I was prepared for this conversation to be tricky, I feel even guiltier than I’d anticipated. I really do want to see my family and friends in Washington and now I’ve got to break the news that I’m probably going to stay here all vacation. But the worst part will be telling my mother the reason. So far, they have no idea that Alexander Hunt exists – or that I’ve been seeing anyone at all.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I’m fine –
totally
fine – but I don’t think I’m going to make it home this vacation.’

‘Oh.’ There’s a pause. ‘Are you behind with your studies? We understand if you need to stay longer and catch up or do some research.’

‘It’s not exactly that, although I do need to spend a lot of time preparing for summer exams and finishing my essays …’

‘Lauren,
are you sick?’

‘No, I’m totally fine. I feel great but … there’s a friend of mine who’s had an accident.’

‘Is it Immy? Poor girl! Is she going to be OK? What happened?’

I fiddle with a strand of hair. ‘No, not Immy. It’s a, uh, a kind of male friend.’

The picture that instantly springs to mind is of my mother standing stock still, giving me the gimlet-eyed stare.

‘A
kind of
male friend?’ she says, in her uber-casual way. Boy, am I in trouble. ‘He must be a special kind of male friend for you to need to stay all vacation with him.’ Is it my imagination or has her voice turned a degree or two cooler?

Even from four thousand miles away, this conversation is excruciating, and my um-ing and ah-ing must only be making my mother even more suspicious.

I take a breath. ‘I guess he is special. I’ve been close to him for a while and he’s just had a serious accident – really serious. I was going to fly back this weekend but I’ve lost so much time since he’s been hurt, I don’t see how I can fit in a trip home. Plus, he kind of needs me, I think.’

‘I see.’ Those two little words are ripe with meaning: intrigue, curiosity, concern. Whatever her suspicions were, I’ve probably confirmed them now.

‘We knew there must be someone, honey. Over the Christmas holidays, you weren’t yourself. Your father
and I were worried and Grandma Cusack was convinced it was man trouble. I do hope this man
isn’t
giving you any trouble. You seemed very quiet when you were last home.’

‘I promise I’m not in any trouble, Mom, but I think I should stay. I’m very sorry not to be able to see you and I swear I’ll be back the moment Trinity Term ends.’

‘But Lauren, what happened to this boyfriend? Who is he? You say this man has had an accident serious enough to warrant your staying in England all vacation. You know I’m not a pushy mother, but at least do me the favour of telling me a little more about him. Your father will definitely want to know who’s keeping his little girl away for so long.’

I can hardly blame them for asking and they deserve at least part of an explanation. ‘He’s a grad student on one of the other master’s courses. His name is Alexander and we’ve, um, gradually grown close since the start of the year. He nearly lost his arm in a military exercise that went wrong last weekend. He’s recovering, but I’ve spent all this last week with him and lost loads of time that I could have spent studying and I just want to stay here. Mom, I knew you’d be disappointed but like you say, I do need to get on with my work and it’s so much easier to research here with the libraries and museums at hand.’

The pause that follows is so pregnant it’s about to give birth to twins.

‘Well,
I suppose if you feel that strongly about the situation, Daddy and I will just have to accept your decision,’ my mother says at last. I feel awful for letting them down, but it’s a relief to have things out in the open.

After I told Alexander about the phone call – or at least a very brief part of it – we went to bed early because, while he didn’t want to admit it, he was exhausted. I had to virtually drag him up to bed and he was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Now, the clock shows it’s almost three a.m. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed shoving his hand through his hair as if he could tear it from his scalp. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest gleams in the lamplight.

‘It happened again, didn’t it?’ I say quietly, referring to the nightmare I’ve just witnessed. I’ve seen his violent dreams several times since I met him and each time I’m shocked by their intensity. Once, during one of his nightmares, after his father’s funeral, he’d gripped my wrist so hard the bruises lingered for days.

‘Uh-huh … Tell me I didn’t hurt you this time.’ There’s a desperate edge to his voice that I could almost describe as panic.

‘No, I’m fine.’ In truth, he did thrash about, but the moment I woke up I got out of bed and kept clear. ‘What about you?’ I ask.

‘I’m OK,’ he says gruffly, but he couldn’t hide the twist of pain as he pushed himself up from the lying
position earlier. The way he was thrashing about can’t have done his injured arm any good.

‘Are you sure? You still have stitches in.’

‘Screw these bloody dreams.’

‘It’s hardly surprising you had another after all that’s happened …’

‘What happened on the op has nothing to do with it.’

‘OK, whatever you say.’ My sympathy is tempered by annoyance at his brusqueness but I try to be patient, and I think he knows he’s upset me.

‘Come here.’ He pulls me to him and his thighs are satisfyingly hard under me. ‘I’m sorry, Lauren. I agree that recent … ha … events … probably haven’t helped, and I’m still on a cocktail of drugs, but those nightmares started a long time ago. You know that.’

I grin at him and let him kiss me. ‘Yes.’

For some reason, I find myself thinking about the moment I discovered the letter he sent me before he went on the mission, tucked into a zipper pocket of my overnight bag.

‘I still haven’t worked out how you got the note to me, by the way.’

He looks up, surprised. ‘Brandon delivered it.’

‘But … it was inside my overnight bag. You mean he broke into Immy’s apartment just to put it there?’

‘He was in and out without anyone noticing,’ he says, with some pride.

I shake my head. ‘I cannot believe you – or he – did that.’

‘I
suppose I should apologize but I’m not sorry. I don’t just employ Brandon for his driving skills; that would be a waste. He served with my father in the Gulf War.’

‘So he’s some kind of ninja? What you asked him to do qualifies as breaking and entering.’

Alexander smiles. ‘Actually, there was no breaking, only the entering. As I say, neither you nor Immy even noticed he’d been there.’

‘I cannot believe your nerve!’ I say, outraged but not really surprised.

I start to get up, but even with one arm he’s strong enough to keep me down.

‘Do you have any idea how great it feels to have you naked in my lap? You keep squirming your bottom against me.’

‘Stop trying to change the subject. The letter was good. I’m glad you sent it.’

He strokes my spine, leaving a trail of tingly goosebumps on my back. ‘I wrote some things in there I’ve never told anyone else.’

Aware I’m treading on eggshells, I make my reply careful. ‘I’m very sorry for what you went through at school. I can see, now, why you were so dead against Emma seeing Henry.’

We kiss again, a little more deeply. ‘I’m still sorry that I didn’t tell you she was sleeping with him, I say.’

‘You thought I’d hit the roof. You were right, I would
have done, and I know you were in an impossible situation but Emma is all I have left, in terms of close family anyway. I’d do anything to protect her.’

Unexpectedly, he kisses my nipple, making me bear down on him. I feel his erection pushing against me, making me wet.

‘When I wrote that letter, and especially after I wrote it,’ he says, while dropping kisses on my breast, ‘there have been more than a few times’ – kiss – ‘when I didn’t think I would ever’ – kiss – ‘do this again’ – kiss. I tilt my head backwards and close my eyes, loving the gentle pressure of his warm mouth on my breasts.

‘Me too.’

‘I mean I really didn’t think I would do this,’ he says. ‘Or sleep in this room again. Or see Emma or Benny – or you – ever again.’

‘Hey, I’m glad you have your priorities right.’

Kneeling right beside him, I bend low and close my mouth around him, loving the taste of him. His groan of ecstasy as I suck on him drives me half crazy. My scalp tingles as he tangles his fingers in my hair, gently pushing me a little further down on to him. It only takes a little pressure from my mouth to make him whimper in pleasure again. I love bringing Alexander to his knees like this; it makes me feel powerful and in control. I lick him and then blow softly on the moist skin. He arches his pelvis upwards as I tighten my lips around him again.

‘No,
wait …’

I lift my head to look at him and his eyes burn into me. ‘Why?’

‘Because … I want to be inside you. I want you to
feel
me coming.’

I stand up and gently push him further back on the bed, then move to straddle him, my eyes never straying from his gaze. I ease myself on to him – it’s a little awkward as I’m trying so hard to avoid hurting his arm, but oh Lord, is it worth it when I feel him inside me. He struggles to move and thrust up inside me but I stop him gently, push him back on to the bed and wallow in the waves of pleasure as I continue to move over him. It’s frantic, fast sex, and I relish the control I have over Alexander.

Finally, we’re both lying flat on our backs, sheened in perspiration, and by the look of Alexander, he’s done in. His eyes are closed and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep; which would be no bad thing after the nightmare he’s just had. He was ordered to rest. I’m not sure his doctor would count what we just did as rest, although it must count as recuperation. Then I feel a hand creep over mine.

‘You know, when I was stuck in that hole of a place, not knowing if I’d ever get out again, I promised myself I’d have sex at least three times a day if I saw you again,’ he says.

‘I hope this isn’t an extreme form of emotional blackmail.’

We look at each other. He may be exhausted and
sore but there’s a wicked glint back in his eyes. ‘I don’t care if it is. What the past few months have taught me – losing my father and my recent adventures – is that we can’t know what the future has in store for us.’

‘I don’t need to have lost my parents or been half killed to know that,’ I say quietly.

‘No … Of course not …’

There’s a pause, a moment when he seems to be considering what to say next and, just like on our final night in Rome, I have the feeling he’s about to ask me a question that I won’t have an answer to.

‘I know it was wrong to expect you not to go back to Washington but I’m glad you decided to stay.’

‘Purely for therapeutic purposes, of course.’

‘Of course. I know you’re only here for the sake of my health.’

‘I was worried you might relapse if I left,’ I tease. Inside, I feel shaky with excitement, apprehension … a fizzy cocktail of emotions that’s both lethal and irresistible.

His brief smile melts away. ‘The next few months are bound to be interesting, you know. I have no idea what’s going to happen.’ He rests his hand on my bare stomach.

‘Maybe that’s why I’m really here, because I don’t know what’ll happen either. If I’d wanted safe and predictable, I’d have got the hell away from you the moment you turned your back on me in the cloisters at the start of term.’

‘Really?
I seem to remember you throwing yourself at me.’

‘I tripped and fell on top of you. It was an accident.’

‘Yet you
did
call after me, even when I was walking away.’

‘The biggest mistake I’ve ever made.’

He walks his fingers, almost idly, between my thighs. ‘And you keep on making it. Will you keep on making it, Lauren?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps one day soon I’ll come to my senses.’

‘And until then?’

I get up until I’m sitting astride him, and lean down close to his face, ready to steal a kiss. ‘I guess we’ll just have to feel our way.’

I’m not given to skipping, but the way I jog downstairs the next morning comes pretty close. It’s so much easier now that I don’t have to act as if Alexander’s nightmares are figments of my imagination. I think he accepts he has a form of PTSD and while it’s never going to be something we chat about over the breakfast table, at least I don’t have to pretend any more.

We both slept better after we’d got a few things aired and when we woke up this morning, we had some amazing if rather gymnastic sex. While Alexander does his physio, I’ve decided to go for a quick jog before breakfast. Although I asked him if he wanted any help,
I expected him to refuse. I’m sure the exercises will be painful and he can do without spectators.

Soon, I’m out of the door, walking down the steps and checking my watch while I crunch over the damp gravel. It rained overnight and now an early mist is burning off fast and the Falconbury estate looks like a freshly painted canvas in its spring hues. Breaking into a run, I make a beeline for the path that seems to skirt the deer park, hoping it leads in a loop back round to the house. If not, I’ll turn back, because Alexander said he’d meet me for a late breakfast in an hour.

I also need to get some work done. Despite everything, I seem to have got myself into a position where I’m going to be juggling several balls at once this coming term. My exams, college life, helping Emma and being with Alexander. Mulling it all over, I find I’ve gone further than I thought and have to power-walk the last mile before finally reaching the house again. My jogging has never developed into a habit and over the last term my main source of exercise has come from cycling around Oxford, my dance classes and, of course, sex.

As soon as I reach the porte cochère, the front door opens and Robert steps out, his face a little anxious.