Dark Blue: Study in Seduction, Book 1 (13 page)

He heard her without her speaking, for he said the words that shot molten heat through her. “I want to fuck you.”

Chapter Twelve

His next words brought her crashing down. “Not here and not now. I don’t want to do it in my rooms.”

“Yet you’ve just…done that to me. Spanked me, touched me.”

“Yes, I want to be completely intimate with you, and I want it to be away from college.”

“Why? In case someone hears us or finds out?”

“Partly, but more because I want it to be in my bed, not on the floor or the top of the desk. This room…is where I work and teach people. It’s the right place for disciplining you, not for making love.”

Bloody hell, that was blunt. Clearly he was prepared to be open about his intentions—and their two encounters so far were not just isolated incidents. “So this all has to be on your terms, does it? This relationship?” she asked.

“If you put it like that, then yes, it
does
have to be on my terms… You’d worked that out by now, hadn’t you? You
are
one of my brightest students.”

Brightest? She held back from acknowledging how much that compliment meant to her, because she wasn’t ready to believe it was true. She still didn’t trust her instincts or judgment about Alex enough. Or at all.

“Should you have let me know that?” she asked.

“I want you to understand why I’m going to push you harder than any of the others.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Liar.” He smiled and lifted her hair from her face. “I’m…concerned…that you’re only here because, as you rightly pointed out the other week, we really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“If you’re worried that I’m only here because our being together is forbidden, you’re wrong.”

“It’s not that.”

“Alex, are you losing the courage of your convictions now? Are you worried what will happen if anyone found out? I know you’d lose your job.”

“It’s you that worries me more. If anyone knew about us, it could be difficult for you to work and live alongside the other students even after I was gone, and I know you want to try not to be different.” He laughed.

“What’s the matter?”

“The idea of you fitting in…”

“Is it that funny?” she asked.

“God, no. You’re at least as talented as any of them, and as for fitting in, I don’t want you to. You’re like a goddess bestriding their petty world.”

Wow. Shakespeare. Sort of. She smiled. Stephen had never said anything like that to her, not even when they’d first met. It was a zillion miles away from his style. Also, it wasn’t fair to compare him with Alex, so why was she even trying? Still, she couldn’t believe Alex felt that way about her. Her self-esteem had been crushed by her husband’s infidelity and secrecy.

“You’re flattering me now. They’re so young, so beautiful…”she said.

Alex shook his head. “Stop it.”

“What?”

“The fishing. I won’t take the bait. I meant what I said about you.”

She wanted to be told. She was human, and if he did utter platitudes, wouldn’t she hate it too?

“What if I keep on fishing? What if I push you, provoke you?”

He folded his arms. “Then nothing will happen. I’ll decide on my terms when to be provoked.”

“Is making me wait to be fucked part of the punishment?”

“Call it self-discipline for both of us. Now, as an example of how things are going to be between us from now on, you will get dressed and leave here without another word of dissent. We’ll meet on Friday evening and get out of Oxford. I know a pub near Woodstock that does decent food. I’ll pick you up at seven from the corner of the road by the hostel.”

Carla was high on endorphins, outrage at his arrogance, and lust at the prospect of finally getting into his bed. “I’ll check my diary for Friday night. I might be going clubbing. You should come,” she added cheekily.

“Over my dead body.”

She laughed at his horrified face; then he laughed too. “Fuck, I sound like an old fogey. I have been clubbing many times, but not recently, and not to Shark End lately.”

“I can’t really imagine you in there either, and, as a matter of fact, my diary is free on Friday. Emma’s going home for the weekend, and I was going to spend every spare moment working on my exam dissertation. Surely, I don’t need to remind you that I have to complete it and hand it in as part of my first year exams.” Carla tried to keep a straight face.

Alex threw her a stern look. “Of course I do and I’d never forgive myself if you missed the deadline because of me.”

“Then again, if my tutor wants me to bunk off to the pub and shag him, then what can I do about it?”

“In this case, your tutor is ordering you to misbehave, but for now, he wants you to leave. You’ve got first-year exams to revise for.” He picked up her underwear from the floor and handed it to her. “By the way, these are as sexy as hell. In fact, I’ll give you an alpha plus for them.”

She dropped a little curtsey. “I’m glad you approve, Professor Lemaitre.”

“I do, and I expect you to be suitably attired for all our future lessons. In fact, on Friday, make sure you wear your leather trousers.”

Chapter Thirteen

Fine rain wet her face as Carla waited for Alex to collect her. Wet blossoms stuck to the pavements and blew into the gutters and the lee of the wall. She’d teamed the trousers with ankle boots, a top and a loose sweater. The less she looked like she was off to a kinky party, the better, although this
was
Oxford and maybe no one would notice too much. Then again, for a Woodstock pub, stripper heels and a bustier would be bound to draw a modicum of attention from the tweedy locals.

She was still hardly able to believe they were going on a date, in a public place, like normal couples did. It marked a shift in their relationship, and she wasn’t sure whether it would work out well. If they talked and communicated, would it destroy the mystique? Lessen the desire between them?

She didn’t see how anything could dampen her desire for Alex Lemaitre, not even if he grew two heads.

She was on the
qui vive,
as Alex might say, hypersensitive to any car that drove down her road or slowed to turn in. She’d wondered what Alex would turn up in. Not a Merc as Stephen had done. Way too conventional. Maybe something French like a Citroën? No, too predictable. A Volvo? She chuckled softly. No way, Alex didn’t play safe. Something vintage and quirky then… Yes… An old Saab turned the corner, and she glanced up expectantly, but it trundled on, its elderly driver oblivious to the leather-clad woman lurking suspiciously under the cherry tree.

She unzipped her bag to check the time on her phone. Two minutes to go… There was no way he’d be late. Any second now she could expect him. As she dropped her phone back in the bag, the sound of an engine made her glance up. A black motorbike with chrome trim and tailpipe sped towards her with a throaty roar and pulled alongside the kerb.

Her heart beat faster; her breath exhaled in a rush.

The bike sputtered to a halt, the engine cut out, and the rider climbed off and kicked the stand down. He pulled off a black-and-silver helmet that matched the leathers encasing his long legs. That was why he’d asked her to wear leather trousers. Which meant…

“It’s a motorbike,” she said.

Alex grinned at her. “A motorbike? That’s like calling Jane Austen a rom com. This is a Triumph Bonneville Thruxton.”

She swallowed. “It’s not what I expected.”

“Neither of us are that. The important thing is that we’re starting to find out.”

“I still don’t think I want to get on that thing. I don’t have a helmet, for a start.”

“I thought of that.” He opened the rear locker and pulled out a spare helmet, along with a battered leather jacket. “This was my brother’s at one time, and I keep it in case he ever comes over from France, but we’ve both grown since then.”

It swamped her. However, a too-big jacket was the least of her concerns. Getting on the Triumph and trusting Alex to get to the pub in one piece? Now,
that
was a concern.

“Are you sure this is safe?” she asked as he handed her the helmet.

“What? Me or the bike?”

She laughed. “Both.”

“The Triumph is a pussycat, but I can’t vouch for me. Now put on your helmet. I’ve got a table booked at the pub, and I don’t want to have to break the speed limit.”

She clambered over the seat, her trousers tautening over her bottom as she did so. She put her feet on the pedals as Alex kicked away the stand.

“Hold on tight!” he shouted, and before she could ask him how long it would take, her breath was torn from her body as the engine fired and the bike took off.

Hellfire and sweet damnation
.

Every cliché she’d ever imagined about riding a motorbike became gloriously, terrifyingly, instantly real. She clung to Alex like a limpet as the bike accelerated and the smell of leather and petrol filled her nostrils. The thrumming power beneath her thighs was matched only by the effect of the man she held on to as if her life depended on it. Because, oh shit, she realised as the shops of suburban Oxford blurred into a multicoloured mass through the visor, her life
did
depend on it.

She already wanted him to slow down, and, shit, as they passed the ring road, the black-and-white of the unregulated speed sign flashed by. She could hardly breathe as the bike bucked with a fresh burst of acceleration and hit sixty. Her eyes watered, and she dug her fingers into Alex’s waist and stuck her head against his back, trying to melt into him. The wind snatched at her body as if it wanted to drag her off, and the bike screamed like a banshee in her ears. The throbbing engine made her clit pulse relentlessly against the seam of her leather trousers like a turbo-powered vibrator.

Could you actually
come
on the back of a speeding motorbike?

Maybe not when you were this terrified. How much longer would this torture go on for? Ten minutes? Twenty? Should she have made a will? The hedgerows and sky were now just a brown and green and blue whirl. Surely they must be doing at least a hundred? What if Alex lost control of the bike? Would it all be over instantly, or would she fly through the air and over the hedges before she crashed back to earth?

She clung on, and, after what seemed like an age but was probably only minutes, Carla spotted a pub ahead, the thatched roof emerging from the blur of road as they slowed down. Soon they were turning in to the car park and coming to a halt. The engine noise died, and she let out a huge breath; it felt as if she’d been holding it all the way from Oxford.

“You can let go of me now.” Alex’s voice came from in front.

“Are you sure?”

He laughed, and his rib cage shook, vibrating through her body. “Yes. It’s safe to get off now.”

Once on terra firma again, her thighs ached from where she’d gripped the bike and her arms were tired from clinging to Alex’s waist. She took off the helmet and shook out her hair as he grinned back. She’d never seen him look so happy; he was a different man from the one she knew from college. He looked younger, relaxed and at ease. The strain of pretending he didn’t know her must have affected him too, and that made her happy even though it shouldn’t.

He slipped his arm around her back. “Come on, then. I think you need a drink.”

They settled into a dim corner of the pub, and Alex put a glass of wine in front of her.

“We’re doing this all the wrong way around, aren’t we?” she said as he sipped a Coke.

“Is there a wrong way?”

“Well, we’ve had the sex first and then the date.” She cringed at the way she’d lowered her voice at the “s” word, just like her mother did.

Alex didn’t laugh. “I’m not sure there’s a right way. Relationships—the emotions—are far more intimate than sex, don’t you think?” he asked.

“I…suppose so.” She thought of Stephen, and her stomach clenched hard. “I don’t have that much experience of sex or emotions either. Not with anyone other than Stephen, that is. He was my first serious boyfriend, and I married him.”

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t that experienced either? Not with Stephen, of course.”

Carla was taken aback. Few people dared to make jokes about her deceased husband, but she wasn’t the least bit offended. His attitude was refreshing, in fact. He wasn’t going to tiptoe round her feelings, but would he turn out to be too brutally honest for her to cope with? And as for not being experienced, that was a matter of opinion.

“I don’t know anything about you, other than from Wiki, of course.”

“You looked me up on Wikipedia?” He rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Of course, what else was I supposed to do?”

“Are you sure it’s all strictly accurate?” he asked, leaning his chin on his hand like he did in tutes.

“I’m sure there are some parts that have been left out.”

His eyes sparkled. “I sincerely hope so.”

She sipped her wine to give her time to compose her next question. “Alex, I would like to know more about you, seriously.”

“Okay. What do you want to know first?”