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Chapter One
Alex
I lie here in this bed, in a posh hotel suite in a strange town, and wonder why I keep seducing women whose names I don't care to learn and who I never intend to see again. Oh, I know why. It's because I'm a bastard. I can't risk getting to know anyone too well, which means I will never allow myself to become embroiled in any sort of romantic relationship, whether I want that or not. My desires are irrelevant. So I roll onto my side and slap the hip of the anonymous American woman lying naked beside me. "Time for me to go, pet."
She pouts. "Stay a little longer, or even for the night. This was so much fun."
"Yes, but I'm tired of you now. Sorry, darling, it's time to say good night."
This woman has a fantastic body and an insatiable hunger for sex, but I do not want to fuck her again. She kept shouting, "I love your dick, I love your dick!" What a bloody stupid phrase to repeat over and over during sex. I realized the moment I saw her in the hotel bar that she has the IQ and temperament of a chihuahua, but I hadn't chosen her for my fling because I wanted to plumb the depths of her soul. I needed a good shag, that's all. I wish I could meet an intelligent, beautiful, sweet woman who arouses not only my lust, but also my curiosity. I can't search for a soul mate, though, if that sort of thing even exists. I cannot get involved with anyone. No girlfriends, no mates, no ties whatsoever. Only two people in all the world know the real me—not Dr. Alex Thorne, professor of archaeology, but the lost boy who still hides inside that persona.
"You're gorgeous," my bedmate purrs. "But why does a hot British guy live in New Mexico?"
"None of your business, pet." I slide off the bed and start reassembling my clothes. "You don't need to know anything about me, and vice versa."
She crawls across the bed toward me, apparently assuming I can't resist her naked body. She's wrong.
I pull my shoes on, check that my wallet is still inside my trouser pocket, and march out the door without glancing back. Why did I choose that woman for tonight's lover? Because I know I can never care for a pouting sex kitten like her. She's probably married to a geriatric multimillionaire. I walk at a brisk pace as I head for my car, which I'd parked two blocks from the hotel. Yes, I might also have hired a car for this occasion, strictly to make it harder for anyone to track me. Privacy matters to me, more so than for most people.
I return the car to the rental agency and drive my personal vehicle for the rest of the two-hour trip to my home.
Do I sleep well? No. But that's a frequent problem for me. I awaken in the morning feeling less than enthused about the day ahead, because classes begin this morning. I'm destined to spend the day lecturing to students who would rather be playing video games or shagging in their dorm rooms. As much as I look forward to my new job as an associate professor of archaeology and ancient history at Ballesteros University, I always feel a bit exposed whenever I need to speak in public. I'm not shy, but I have reasons for this anxiety. It's only a twinge, anyway. Hardly anything at all.
I go to my office to get situated, but once I've finished, I realize I still have thirty minutes before my first class begins. What should I do? Sit here in my office fiddling with pens and pencils? My gaze shifts to the window and the sunshine outside. Fresh air sounds good.
So I grab a book—the text I'll be teaching from today—and make my way to the quad and one of the benches I find there, under a tree that shades me from the heat of the sun. Sitting down, I lay the textbook on my lap and begin to browse the chapters. Yes, all right, maybe I should have read the text before today, but honestly, I know more about archaeology than the stuffed shirts who wrote this book. Still, I dutifully skim the pages. And I groan. I could've written a better book than this when I was a teenager.
Movement peripherally catches my attention, and I glance up.
A beautiful girl hovers a few yards away, clutching a spiral-bound notebook to her chest. A rucksack hangs over one shoulder, but it's not her academic paraphernalia that seizes my attention. She has the loveliest face I've ever seen, with blue eyes as pale as glacial ice and cinnamon hair that complements her creamy complexion. I love the faint pinkness of her cheeks, which seems natural rather than cosmetic. Her thick hair tumbles over her shoulders and nearly reaches her full breasts. I can't see those mounds, but I can imagine what they might look like.
She's a student. I should not be fantasizing about her naked body.
I can't help it. My lips curve up a touch, and like a moron, I wave at her. "Hello there."
The girl smiles shyly.
"You must be new here," I say. "You have that slightly dazed look about you."
She nods.
Her shyness makes me want to pull her into my arms and kiss her. Unlike the woman I'd shagged last night, this girl does not shamelessly flirt with me or devour my body with her gaze. She just stands there, seeming uncomfortable yet curious. She is a breath of fresh air, and I want to inhale every bit of her sweetness.
I close my book and shimmy sideways to make room. Then I pat the bench beside me. "Have a seat. Maybe I can help you with that confusion."
She bites her lip.
Can't stop myself. I grin at the adorable girl.
And she finally shambles over to the bench to sit down beside me.
I offer her my hand. "I'm Alex Thorne."
The girl slips her hand into mine. "Catriona MacTaggart. I just moved here from Scotland. To get my PhD."
"Ah, a grad student." I can't make myself release her hand because I love the feel of her soft, warm palm clasped to mine. "What department are you in?"
Catriona hesitates. "Archaeology."
