Chapter Twenty-Eight

Catriona

I throw my head back and let out a throaty cry, riding Alex through the last waves of my climax while he comes apart inside me. His shouts echo in the clearing. I stay seated on top of him, my hands on his chest, breathing hard. Wildflowers surround us, their bright shades standing out against the green grass, but a blanket beneath us shields our bodies from the earth. The silken texture of the microfiber blanket feels like heaven against my skin.

"My God, Cat," Alex says, his grin slightly crooked. "I had no idea you're such an insatiable lass. Waking me up with your mouth on me. Insisting I have you in the shower, on the staircase, on my desk in the study. Then you drag me out here so you can abuse my body in the outdoors."

"Abuse?" I say with a laugh. "I didn't hear any complaints from you when I told you to get on your back on the blanket. In fact, you dared me to see if I could make you come so hard you'd go blind."

"Which I'm positive you did, for a moment." He grasps my hips and smiles with wolfish hunger. "Maybe I had my eyes closed, though. We'd better do that again so I can make sure you accomplished that feat."

"Aye, please. Let's do that again."

I've never had this much sex in one day. Alex no longer has a job, but I do. I should be teaching a class right now, yet here I am sitting on top of him with his cock still inside me instead of educating young minds. I rang Gus Hooper to tell him I'm sick, and he seemed to believe me. Never have I ever pretended to be ill so I could take a day off, but I don't want to lose this intimacy Alex and I have developed since last night. Soon I'll have to give it up and go back to work. For today, I have nothing else to do but be with Alex.

"You are such a naughty girl," he says in a teasing tone. "Blowing off work to shag me all day long? That's not the Cat I used to know."

"I keep telling you, I'm not the naive lass you knew. I'm a mature woman who knows what she wants, and right now"—I lean in to take his bottom lip between my teeth, releasing it slowly—"what I want is you."

"Again? At least feed me lunch before you start in again." He grasps my head when I start to pull away, holding it close to his. "You, love, are draining me like a succubus."

"Does that mean you want me to stop?"

"No, it means it's my turn to drain you." He flips over, taking me with him, pinning me to the blanket with his body. "I have plans for you, Catriona."

I wriggle my hips and smile when he hisses in a breath.

Then he holds my wrists above my head and kisses me.

A phone rings.

"Bloody hell," he groans. "That's mine, isn't it?"

"Aye. This morning I changed my ringtone to bagpipes so we can tell whose mobile is ringing."

"Wonderful. You know how I love bagpipes." Alex rolls his eyes, then moves off me to sit on the blanket and grab his mobile. He glances at the screen and winces. "I have to take this."

"Go on. I don't mind."

He eyes me with a strange expression, almost like embarrassment. "I'll go over there to take this call."

"Over where?"

Without answering my question, he jumps up and walks to the opposite side of the clearing, where he leans against a tree facing away from me. And he's still naked.

I can hear him talking, but I can't understand the words. He's too far away and speaking too softly. So I ignore his conversation and admire the view of his backside, with those taut erse muscles and his strong thighs. I enjoy it until his shoulders bunch up and he smacks his palm on the tree.

"Dammit," he says. "Why did you let him do that?"

Sitting up, I find my clothes and wriggle on the blanket to get them on. Whoever he's talking to and whatever they're saying, it's clear he will be upset afterward. I'm dressed and have my shoes on by the time he ends his call and stalks back to me.

Alex scans me up and down, his frown deepening. Without a word, he snatches his clothes off the ground and pulls them on, along with his shoes.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"It's my—Never mind."

"Talk to me. Please."

Alex stares at me without expression for several seconds, then he exhales a long breath and slumps his shoulders. "Not here."

He grabs my hand and tows me down the deer trail toward the house. I manage to snag the blanket off the ground before we start our forced march toward home. He doesn't speak again until we're inside the house, in his study.

"You'll want to sit down for this," he tells me, while he goes to the windows and leans against the frame, gazing out at the shadowy forest.

I move past him to sit on the window bench an arm's length away.

He flicks his gaze to me but quickly veers it back to the window. "Are you sure you want to know the truth about me?"

Is he going to tell me everything? My heart beats faster at the possibility, and a shiver of excitement courses through me.

"Yes," I tell him, "I'm sure."

He scrubs a hand over his face and shuts his eyes. "I have to go to Nevada. Today."

"Because of the call you got earlier."

"Yes." He covers his face with both hands, like he doesn't want me to see his expression when he tells me more. "My… Well, they're essentially my parents. They live in Nevada. Imogen and Henry Bennett raised me from the time I was eight years old."

"What happened to your real parents?"

He drops his hand, his eyes squinted, his whole expression harder and darker. "Henry and Imogen are my parents. They adopted me. The why of the story will have to wait a few minutes. I need to go to Nevada because Henry, the bloody fool, tried to clean the gutters on their house by himself using a very tall and not terribly sturdy ladder. He fell and broke his leg."

"Oh no. Will he be all right?"

"Yes, he's fine. But Imogen can't manage on her own right now. She panics at every little thing, especially when one of us gets sick or injured. I need to be there for a few days until she settles down."

"I'll go with you."

His eyes widen, though only for a second. "You had better hear the rest of the story before you decide to get embroiled in my life."

"Alex, I'm already embroiled. It's too late to chase me off. Not that you have a chance in hell of doing that."

"It hasn't worked for me so far." He looks out the windows again. "I suppose it's time I told you everything."

"Whenever you're ready."

He scratches his head, contorting his mouth into a pained expression. Then he sighs and slumps against the window frame. "My parents—or rather, the man and woman who brought me into the world and raised me for eight years—were not upstanding citizens. They lied, cheated, schemed, connived, and generally did everything they could to avoid making an honest living."

"Were they homeless?"

"No," he says with a hefty dose of sarcasm, throwing me an equally sarcastic look. "Mummy and Daddy are grifters."

My mouth opens, but I need a few seconds before I can speak. Even then, I can make myself say only one word. "Grifters?"

"It means they're criminals." He leans toward me, his face and voice evidencing an anger he's kept buried deep inside himself. "They conned and swindled their way into quite a lot of money. For years, no one caught on to them. We lived in a posh neighborhood in London, in a posh house with posh servants. I had a live-in tutor to teach me the usual things, but my parents taught me everything I needed to know to become as masterful a grifter as they are."

I can't think of anything to say in response. At least this explains his tendency to sidestep the truth. He'd told me the other day that his parents taught him to lie and protect himself, that it was their lifestyle, but I still can't believe what I'm hearing. Alex might have a roguish side, and he often avoids answering questions, but he has never lied to me outright. How could he have lived that way? No wonder he has so much pain inside him.

Alex straightens and glares out the window. "You can go now. I'm sure one of your relatives will lend you a jet to get you home."

He assumes I'll want out because he confessed his secret to me. The daft man really doesn't understand how invested I am in making our relationship work.

I approach him, holding his face in my hands so I can rotate his head toward me. Once I have him looking at me, I explain what he refuses to understand. "I love you, Alex. That means I am not leaving, not for any reason, and certainly not because you had a terrible childhood. The fact that you turned out so well despite your past makes me love you even more."

His brows draw together over his nose.

"Aye, that's right," I say, answering the question he hasn't asked. I see the question in his eyes. "I'm not disgusted with you. I do not hate you. Nothing you say will make me want to run away."

"You might change your mind," he says, "once I tell you the rest."

"Go on. I can handle it."

He screws up his mouth, then flattens it out into a hard line. "I've been a grifter all my life. I still am one."

"No, you are not."

"Stop forgiving me. It's not the intelligent thing to do."

"Maybe not, but it is the compassionate thing."

He groans, shutting his eyes for a moment. "If I'm going to explain all of it, I need a drink first."