Cat barges through the door, thrusting it open with such force it slams into the wall and bounces back.
She stops on the other side of my desk, her eyes wild, breathing hard, and stabs a finger in the air at me. “Alex Thorne, you slimy, conniving bastard. What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
I gesture at the essays on my desk. “Grading papers.”
“Donnae be cute with me.” She peels her lips back, almost hissing at me when she says, “How dare you interfere in my life. I should’ve known it was one of your games when I was offered a tenure-track position at a university in America. What are you hoping to gain from this?”
Her naked, in my bed, that’s what I hope to gain.
But I tell her something a little further from the truth, something more truth adjacent. “You are the cleverest woman I’ve ever met, and I knew you’d do smashingly here.”
Her eyes narrow. She bends over my desk to plant both hands on its surface directly above the papers I’d been grading. “Stop your scheming. I have half a mind to quit right now and go home to Scotland. But I deserve this job, even if I didn’t get it on merit, and I will prove I can do it.”
The way she’s bent over my desk makes her blouse pull away from her skin, revealing her skimpy bra. The breasts I’d dreamed about obsessively for so long nearly spill out of those cups.
“I know you can do the job,” I say. “That’s why I recommended you.”
Yes, I’m sliding a bit further away from the truth, not as adjacent to it as a moment ago.
“No, it’s not,” she hisses, then slaps both hands on the desk. “Get this through your head, Alex. I will never have sex with you again. Never. If an asteroid were heading straight for Earth, about to annihilate every living thing on the planet, I still wouldn’t have sex with you. I will never crawl into whatever dank hole you live in, you…soulless Sassenach.”
“I may be British, but I do have a soul.” Do I? No idea. That isn’t a topic I spend much time examining. Hearing her call me a Sassenach, the Scottish word for an Englishman, I experience a strange sensation of unease. I’ve been called plenty of insulting names, but Cat’s insult… What? Bothers me? No, it must be heartburn.
“Maybe I should have you deported,” she announces, lifting her perky little nose.
“You can’t. I’m an American citizen.”
Cat squints at me, her lips tight. “You gave up being British?”
“No, I’m both British and American. It’s called dual citizenship, love. Everyone’s doing it these days.”
“Cannae see what game you’re playing by becoming a citizen, but I’m sure it’s something dead rotten.” She straightens, lifting her chin this time. “Stay away from me.”
“We’ll be working in the same department, so that might be rather difficult.”
“I don’t want to see or speak to you unless it’s work related.” She leans in again, and her blouse falls away from her breasts again. “No tricks, no schemes, no cons. The only conversations we will ever have will be about work. Nothing else. Understand?”
“Yes, I grasp your subtle meaning.”
Her lips pucker. “Donnae be staring at my breasts. You will never see them again.”
All right, I am staring at her breasts. I remember how beautiful they look bouncing above my face when she straddles me and—
“Stop that,” she says, slapping her hand on my desk. “I know you’re thinking about sex. You clearly weren’t listening the first time, so I’ll say it again.” She points that finger at me one more time, the tip of it grazing my nose. “I will never sleep with you. Never. I despise you, Alex Thorne.”
“Isn’t that what Serena told Logan a few months ago? Now they’re married.”
“That was different. My cousin is a good man, but you… You’re a limey louse.”
I chuckle. “Yes, Logan already told me about all the charming little nicknames you’ve made up for me. It’s nice to know you still care enough to despise me. If I were out of your system, you wouldn’t bother confronting me this way.”
Never mind that every time she calls me one of those names—the British Bastard, the Limey Louse, the Soulless Sassenach—my throat goes thick and acid burns in my gut. It’s probably the apple fritter I ate for breakfast. Normally, I eat a decent meal at home, but today I rushed to campus and grabbed a fried breakfast in the cafeteria. Had I been in a hurry because I knew Cat would be on campus today?
Of course not. I have no soul. How can I feel anything?
I sit back in my chair, folding my hands on my lap. “Would you like to punch me again?”
She grabs a paperback book off my desk and smacks me on top of the head with it. Three times. Whack, whack, whack.
“For real impact,” I say, “try a hardcover.”
The lovely lass bares her teeth at me and growls.
“My, but you are beautiful when you’re incensed.”
She spins around and stomps out of my office.
Well, at least she hit me with my own book, the one I’d written five years ago. I’m awfully proud of that book.
A few months ago, when Logan invited me to a family gathering, I said yes. Why? The entire MacTaggart clan hates me, or so I thought. Now, most of them tolerate me, though Catriona’s brothers still glare at me every time I see them. Not as much as her sister Jamie, though. That woman has the most searing glare I’ve ever seen, not including Logan’s. The former spy has intimidation down to an art.
When I’d turned up in Scotland, at the MacTaggart Highland games, Cat’s first reaction was to punch me in the gut. That sort of passion doesn’t arise without a reason. She must still want me. Maybe she even loves me. Seducing her has become my obsession.
Do I love her? Heaven only knows.
Not that it matters. I’m toxic.
