When I wake up, I'm suffering from a confused tangle of emotions. I need to understand why Alex did what he did back then and why he's acting the way he is now. I need answers. But the feelings I used to have for him resurface more and more the longer I stay in his orbit, especially so close to him in this house. And I still want him. He'll always be the sexiest man I've ever known, and based on that single encounter yesterday in the lecture hall, I already know he's still the best lover I've ever had.
Isn't that sad? The man who got me arrested owns a large piece of me, from my body down to my soul, even twelve years later.
While I get out of bed and dig through my bags to find the right clothes for today, I let my thoughts wander back to that terrible day when everything fell apart.
*****
I woke up that morning feeling wonderful, alive and happy and hopeful for the future, all because Alex had made love to me for hours last night. He whispered the sweetest words while he took my body and brought me to the heights of pleasure. None of the lads back home had a clue about how to give a woman true satisfaction.
None of them could compare to Alex Thorne.
He was lying beside me, asleep, with one arm draped over my hip.
Waking up like this, lying naked on my side facing him and watching him sleep, I experienced a sensation in my chest like I'd sucked in a huge breath and held it. Alex took my breath away, for certain.
I sneaked out of bed without waking him, slipped into a dressing gown, and headed for the kitchen. Our loft had two enormous picture windows that overlooked the town and the campus two blocks away. When I'd come to America, a new and alien place for me, I could never have imagined how things would turn out. I was happy, so happy, thanks to Alex.
While I cooked up a big breakfast for us, I hummed along to the radio and imagined what our wedding might look like. Alex hadn't proposed yet, but I had a feeling he was about to any day.
Catriona Thorne. I liked the sound of it.
A series of swift, powerful knocks reverberated through the front door.
I flinched, wondering who would be so anxious to see us at this time of the morning. Better find out. I abandoned my cooking and rushed to the door.
Alex sprinted out of the bedroom just as I swung the door open.
Two police officers stood there, faces somber.
"Catriona MacTaggart?" one of them asked.
"Aye, that's me." Had I parked in a loading zone by accident yesterday? The signs weren't that clear.
The officer who'd spoken brought out handcuffs. "You're under arrest for suspicion of smuggling antiquities. You have the right to remain silent…"
While he recited the Miranda warning and snapped the cuffs onto my wrists, I stared numbly at the officer and his partner. Arrest? Smuggling? What the bloody hell was going on?
"You've got it wrong," Alex said, coming up beside me. "You don't want to arrest her."
The officer flashed Alex an odd look, something like anger mixed with trepidation. "Stay out of this, Dr. Thorne. We have our orders."
Alex's eyes narrowed, and his lips compressed. "You've got it wrong."
He spoke the words in a deliberate and severe tone, but the officers paid no attention.
"She's coming with us," the officer who'd spoken to Alex said. "You can visit her in county lockup."
"At least let her get dressed," Alex snarled.
"Can't. Got orders." The first officer, the one who'd handcuffed me, aimed a knife-sharp glare at Alex. "Orders from the top."
"You are making a mistake that you will regret."
"Doubt it, pal. You're not as smart as you think."
I had no idea what they were talking about or why Alex seemed to know these two men.
They hauled me out of the apartment in nothing but a dressing gown and shoved me into the back of their car. I sat there, numb to the core and too stunned to think or speak, staring through the cage-like mesh that separated me from the front seat. What had just happened? This made no sense at all.
Suspicion of smuggling antiquities?
I went through the rigmarole of arrest in a dazed state, hardly aware of being fingerprinted and photographed. Nothing broke through the haze until I finally sat down on a bare, uncomfortable bed inside a cell.
Arrested. Me. For smuggling.
What would my family think?
Tears burned down my cheeks, flowing faster and faster until I was sobbing. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. The sobbing faded away, but the tears kept coming. My eyes grew hot and gritty. My stomach became a churning cesspool, and acid crept up into my throat, souring my mouth.
How many hours did I sit there crying? I had no clock to measure it by.
I dropped my head onto my knees.
A while later, someone banged on the metal bars.
I jumped and looked up at the officer, who still held the baton he'd used to bang on the cell bars. He was the one who'd spoken to Alex in our apartment.
"Your boyfriend's here," he said. "Damn, he's got some cojones, doesn't he? That asshole must have nerves of steel to do what he just did for you."
What had Alex done? I didn't understand anything since the moment I'd opened the door of our apartment. I couldn't summon my voice, so I simply watched the officer unlock the cell door and open it.
"Come on," he said, sounding annoyed. "You're going home."
I shuffled out of the cell, following him down a corridor and through a hefty, locked door into the waiting area.
Alex was standing there. Stoic. Stone-faced. His hands were clenched into fists, the only sign of emotion he gave away.
"Here she is," the officer said, giving me a shove toward Alex. The officer looked at me. "Alex Thorne is seriously bad news. You'd be better off running as fast as you can from him, before he drags you down into the quicksand, for good next time."
"Shut up," Alex hissed. He flung an arm around my shoulders and moved us toward the exit. But he threw a cold glare over his shoulder at the officer. "You'll regret this, the lot of you."
We hurried out of the police station to Alex's car.
He turned to face me, tugged my dressing gown closed more securely, and ran his hands up and down my arms. "Christ, you're barely dressed. You must be freezing."
Gooseflesh had popped up all over my arms, but I didn't notice the chill in the air. That numbness still gripped me, from the inside out.
Alex pulled me into his arms for a quick, firm hug. Then he kissed my forehead and helped me into the car. Once he'd gotten in, he dragged a fleece throw from the backseat and draped it over me.
Neither of us spoke on the ride home.
Back in our apartment, Alex led me into the bedroom and insisted I shower and get dressed. I did it by rote, forgetting every movement as soon as I'd done it, and shuffled out into the living room fifteen minutes later.
Alex was sitting in one of the armchairs by the windows, elbows on his thighs, head down.
I dropped onto the sofa. Though the numbness had dissipated, I still felt disconnected from reality, like I was watching events unfold on a television screen rather than participating in them.