First Bitten (The Alexandra Jones Series #1)

Ooh my whole body’s stiff. I must have slept in the same position all night. I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus. My head hurts – a lot. Painkillers needed ASAP. I run my tongue around my dry mouth. Urgh, it tastes like the inside of a toilet, not that I know what the inside of a toilet tastes like, but, well, you know what I mean.

Great idea Alex. Drink copious amounts of alcohol to numb the pain. Downside, I’m now going to pay for it today with the mother of all hangovers. And, of course, the hurt of Eddie’s betrayal is back with a vengeance.

“Ugh,” I groan, blinking open heavy eyes, rubbing my sore head and stretching my achy limbs out. It takes a few seconds before my eyes come into focus and, when they do, I find myself staring across at cream walls, cream walls I don’t recognise.

Where am I?

I skim my eyes over the room on my journey, catching sight of the time on the wall clock – 7:03am. Then I see sitting in a chair over by the window, not far from the end of the bed I’m currently laid in, a man, a man I most certainly do not know. From my quick appraisal, I see he looks to be in his late twenties, early thirties, is fairly good looking, tanned skin, dirty blonde hair which hangs messily in his eyes and skims the collar of his plain black T-shirt, which looks like it’s seen better days. So do his jeans, for that matter. One leg is crossed up onto the other one, his bare foot resting up on his thigh. He looks a bit rough and tired, and is rocking some serious stubble on his face.

“Hi,” I say. My voice comes out scratchy. I push the dark blue duvet cover back and slowly sit up. My head is so woozy. It’s practically wobbling on my neck.

“How are you feeling?” he asks me. His voice is deep and gruff. It sends an unexpected, but pleasurable, shiver over my skin.

I look at him again, this time more closely. His eyes meet with mine and I notice what an extraordinary shade of green they are. Really bright, like the colour of the first leaves in spring. Actually, looking at him properly, I see that he is very good-looking – my first appraisal really didn’t do him justice at all. Must have been my initial alcohol haze blurring my judgement.

“Hungover,” I finally answer with a sheepish grin.

He doesn’t smile back. Mine very quickly falls from my face.

I run a self-conscious hand over my blonde hair. Then I notice I’m not wearing my outfit from last night. I went out in my grey skinny jeans and Rock and Republic top. I’m currently wearing a grey T-shirt which is way too big for me. A man’s T-shirt judging by the size of it.

Ahh crap! I didn’t get that drunk last night that I did the deed with a complete stranger, did I, a very good looking stranger, but a stranger, nevertheless? Funny though, I don’t recall seeing anyone as good-looking as him in The Grange. I mean, I’d definitely remember him, I think. Oh God, I hope we used a condom.

“Erm … ” I wrap my arms around my chest. “This is gonna sound like a really shitty thing to say but … who are you and where am I?” I cast a glance around the room, quickly taking in my surroundings.

The guy’s certainly tidy, I’ll give him that. This room is the epitome of cleanliness. There are no clothes lying around, no photos, no mementos – nothing. There’s a stack of books over on the desk by the window but even they look tidy. It seems like everything has its place here, except for me that is.

He puts his foot down to the floor, leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together. “Who are you?” he throws back at me.

What? Okay, this is getting weird. He doesn’t remember me and I don’t remember him. Maybe he was just drunk as I apparently was. I reach back into my memories but nothing is there, just a foggy haze covering last night’s events. It sets off an uncomfortable feeling rolling around my stomach.

“I’m, erm … Alex – Alexandra.” I pat a hand to my chest, a nervous laugh escaping me.

“I know what your name is,” he states bluntly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, his stare on me unwavering. “What I want to know is, what are you?”

Eh? What does he mean – ‘what am I?’. Jeez, this guy is really rude, and also quite weird, and I have no clue how to answer that. So, well, I won’t.

The silence is heavy. I’ve never been great with silences. They make me all nervous and fidgety. “Look, erm … ” I stare at him, willing him to fill the gap and tell me his name. He doesn’t. I envisage banging my head against a wall. I rub my nose. “I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to help me out here as I seem to have … misplaced your name.”

Misplaced? Is that the best I can come up with? Well I suppose it sounds better than saying ‘forgotten’. That would sound way, way worse when addressing the man I quite possibly have recently had sex with.

“Nathan Hargreaves,” he says, and that’s when I notice just how intense his voice actually sounds, clear and precise, like every word he says really, really matters. I know he’s a bit odd – well, a lot odd – but I can certainly see why I fancied him in my drunken state. The guy is hot. And I’m talking Matthew McConaughey hot.

Maybe I’m being too hard on him; he might not be rude at all. He’s probably just feeling as awkward and uncomfortable in this ‘morning after’ situation as I am and this is how he deals with it.

One thing I do know for sure is that I would really like to get out of here as quickly as possible, taking with me whatever scrap of dignity I have left. Drunken-vengeance-on-your-cheating-ex-sex is obviously never a good idea.

Mental note to self – I, Alexandra Jones, do solemnly swear to never, ever drink again, or to ever again have sex with a complete stranger, regardless of how insanely good-looking he may be.

I shuffle myself forward, perching on the edge of the double bed, and let my toes sink into the thick shag pile carpet. “Well, Nathan Hargreaves, if you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the direction of my clothes, I’ll get changed and get out of your way.”

“Your clothes are gone.”

“What?”

“Your. Clothes. Are. Gone.”

“Gone. Where?”

“They were burnt.”

“Burnt?” My voice shoots out with a high-pitched incredulous tone to it.

“Yep, burnt.” He nods.

It takes a few seconds for that to actually register. Then it does. “And can you tell me just why the bloody hell my clothes have been burnt?!” My voice has hitched up a good couple of notches further, now bordering on hysterical.

“They were ruined.”

“Ruined?!”

“Yep.” He nods again, resting back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

I stare at him, bewildered. Just exactly what kind of sex did I participate in that would have resulted in my clothes getting ruined? Possibly the kind I don’t want to remember. I’ve got this really bad feeling creeping across my brain. I’m actually completely and utterly speechless. I really have no clue what to say. That happens rarely, if ever. I massage my aching temples with my fingers, trying to grasp a hold of all of this.

So overnight I’ve somehow turned into a woman who has sex with a complete stranger, a slightly weird stranger might I add, that results in my clothes getting ruined to the point of incineration and I have no memory of said sex. Which I suppose in a way is kind of shame because he is really fit. But still, it’s all just too frigging bizarre. This is not me at all. I don’t do stuff like this. I feel I’ve woken up in bizarro land. Maybe I had some form of bad reaction to the alcohol I was drinking last night which is why I can’t remember anything … or I could have had a seizure, or something. I could have even had a stroke. I mean it is possible. You hear about these weird things happening to young, healthy people, or …

Oh God. A cold feeling creeps down my spine.

He could have slipped a roofie in my drink last night. I might have been date raped.

I swallow hard and let a careful eye roam over him. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would need to slip a girl a roofie to get her to sleep with him, but then you just don’t know anybody, and he did burn my clothes. He might have been burning the evidence.

Okay, just calm down. You don’t know that’s what happened. Keep rational and try to get out of here, as quickly as possible.

I clear my thick throat. “Look, Nathan, burning my clothes seems … erm – a tad extreme, but it’s okay, it doesn’t matter, if you can just lend me some trousers to wear to go home in,” I gesture to my bare legs, “I’ll get off.”

“You can’t go home.”

A hollow feeling drops in my stomach. I gulp down. “Why not?” My voice wobbles.

“Because there are thing we need to discuss.”

I’m starting to sweat. My palms are clammy. “Look Nathan, I won’t tell anybody you raped me, I swear!” My voice comes out all breathy and high-pitched. So much for the calm approach, Alex.

“I didn’t rape you!” His face is incredulous.

“You didn’t slip me a roofie?”

“No! … Well I did give you some morphine but–”

“WHAT?!” I jump up to my feet.

He leans forward. “Purely for medicinal purposes.”

This guy is mental. “Why the bloody hell would you give me morphine?!” Jesus Christ, I know I was in pain over Eddie – but morphine!

He pauses eyeing me curiously. Lines of concentration form on his forehead. “Alexandra, do you really not remember a thing about what has happened to you?”

“Obviously not!” I scowl. My heart is beating out of my chest. “But I’ll put that down to the fact you’ve being feeding me drugs … oh God, you’re one of those pimps that takes girls off the streets and gets them addicted to drugs and turns them into prostitutes, aren’t you?!” My future suddenly maps out in front of me. I can see myself all greasy hair, short skirts and ripped tights, getting into strangers cars …

Oh God. I can’t breathe. I’m going to pass out. I start to hyperventilate.

“Just calm down for fuck’s sake, will you,” Nathan says irritably. “You’re completely safe here with me. I haven’t, and am not planning to, hurt you.”

Putting my hand to my chest, clutching it, trying to calm my breathing, I raise a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“Seriously, Alexandra, I haven’t raped you, I’m not planning to rape you, and I’m not a drug baron or a pimp. Okay?”

My breathing slows and I start to relax a bit. “Okay … ” I say after a pause. I fidget uncomfortably on my feet. “ … but why did you give me morphine?”

He starts muttering under his breath, too quiet for me to make out.

“What?” I say.

He looks past me, ignoring me. “Fine,” I hear him utter.

“Fine? What are you on about, fine? What’s fine?”

“Okay,” he says, voice still lowered but his tone sterner.

“Okay? Have you gone mad? Are you actually talking to yourself?!”

Great, he is bonkers, and here was me actually starting to believe he was normal.

Trust me to end up with the lunatic. Thanks, Carrie. Talking of Carrie, where the bloody hell is she? Oh God, I hope she’s okay and not stuck with a deranged future cell mate of his. I need to go and find her.

I make for the door. Nathan’s there holding it shut before I even get the chance to turn the handle.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” Angry, I turn to face him, but come face-to-face with his chest instead. Wow, he’s tall. He’s towering over my five-six frame. He’s what … six-two, six-three?

Resisting the urge to step back, I straighten myself up, trying to exude confidence I most certainly aren’t feeling and look him straight in the eye. “Nathan, let me out of here – now!” I try to sound firm but my voice betrays me and shakes ever so slightly. I’m hoping he doesn’t notice.

He looks down at me with a stony expression on his face and takes a step closer to me. He’s way too close now for my liking. “I can’t.” His voice is measured, controlled. “Well, not yet anyway.”

Okay, so those words have done nothing to appease me.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. “Alexandra–”

“Alex, my name is Alex!” I say, irate.

He gives me a look. I can see frustration etched all over his face. “Fine, Alex.” He sighs. “Look, there are things you need to hear before I can let you leave here.”

I wrap my arms protectively around myself. “And what if I don’t want to hear these things you’ve got to say?”

He frowns. “You won’t but you need to hear them nonetheless.”

I swallow hard at that less-than-cheerful thought. I feel all confused. I want out of here but he’s obviously not going to let me go until I listen to whatever it is he wants to say.

Slowly, I step back away from him, his eyes stay trained on me as I back up across the room and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Fine, I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say,” I gesture a hand in his direction, “but the second you’re done, I’m leaving.”

“Okay,” he agrees, leaning his back against the door, “but you’re probably not gonna want to leave when you’ve heard what I’ve got to say.”

This guy is deranged. On what planet would I ever want to stay here with him?

I eye him up and down. “You really are weird, you know that?”

“Yeah, well you’re kind of an anomaly yourself.” He shrugs, leaving his words hanging in the air.

Anomaly – what does he mean anomaly? Cheeky git. “Well you’re just an arse.” Great come-back, Alex. Really, well done.

He purses his lips and nods. “You’re not the first to say that, and I’m fairly sure you won’t be the last.”

“Do you have a bloody answer for everything?”

His mouth creeps up into an almost smile and he pushes his hands into his pockets. “Pretty much.”

I tuck my hands under my legs. “Well, smartarse, you’ve got two minutes,” my eyes flick to the clock on the wall, “starting … now, so you better make good use of them.”