Текст книги "Redemption: A Stepbrother Romance"

Автор книги: Jessica Ashe

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“I… I don’t understand,” I said slowly. “He’s your son?”

I glanced at Shaun again and noticed him looking down at his feet. He’d obviously heard reactions like mine before and was used to it, but that didn’t make my question any less inappropriate. The poor kid looked haunted by something and I was acting like he wasn’t there.

“Yes,” Oliver responded.

Maisie looked a little taken aback as well, although in typical fashion, she came right out and asked the obvious question. “Unless my biology teacher made a mess of the genetics lessons,” Maisie said, “I’m going to assume you’re adopted, Shaun?”

Shaun nodded and smiled at Maisie. She’d managed to put him at ease whereas I’d had the opposite effect. What was it about being around Oliver that turned me into such a bad person?

“I didn’t know you’d adopted anyone,” I said, stating the obvious.

“It happened after you left in 2007,” Oliver said. “Shaun’s dad was a friend of mine. He… passed away, so Shaun came to live with me. I officially adopted him a few years later.”

“I’m sorry, Shaun,” I said, although he still wouldn’t look at me.

“Do you want to go wait in the car?” Oliver asked Shaun. Shaun quickly nodded and took the keys from Oliver. No doubt he was eager to get away from me and my stupid comments.

“He doesn’t speak a lot,” Oliver said, once Shaun was out of earshot.

“He doesn’t have to when he looks that good,” Maisie said. “Sometimes the body can communicate everything it needs to.”

I went to scold Maisie, but Oliver laughed and I couldn’t help but join in.

“He’s cute,” she added. “That’s all.”

“Well, you’ll be seeing plenty more of him over the summer,” Oliver said.

How could Oliver have a son? And how could I not know about it? I know I’d been out of his life for eight years, but I just assumed that kind of news would get out. I guess they made an effort to keep it out of the press, and Oliver hadn’t told Maisie either judging by her reaction.

Oliver having a son was going to make it so much harder to hate him. It had been hard enough not to look at him every ten seconds today, while he stood there in full view wearing those tight shorts and crossing his arms to reveal his toned biceps. Now I had to factor in that he was a father to a kid whose parents had died. Oliver wasn’t making it easy on me.

Perhaps he really had changed? He’d only been eighteen when I last saw him. He was old enough to play for England, but still immature enough to take his mistakes out on me. But Oliver was twenty-six now and he looked every bit the grownup he hadn’t been before.

“We should be going,” I said. “It’s hard enough driving on the wrong side of the road. I don’t want to be tired while I’m doing it.”

“I can drive you to the hotel,” Oliver offered. “Or you can stay at my place.”

Maisie looked at me excitedly. I didn’t need to be fully awake to figure out what she wanted to do and why, but I rejected the offer anyway.

“My team’s playing at the weekend,” Oliver said, just as I was about to turn and head back to the car. “It’s a top of the table clash, so the game’s sold out, but I can get you VIP tickets if you want them.”

“That’s really not—” I began, before Oliver interrupted.

“You’ve already rejected dinner and a ride home. I do hope you’re not going to reject this offer as well. Maisie, tell your sister it’s rude to reject a polite invitation.”

“Okay, okay,” I said quickly, not wanting Maisie on my case as well. “Thank you Oliver, we’d love to watch you play.”

“Excellent. I’ll give you all the details tomorrow.”

Oliver walked off and Maisie and I headed back to the car, although we both walked to the wrong door on the first attempt.

“You’re in a weird mood,” Maisie said once the engine was running. “Why don’t you want to hang out with Oliver more?”

Because I don’t trust myself around him, I thought. Because if I see him playing rugby there’s a good chance I will want to run onto the pitch and let him tackle me to the floor.

“I’m just tired,” I replied. “It’s been a long day. And an eventful one at that.”

“I know,” Maisie agreed. “I can’t believe Oliver adopted Shaun. Although, I guess it’s not that different to you and me.”

“Of course it’s different.”

“Not really,” Maisie insisted. “You look after me more than Mom for the most part. And you’re insanely protective of me, because you still blame yourself for the attack.”

“You’re making me feel really old right now.”

“Well, you act it sometimes. You need to chill out a bit.”

“I agreed to go to Oliver’s rugby game,” I said. “I’ll be better once I’ve gotten over the jet lag.”

“You don’t need to watch me play all day either. I noticed Oliver is finished with his work just after lunch. Why don’t the two of you hang out and do fun things instead of just watching me training?”

I wanted nothing more than to spend the afternoon doing “fun things” with Oliver, but that couldn’t happen. I used to hang out with him all the time eight years ago, and that ended in my heartbreak. I couldn’t go through all that again.

The summer would be over before I knew it, and then I’d be back in Virginia working two jobs and volunteering at the center, while Oliver made millions playing rugby.

Oliver might have changed, but perhaps the problem was with me. I hadn’t changed. I’d never moved on from what happened eight years ago. How could I when I was reminded of it every time I looked at my sister?

I’d have to move past it. I couldn’t spend the entire summer avoiding Oliver, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. He looked every bit as delicious as he had eight years ago, and now he might not be a complete asshole. That made him the perfect package, except for one thing—he was my stepbrother.

That should have cooled my desires, but it hadn’t eight years ago, and it didn’t now. If anything, it made me want him more. What would Maisie say if she knew how I looked at our stepbrother? If she knew I thought about him at night and in… intimate moments, both when I was with other men and when I was alone?

“Am I Shaun’s auntie?” Maisie asked after a rare few minutes of silence.

“No,” I replied instantly. I didn’t want to be an auntie to Oliver’s adopted son. Things were weird enough as it was.

“Good,” Maisie said. “That’s a relief.”

“Why don’t you want… Actually, never mind.” I knew full well why she didn’t want to be Shaun’s auntie and I was hardly in a position to judge. In many ways, Maisie and I couldn’t have been more different, but when it came to men, we clearly had some things in common.

I kept expecting Michelle to cancel on me, right up until I saw her and Maisie pull up in their rental car outside the stadium. Maisie popped out of the car the second it stopped moving and looked up in awe at the stadium.

I loved the ground, but I was biased. Compared to the stadiums they were used to in the US, this one should have looked insignificant: old, small, and likely in violation of safety codes.

I didn’t know a lot about US sports, but I did know that their university teams often played in front of over one hundred thousand people. West London R.F.C. was a popular team, but we considered ourselves lucky to get thirty thousand.

Fortunately, those thirty thousand people were the best thirty thousand rugby fans in the world as far as I was concerned. They made a noise that reverberated around the small ground and intimidated every opposition team that visited, even those who were used to playing in front of much larger crowds.

The fans were the reason I chose West London over the other clubs that had come in for me after my disastrous performance in the 2007 World Cup Final. After that debacle, what I needed more than anything was the support of a loyal fan base. I got all that here and a lot more. The only thing that could make the crowd better was having Michelle in it and today that dream was coming true.

Michelle’s legs appeared from the car; I could swear my heart literally skipped a beat. If my physio had been here he would have hooked me up to machines and made me take a physical.

For the first time since she’d arrived, Michelle wore a skirt, and a short one at that. Her legs were slightly tanned, but far from golden. They were also toned, so all those self-defence classes she taught obviously kept her in shape.

With such a short skirt, it was all too easy to imagine me burying my head between her legs and tasting the sweet goodness of her sex. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, trying to calm down and stop the blood rushing to my cock, but that just made the mental image clearer.

I grabbed a glass of cold water and necked it back before stepping outside to greet them. Don’t stare at her legs. Don’t stare at her legs.

“I’m so glad you came,” I said, as we met halfway and I ushered them through security. Now that I was deliberately not looking at Michelle’s legs, I noticed she was wearing a cardigan again, despite it being a hot day. She seemed rather attached to those things, but fortunately she had it open to reveal her chest. Damn it. Don’t stare at her chest. Don’t stare at her chest.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Maisie said, still looking up in awe at the stadium.

“It’s a little old,” I explained. “But I like it.”

“Do we get a tour?” Maisie asked.

“We don’t want to be any trouble,” Michelle said apologetically.

“It’s no trouble at all,” I said. “But first, we need to get you into a rugby shirt. Can’t have you wandering around looking like tourists. Plus, you might get to meet some players and they’ll be happy to sign it.”

I couldn’t deny having an ulterior motive. There was little in life sexier than seeing a hot woman in a rugby shirt. The tight fit would show off Michelle’s body, but there was also something primal and raw about rugby shirts on a woman that drove me wild.

Michelle insisted on getting a long sleeved shirt, but damn, she still looked good in it. I couldn’t see her breasts any more, but the sacrifice was worth it. The curves of the shirt around her chest were almost more appealing than actually seeing her chest, if that was at all possible. The not-so-subtle hint at what lay underneath was enough to prove distracting during the game if I wasn’t careful.

We swung by the changing rooms first because they were empty at the moment, much to Maisie’s disappointment. My teammates were all tall and muscular like me, and I had no intention of inadvertently creating any competition for myself by letting Michelle walk in on them half-naked.

We did come across a few players hanging out in the halls, so I introduced them to Maisie and encouraged her to get a few signatures.

“You can sign right here,” she said, pointing to her left breast. “And you can sign here,” she said to the other player, pointing to her right breast this time.

“Uh, how old are you?” my teammate Nigel asked. He was six foot four and weighed over one hundred kilos, but right now he looked terrified by a fourteen-year-old girl. That tended to be the appropriate reaction where Maisie was concerned.

“Probably best to just sign her sleeves,” I said, as Maisie rolled her eyes at me. Now I knew how Michelle felt. Maisie had a way of making you feel like the bad guy all the time for spoiling her fun.

“Thanks lads,” I said when they’d finished signing her shirt.

Just before we walked away, two young boys about Maisie’s age ran up to Nigel, one of them holding a rugby ball, and asked him to sign it.

“You want a signature from Olly as well?” Nigel asked. Nigel looked a little surprised to see that he had been asked for the signature first because most people gravitated towards me.

For good or bad, I was one of the most famous rugby players in the country, even though I hadn’t played for England since the World Cup Final in 2007. Anyone who liked rugby had an opinion on me, and that meant I was a popular choice to sign merchandise.

“God no,” the kid said, and grabbed the ball from Nigel’s hand. “He might drop it.” The two kids ran off, laughing at how funny they were.

“Little shits,” Nigel said.

“I can’t believe they said that,” Maisie exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, it happens,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t care.”

I really didn’t. I had done for a couple of years, but not any more. If the worst thing that stuck with me from that day was “dropping” the ball, then I was fortunate. If they knew the truth, well, that would be far worse.

I took Maisie and Michelle upstairs to an executive suite that I had claimed for the day, and introduced them to the waiter who would be looking after them while I played.

“He’ll get you whatever you want to eat or drink,” I said. “Just name it.”

“The view is incredible,” Maisie said, as she stared through the glass towards the pitch.

“Yes,” I replied, looking at Michelle from behind. “It is. You can go sit in the stands as well if you want.”

Maisie found the door and took a seat out in the ground. The executive suites were awesome, but you couldn’t beat the atmosphere of being out amongst the crowd where you could feel the tension through your body as the game ebbed and flowed.

“Are you okay?” Michelle asked me, once Maisie was outside. “About what happened back there with those boys.”

“Of course,” I said, with a big, forced smile. “It happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not fair,” she said. “Anyone could have… you know…”

“Dropped the ball and completely shanked the kick that could have won my country the World Cup?”

“Yeah. It’s just one of those things.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

Michelle smiled at me; for one beautiful moment our eyes met and then she looked away again, back at Maisie. Michelle insisted she didn’t blame me for what happened to Maisie, but she should. It was my fault. Not because I didn’t walk them home that evening. I was guilty of far more than just not being a gentleman.

Michelle took hold of her rugby shirt and tugged it a few times to let some air underneath. The suite was a bit warm and she had a long sleeve shirt on with her normal top underneath.

“You should have bought the short sleeve shirt,” I said. “It’s too hot for the long sleeve one. Why don’t you take it off?”

Michelle looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Is that how you usually get women out of their clothes?’

“Usually they’re peeling their clothes off long before I get the chance to open my mouth.”

“Well, I think I’ll just break with tradition and keep it on.”

“Suit yourself.” Probably for the best. The image of Michelle peeling off a layer of clothing might be too much for me right now.

Maisie came back in from outside and asked the waiter for a beer. The waiter looked straight to me with a questioning glance, and I then turned to Michelle.

Michelle sighed. “You can have one beer and that’s it.”

I laughed when I saw the look of pleasant surprise on Maisie’s face. She hadn’t been expecting to get away with that one.

“And I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” Michelle added as the waiter was on his way out.

“I’d better go and show my face before the coach wonders where I am.”

“Olly?” Maisie asked before I left. “I never got your signature.”

“That’s sweet, Maisie, but you don’t need to try and make me feel better.”

“I want it,” she said. She handed me the pen she’d kept from before and asked me to sign on her back by the upper right shoulder. “You get one too, Michelle. That shirt will be worth a fortune once he’s signed it.”

“Oliver needs to get a move on,” Michelle said.

“Nonsense,” I replied. I resisted the temptation to ask if Michelle wanted me to sign on a breast and went to write my name on her shoulder in the same place I’d done it for Maisie. I rested my hand on her back and felt the heat from her body. She was burning up under that shirt, but was too stubborn to take it off.

I could smell a hint of citrus in her hair, and desperately wanted to run my fingers through it. As the pen touched her shoulder, I noticed a slight, almost imperceptible, shiver run up her spine. Was that a reaction to my touch? I’d wanted to get a reaction from her, but a cold shiver wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for.

I finished signing Michelle’s shirt and handed the pen back to Maisie. “Have fun ladies.”

One thing I’d never lacked on the pitch was motivation. Ever since my return to the game after the 2007 final, I’d needed to prove myself to everyone: my teammates, the fans, and myself. Now I had an added incentive.

Two people who meant the world to me would be sitting in the crowd. No matter what happened, today I would be giving it everything I had.

Watching Oliver play rugby was even more terrifying than watching Maisie play. None of the girls Maisie played against came close to the size of the forwards charging down Oliver at every opportunity.

The pace of the game stayed fast and intense throughout the entire eighty minutes, so Oliver never held on to the ball for longer than two seconds at a time. He would receive a pass and then either pass it sideways to a teammate or kick it down the field. Either way, he got charged down by someone who weighed well over two hundred pounds.

Tackles were a constant occurrence, but to me at least, the ones involving Oliver tended to have a little more crunch. Every time he hit the floor, there were a few nerve-wracking seconds where I didn’t think he would get up again. He always did, but that didn’t stop me being just as scared the next time he went down.

This sport was utterly brutal. I knew that on paper it was safer than football. Maisie had explained to me hundreds of times that the helmets they wore in football actually made the game more dangerous because it encouraged head-to-head collisions which were strictly prohibited in rugby. That made some kind of sense, but I still wished Oliver were down there in some sort of padding instead of being completely exposed.

Mind you, having Oliver’s legs on show offered some advantages. My god, those legs had an unnatural and unhealthy impact on me. Just looking at his thighs made my own legs weak, not to mention what happened between them if I lost myself to a daydream. Oliver’s team valued his legs for how they kicked the ball, but they had a completely different kind of value to me.

The dirtier his legs got as the game wore on, the more I wished I were in the changing room after the game to help clean them up. I crossed my own legs in my seat to try and control my lust, but it did little good. My short skirt left me feeling exposed, and that just fueled the desire inside.

I should have worn pants, but it was a hot day, and a short skirt would help keep me cool without needing to take my top off. That was the plan anyway, but then Oliver had insisted I wear a rugby jersey so now I was sweltering under two layers.

I’d deflected Oliver’s suggestion that I take my top off by pretending that he was trying to undress me, but he’d noticed how odd my comment was. At some point he’d also notice that I always wore something to cover my arm, but I planned to keep making excuses as long as possible.

I didn’t want him to see the burn on my arm. He didn’t know about that. No one knew about it other than Maisie, Mom, and a few close friends, and I intended on keeping it that way.

With a few minutes to go, Oliver attempted a long drop goal but it missed just past the post. It didn’t make any difference to the game, and he’d already put twelve points on the board, but I heard a fan nearby mutter “typical” under his breath.

I glanced over at Maisie who had heard it too. She looked pissed. Not much made Maisie angry, but she didn’t like hearing Oliver insulted. He’d shrugged off the insult from the boys earlier, but that had to have hurt. Maisie had helped by asking for his autograph, but to have that one mistake from eight years ago still following him around was unfair.

People still blamed him for one mistake he’d made at the age of eighteen when the expectations of an entire country were on his shoulders. I was doing the same thing. I was just as bad as those boys earlier and the one sat in front of me now.

Oliver had changed since he acted like a jerk to me, just like he’d changed on the pitch since he missed that crucial drop goal. I couldn’t keep him at arm’s length just on the off chance he might be nasty to me again.

It dawned on me; I was scared. Scared he would treat me badly again. Scared he wouldn’t want me when he saw me naked. Scared I would still want him after the summer was over and we went home.

I glanced over at Maisie again and saw a girl who was never scared. She wasn’t scared when she was on the field. She wasn’t scared to meet people even though she was regularly bullied because of the burn marks on her face. If my younger sister could handle what was thrown at her then I sure as hell could too.

“Will you be okay on your own tonight?” I asked Maisie.

“Sure, why?”

“I was thinking of grabbing drinks with Oliver tonight. We should probably catch up. If he wants to that is.”

Maisie smiled. “I’m sure he’ll want to.”

“You can come too,” I offered, although it was probably obvious I didn’t want her to. “We’ll do dinner instead of drinks if you like.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll hang out with him another evening. It’s about time you let your hair down.”

“What will you do?”

“Well… I suppose if Olly is out with you, then Shaun will be bored. Maybe I’ll hang out with him.”

“I suppose I walked into that one,” I admitted. “We’ll have to see what Oliver says. And Shaun may not want to; he seems like quite a shy kid.”

“I’m sure I can bring him out of his shell.”

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that and carry on watching the game.”

“Good idea.”

I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing at Maisie’s confidence and sheer joy for life. I could do with taking a leaf out of her book. Maybe tonight I would let my hair down and have fun for once? I was due a good night out and I had a feeling Oliver was more than capable of showing me a good time.