by Toria Lyons
Later that day, the two of them wandered down to the river to enjoy a Sunday roast in a pub overlooking the Thames. The place was very crowded but Sarah and Clare managed to grab a table so they could enjoy their meals and wine spritzers properly. The conversation leapt from work to rugby and inevitably to the two new players.
‘At university, Tom was a decent player, definitely county level and above, despite the dodgy knee. That’s how he ended up coaching us.’ Sarah wrinkled her brow.
‘Has he changed at all? Aged well – or badly?’ Clare asked, smirking slightly.
Sarah sat back and dredged her memories. ‘Not badly, really. Same hair and piercing eyes, although I’d forgotten the impact they could make.’ They both shivered. ‘He’s broadened out a bit, filled in, and he was big before. Matured well with age. Not as drop-dead young and gorgeous, but more …’
‘Male?’ offered Clare.
‘That’s it. More commanding. Experienced.’ Sarah’s attention drifted again as she recalled their toe-to-toe spat.
There was a moment of silence as they finished their drinks, Clare thinking of her own experience the previous night.
‘You know that Alex?’ Clare stirred the melting ice left in her third spritzer. ‘He looks like he could be a good signing. We really had a great chat, and …’ Her voice tailed off.
‘And what?’ Sarah went to hold her friend’s hand as tears welled up in Clare’s eyes.
‘I really like him, even though I’ve only just met him. I’ve been watching rugby for years, joking about the players, but it’s the first time I’ve fancied one since Luke. But I have no chance. Look at those girls yesterday: all slender, long legs, and polished. I’m mousy blonde, carry a few pounds too many, and haven’t worn a pair of heels that high since I was 18. I completely froze when he talked to me, then said the stupidest thing.’
‘But we all do that kind of thing.’ Sarah opened her mouth to say more about Alex realising what a fabulous person Clare was, but she knew in her heart that someone who spent so much time with glamorous model types wouldn’t easily realise her friend’s more quiet beauty. ‘It’ll be him who’s missing out.’
As soon as she said that, she heard a deep laugh and felt a familiar prickling sensation. ‘Don’t look now but I think someone’s walked in.’ Her back was to the door so any movement would be conspicuous.
Clare’s eyes flickered up. ‘It’s the two of them, Tom and Alex. With some women.’ Instead of sounding her usual bubbly self, hollowness echoed in her voice. ‘They’re coming this way. Let’s go quickly before they get here.’
They pulled their coats on and escaped via the nearest exit, swiftly dodging the new arrivals. Sarah walked a despondent Clare to the railway station, hugged her and waved her off.
She wandered through the shops in town and picked up a rugby newspaper which carried summaries of the recent signings. She read of Tom Murray’s reappearance in top-level rugby 18 months before, when he’d started to play for a semi-professional club. However, there was a near-complete blank before then: only a couple of mentions of him playing for Scottish youth teams.
Once home, she felt an irresistible urge to look him up on the internet, but with such a common name there were millions of hits. She tried different search terms. She read of Tom Murrays playing rugby in the Southern Hemisphere, playing American football or Aussie rules. She read of a shadowy Murray Enterprises which had fingers in many pies. She read of someone who could be his father: a laird with a Scottish estate who’d recently recognised a Thomas Murray as his heir.
Sarah was still thinking of all she had read on the Monday afternoon. A meeting of the volunteers’ committee had been planned for that evening and, as she had been abroad, she hadn’t had an opportunity to follow up the promises she’d made the previous month.
She spent the afternoon in her flat, chasing leads and promotional items for a mini-rugby tournament in the summer. She sat quietly stuffing envelopes for a large mailing until she ran out of compliments slips; she’d have to get some more from the clubhouse.
Sarah grabbed her notes for the meeting later on and made her way down to the club. Once inside, she waved hello to the staff in the bar then went through to the meeting rooms near the back of the building. She opened the tall storage cupboard in the corner and started searching … and searching. She’d seen a box in there during last month’s stock check, but the cupboard had been turned upside down since then, during the matchday scramble.
Standing back, she caught a glimpse of a familiar brown cardboard box right at the back of the top shelf. She glared at it, as though it were mocking her. It was well out of her normal arm range; she couldn’t even touch it from the ground. She tried jumping up and standing on one of the committee room’s wobbly chairs but to no avail.
The back of her neck prickled.
‘You again.’
That voice sent shivers down her spine. Sarah felt a sense of impending doom as she slowly turned around. Tom leant against the doorway, a thin white T-shirt stretching across his wide chest, thumbs tucked into the belt loops of his snug, worn blue jeans.
‘I’ve got stuff to do. Sorry I can’t stop for a chat or some baseless verbal abuse.’ She turned back and scowled at the obstinate box, then fruitlessly tried again to jump up to dislodge it.
‘Need a hand?’
She glanced over her shoulder to see him sauntering towards her. ‘I need a stepladder to reach that box,’ she grumbled.
‘Use me.’
‘What?’
‘As a stepladder. I can hold you up long enough for you to get what you’re after. Like in a lineout: I’ll be the prop lifting you up and supporting you, and you can be the second row jumping for the ball. Except you’ll be getting the box, not a ball. Just a simple lift, as a favour. It’ll make up for my stupid comments last Saturday.’ He grinned persuasively at her. ‘Come on, you can’t have forgotten how to do it. We’ll practise a couple of times first to get warmed up.’
Sarah looked at him, tempted. The committee were due to arrive any minute but their average age was around retirement and most had bad backs. The mailing really needed to be ready to go. She peeked at his biceps bulging out from his T-shirt, his flat stomach with its pack of muscles faithfully outlined, and her belly twisted. Control it, Sarah, you’ll be fine, she told herself. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it.’
Tom nodded and led her over to an uncovered area of floor with a clear bit of wall. ‘Face the wall. Pretend you’re climbing it with your hands. You’ll need to get to near ceiling height. We’ll start by figuring out if I should lift you by your thighs or your waist.’
He crouched down slightly behind her and placed his firm hands around her midriff. Her skin burned through the slight T-shirt and she struggled to restrain a gasp.
‘Now, jump,’ he breathed into her ear.
Sarah tried to concentrate and hopped. He hoisted her up, hands tightening around her waist, and drove her towards the wall. Her backside was pressed against his chest. He slowly let her down so she brushed against his body. She wriggled away.
‘Not bad. You’re only slightly rusty. That wasn’t high enough, though. We’ll try again, with my arms around your thighs.’ He crouched down, his legs on either side of hers, the worn denim of his jeans stretched with muscle. He wrapped his arms around the tops of her knees, his shoulders lodged under her bottom cheeks. ‘Jump.’
She soared into the air, up to ceiling height, narrowly escaping banging her head. ‘Too high!’ she squeaked.
He slowly let her down again, his arms encircling her body, not letting go this time until they skimmed her breasts. ‘Somewhere between the two lifts, I think.’ He crouched again and wrapped his arms higher on her thighs. ‘Jump!’
Sarah flew up again, this time to a slightly lower height. ‘That’s just right; you can let me down now.’ He let her drop back slowly; this time, she felt a hand brush her inner thigh. She shivered and glanced over her shoulder but he gave
her an innocently puzzled look. Even so. ‘I think I’m ready.’
‘Not yet. We’re nearly there.’ He grasped her again in the same place and lifted again, then let her down just as slowly; her T-shirt was pulled up slightly by the friction. His arms came away from her, softly grazing the bare skin around her waist.
‘OK, now we are.’
They were both slightly out of breath, chests rising and faces flushed. They walked over to the shelves, Tom moving chairs in the vicinity out of the way. He squatted and wrapped his arms around her. She looked down at him and unconsciously smoothed his ruffled hair with one hand. His head tilted up to meet her gaze, his eyes widening. He stayed in position. Sarah could feel a pulse beating between her legs, just above his arms and so close to his hands, an achiness growing.
The moment snapped as he looked away. ‘Jump.’
He lifted her up, and Sarah had to concentrate on the stubborn box, now at eye level. She tugged harder but still it wouldn’t move. ‘Are you OK to hold me? I need to lift it over an edge.’
‘Fine.’ His voice was slightly muffled, hot breath on the bare skin at her waist.
She lifted the box, but as she finally got it free, a side-seam split and it came apart in her arms. She tried for a better grip but it slipped through her fingers. ‘Arrggghhh!’
Sarah dipped, still trying to get a grip on the disintegrating box. This was enough to make Tom lose his balance and they began to fall. They tumbled to the carpeted floor, Tom twisting her so she landed on him, somehow facing him. A shower of compliments slips rained around them.
They both panted on the floor, pressed so close. She lay on top of him, senses overloading, powerless as her body heated and melted, her head falling to his shoulder. Greedily, she absorbed his scent. He smelled so good: rich and male, again with that whisper of fresh sweat. Her hips involuntarily flexed to rub against his, for friction against the rigid column she felt there. Her swelling nipples begged to chafe against the cotton stretched across his rock-solid chest. She squirmed and started to whimper.
He groaned, his hands moving down to squeeze her arse. Fire streaked through her, causing her to writhe quicker, licking his neck, rubbing against his stubbly cheek. Her mouth moved round to his and she tasted him, his firm, well-shaped lips. He took control, rolling her over and devouring her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers, nipping at her. He was on top, her legs fell open and he pushed between them, pressing rhythmically at the heart of her.
She felt herself take off into orbit, squeezing and releasing and achingly empty at the same time, gasping and crying out. Her body was pleading for more and more. One of his hands moved to her jeans, pulling frantically at her belt, the buttons, the pockets. He raised his head and caught her dazed eyes, his searing gaze hot to be inside her.
Suddenly he froze. The noise of loudening voices intruded into her brain. She realised with a shock she was lying on the carpet with Tom between her legs and the committee due to walk in through the door. She pushed at his shoulders, almost moaning when he moved and lifted himself from her. Sarah clambered onto her feet. Her breasts felt swollen, the nipples like lava-filled rocks. Between her shaky legs were pressure and heat and wetness. She moved her gaze from the floor to his motionless, standing form, juddering when she saw the hump between his legs, then up past his shoulders to his firm, still-damp mouth and glittering eyes.
‘Oh Christ, what was that?’ Her voice was hoarse.
He continued to look at her, his gaze flickering to her mouth. ‘It was inevitable. There’s too much attraction between us. It won’t go away until we’ve slept together. Maybe a few times,’ he muttered.
She felt the muscles between her legs clench. ‘It’s not going to happen. And that’s it.’ She smoothed down her hair and wiped the moisture from around her mouth, almost sighing at the deliciously male taste of him left on her tingling lips.
‘We’ll be good together, babe.’
‘Babe? You can’t even remember my name.’
The door squeaked open and they both turned. The volunteers began filing into the room. Sarah suddenly realised all the slips were scattered on the floor with the damaged box lying on its side.
‘Had an accident, have you?’ asked one of the committee members, Alan.
‘Er … yes. Tom was helping me get the box down and we dropped it.’
‘Ha ha! Well, I hope Tom will take more care with those passes on Saturday,’ teased Mike, the chairman. ‘Our scrum is strong but we can’t be giving the opposition too much ball.’
Tom and Sarah laughed stiffly and, after patching the box back together with parcel tape, bent down to start picking up the slips.
‘I’ll see you in the bar afterwards,’ Tom murmured to her under his breath. ‘We need to finish this conversation. And I know your name is Sarah. Do you really think that little of me?’
Sarah refused to answer or look at him. They filled the box in silence and Tom lifted it onto the table.
He closed the doors to the cupboard, moved the chairs back, and then walked past her, brushing a finger down her spine, out of sight of any observers. He strode away through the door towards the bar. Sarah tore her gaze away from his departing back, released a breath, gathered her thoughts, and turned to the watching committee.
‘OK, I’ve got the compliments slips. I’ll take them home tonight to finish stuffing envelopes. They should be out in the post tomorrow,’ she announced brightly.
‘Er, all right, Sarah. That’ll be fine. Are you OK?’ asked a concerned Mike.
‘Never better,’ replied Sarah. ‘Tom and I were just catching up on old times and got a bit distracted.’ There was a spluttering noise from Alan’s corner. ‘I mean, he was my coach and we were using some of our moves from uni.’ Another stifled laugh from the corner. ‘To get the box down.’
Sarah hurried over to her seat, blushing. Mike cleared his throat and started the meeting. ‘We’ll begin with apologies. Gwyn can’t make it, neither can Rachel …’
Sarah sat in a daze for most of the meeting, only speaking when needed. After Mike tied up at the end, she gathered her notes and coat, made her excuses, and bolted out of the door. Ducking past the entrance to the bar, she almost ran to the gates and turned up towards her street. Only slowing when she was outside her flat, she fumbled for her keys and wrenched the front door open. She slipped inside, then turned and locked herself in. Once the door was secured, she rested back against it, gulping for breath.
She was safe in her little flat. She paced through it, hands touching the oak cupboards in the kitchen, the overstuffed sofas in the cheerful living area, the ornate, twisted metal headboard in her blue-toned bedroom. She smoothed a non-existent crease out of the cobalt quilt cover – the colour of his eyes. A vision flashed of her and Tom naked, twisting on the bed, and her heart leapt.
Her knickers were damp between her legs, the tissues against them swollen. She resisted rubbing there, or at her breasts, the nipples as sensitive as if he had been sucking at them. She had to stop thinking about him, about them.
Slowly, she calmed herself down, poured a bowl of cereal, and sat in front of the TV. She tried to immerse herself in a crime drama but the images just flickered past. When she realised, after half an hour, that she’d seen that episode before, she got up and wandered into the kitchen.
The soft tap on the door took her by surprise. ‘Who is it?’ she quavered, her heart starting to race again.
‘It’s Annie, from next door. The postman delivered some of your post to me this morning by mistake.’
‘Oh. OK. Wait a minute.’ Sarah unlocked the door to see her elderly, stooping, purple-rinsed neighbour on the step. The woman handed her a couple of letters.
‘Thanks awfully for bringing them round.’
‘Ooh, I like to help. That young postman doesn’t really know the route yet.’
‘Thanks again. Would you like a cuppa?’
‘No, I’ll be getting back to my soaps. Charlene is dumping gorge
ous Gerald in Sunny Bay and I can’t wait to see how he reacts.’ Annie giggled. ‘He thinks she doesn’t know about his affairs – fancy that!’
She turned and tottered down the steps, turning to wave goodbye with a grin on her wrinkled face. ‘Just like your young men down the club: not a faithful bone between them but they do make even my heart go pitter-patter.’
Sarah laughed obediently, waved back, and closed the door. Her laughter turned brittle and faded. Annie doesn’t know how right she is, she thought drily.
The second tap on the door didn’t make her leap and she pulled it back open.
‘Ann – Tom! What – how?’
Instead of her neighbour, a well-built, muscular figure filled the doorway. Tom glowered at her as heat refilled her body.
‘You forgot to meet me in the bar. And you also forgot to take the mailing stuff.’
She only then noticed a familiar box in his hands.
‘Mike was worried about you so I told him I’d drop them off as I was passing. He’s posting the ones you’ve done.’
‘H – how did you know where I lived?’ she stammered.
‘Your address is on the club contacts list.’
‘Oh, of course.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you for dropping them off.’ She went to seize the box from his hands.
‘Haven’t you also forgotten what happened last time you put your hands on this box? I’ll carry it in for you.’ He stepped into the flat, heading towards her.
Sarah flushed and backed away from him, coming up against the kitchen worktop. He continued in her direction, dropping the box on the surface beside her. He took a deep breath then placed a hand on either side of her.
‘So, what is making you so wary of me? What have I done since arriving at Harford Park to make you run away from me or ignore me?’
He towered above her, his scent filling her nostrils, her lungs. She stared at his chest as her legs weakened, moving her gaze up to his strong neck and his firm jaw. She noticed a small white scar on his darkly stubbled chin and felt an almost irresistible urge to lick it better.