by Toria Lyons
Matt took another swig of his whisky. ‘We lost contact for a while, after he stopped playing; he was so driven to succeed and I didn’t like the ruthless side of him. I suddenly heard from him a few months ago and we met up for a couple of drinks. I’ve seen glimpses of the Tom I knew at uni: he’s looking more cheerful. I thought, something’s happened, he’s met someone who managed to break through.’
‘Perhaps he’s just enjoying his new role at Harford?’ Sarah suggested. A strange feeling was washing over her, something she hadn’t realised before, something crucial.
‘No, it must be someone he’s met.’ Matt’s gaze narrowed as he tried to focus his alcohol-blurred eyes at her. ‘Hey, what was your name again? S –? And you were at uni with us?’ His mouth gaped.
Sarah’s stomach dropped; she had to get out of there to think about what Matt had said. She glanced over at Tom, still pinned down in the corner by the chairman, his attention focused on their conversation. Her coat and handbag were within easy reach, so she snagged them with one hand and disposed of her empty champagne glass with the other.
‘Sorry, Matt. I forgot I arranged to meet someone in the public bar downstairs. Was nice to see you again. Please make my apologies. Bye.’ Sarah spun around, leaving a swaying Matt speechless. Escaping through the box door, she jogged down the hall towards the stairs.
The sound of breaking glasses behind her made her glance over her shoulder to see a tall, dark, kilted figure striding towards her.
‘Sarah!’ Tom roared. ‘Sarah, for once in your life, stop running away from me!’
She ground to a reluctant halt and swung around to face him. He stalked towards her, his face thunderous.
‘I’m s – sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘I just thought – I needed …’ Her head was spinning from the champagne. ‘Matt said … I need to think. I was going to return in a bit, once I’d …’
Tom’s face softened, and he lifted one hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face. ‘You spoke to Matt. We’ll go for a coffee,’ he announced, ‘and I think there’s a few things I need to say and do. Just wait here while I make my apologies and grab my coat. Please wait,’ he implored her.
He dashed back to the box, with Sarah only then becoming aware of the many curious faces peeking out of all the other boxes along the corridor. She stood, embarrassed, not looking at any of them until Tom returned to her. They set off down the stairs.
‘The chairman isn’t too pleased that I spilled his malt down his best RFU jacket. I’ve offered to pay for the dry cleaning and I’ll have to talk to his cronies for hours in the upcoming weeks to make up for it. Now, there’s a quiet bar downstairs where we can go.’
Tom held all the doors open for her on their walk down to the bar, which was indeed nearly empty, the disappointed home supporters having left early. He escorted her to a table then went to fetch their coffees, returning with a couple of fingers of whisky each as well. He sat, bracketing her legs with his knees, corralling her down again. Tom took a deep breath and a gulp of whisky and looked down at his hands, which were twisting restlessly on the table.
‘These last few months have been … I can’t believe I’m with you,’ he blurted. ‘I never thought I’d see you again. I looked for you but no one would tell me where you’d gone, and there were so many Sarah Evanses online I couldn’t find you.’
‘What?’ Sarah was confused, even with the coffee helping to clear her head.
He glanced at her and looked back down at his restless hands. ‘I’ll start from the beginning. I’m in love with you, you know that already. But I’ve been in love with you since the day you laid into me nearly ten years ago. I didn’t realise it at the time; I thought it was infatuation. You were the first woman to stand up to me and you were so determined. I wanted only you from that moment on but you ignored me, you never spoke to me. I kept picking you out to use in demos as that was the only way I could satisfy the urge to touch and hold you. By the end of the training sessions, I was always on fire, needing you. But you always disappeared so quickly.
‘You never spoke to me in the bar, never flirted with me. You never came on to me. I thought you hated me. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong, if I’d insulted you at some time. And I never made a move because I was terrified, really terrified you would reject me and I’d never get to touch you again.
‘You avoided me, and then you were with Ed and I was so jealous, it burned me up. I couldn’t coach you any more because all I could think about was his hands on your body and that it should be mine. When I knew you were leaving, I realised it was my last chance – my only chance. I waited for you outside your block on purpose. I’d done it before but never caught you. I actually fell asleep by mistake, then woke and you were above me and all I could think about was getting you home, seducing you, and not letting you go.’
Sarah sat speechless and pale, her cooling coffee forgotten, hope rising in her chest.
‘I wasn’t drunk,’ he whispered, ‘I’d been drinking earlier but stopped. I just saw my opportunity to get through to you. I knew our chemistry would be so hot once I’d got my hands on you that you had to give me a chance. As soon as you helped me up and held me, I was so aroused I could hardly walk; that was why I was stumbling so much. I fell into the garden on purpose to force you to help me shower. When you started washing me, I lost it completely. I had intended a slow seduction, a gentle build-up, but as soon as you touched me and it was obvious you were turned on, it just happened.
‘When I woke the next morning, I thought you were in the shower, but it turned out to be one of Matt’s girls. I ran up to your halls and you had left. You had left me behind.’ He gulped. ‘I could smell your scent on me, on my sheets, and it drove me insane. I thought you wouldn’t have done what you did if you didn’t feel something for me. I’ve never felt that much attraction for someone and I was elated it was reciprocated. And you left me and I thought what had meant so much to me was meaningless to you.’
‘It wasn’t meaningless, not at all. I felt the same. I left because I thought you’d called me “Tess”,’ Sarah whispered, her voice breaking.
‘What?’
‘That morning, when I woke up in your bed, being held by you. I heard you say “Ess … essss”. I thought that was Tess, that you were thinking of her even when it was me you were with. I cursed myself for being so stupid as to fall into bed with you – just another notch on your bedpost.’
Tom sat incredulous. ‘I said “S”. That was my name for you, in my mind. A few months before the end of term, I got paralytic one night and Matt and James prised the fact I’d fallen for you out of me. I never called you by name, though; drunk as I was, I still realised it wouldn’t be fair to you if they knew exactly who I was gaga over. Matt in particular would’ve said something; you saw today how indiscreet he gets when he’s in his cups.’
He inhaled a choppy breath. ‘I thought what happened with Natasha was partly my fault, that something had happened which made me unable to love other women. And it came back to you: you were unfinished business. I employed that investigator and was astounded when he said he had found you in Harford, at one of the clubs which had approached me to play for them. When I arrived at Harford on that day and saw you standing in the bar, I couldn’t believe my eyes. So many times over the last eight years I’ve seen someone with your hair, thought I heard your laugh. I’ve raced down the street and accosted total strangers just because I thought that they were you. The only respite I had was on the rugby pitch, pummelling the opposition. Or in the boardroom, organising takeovers. I thought I would use you, finish it once and for all, but almost immediately I knew I was wrong. And I realised I couldn’t let you go and knew I would do anything, anything to keep you.’ He paused and swiped at his eyes, at the tears welling up. ‘And then I realised you didn’t feel the same way for me and I …’
Sarah reached over and smoothed his knotting fingers. She traced his nails, his scarred hands, the blue veins on his thic
k wrists. She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it gently. Only then did she realise salty tears were also trickling down her own face. With her other hand, she touched and lifted his chin up to meet his eyes. His widened when he saw her tears.
‘I’m sorry, you didn’t ask for this,’ he apologised.
‘Shush, I’m the one who should be sorry and my apology needs to come first. I shouldn’t have let the behaviour of others affect me; I believed the worst of you too readily. I held back, tried to create some distance while I expected you to drop me at any time. I didn’t treat you properly. I felt so much for you I was paranoid that I’d be another in your long line of conquests. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist you if you’d made a move – and I didn’t when you did, did I? At any time, I was putty in your hands.’
Sarah took a deep breath and continued. ‘All those years ago, I woke that morning and felt relief that it had finally happened. And, to a certain extent, happiness. The shock I felt when I thought you were calling for Tess devastated me and I had to leave before I lost control. She arrived and I thought you were – you know, still with her.’
Tom frowned, then gasped in realisation. ‘No, that was my brother. He and Tess met when he came to visit. They said they didn’t get together until years later but I always suspected …’
‘Of course.’ Everything was clicking together, the pieces finally fitting. Sarah continued, ‘There was no way I could face you or even be certain you would remember our time together. I felt like a scarlet woman. You make a very convincing drunk!’
They both laughed, then stilled.
Sarah whispered, ‘That would’ve killed me, you not remembering me. I didn’t want you to think I was easy or had made a pass. ‘
‘You were never easy. You are the most challenging woman I’ve ever met. It just makes me love you that much more.’
‘And l love you. I love your complete bloody-mindedness, how you’ll never give up or give way without a damn good reason. I love your intensity, that you’ll concentrate on something until you’ve got the best of it. I love when you’re soft and playful, and when you seduce me unmercifully. I can’t believe that I nearly destroyed it all.’
‘That’s all in the past. Will you marry me?’
‘Of course I will.’
Their fingers intertwined. Relief filled his eyes. He leant over and kissed her softly.
She smiled into his lips. ‘If your fellow players saw you in here, you’d never hear the end of it,’ she teased.
‘I really don’t care; I’ve waited years for this.’ He beamed at her, the tracks of his tears contrasting with his sparkling eyes and huge grin. ‘Now, let’s get out of here. Come home with me please, to make fantastic, multi-orgasmic monkey sex. I need to celebrate Scotland’s win properly!’
‘Do you know that’s the first time you’ve ever asked me properly to do anything? You usually just order!’
They both stood up, left their unfinished drinks, and ran out of the bar. Tom caught Sarah to him, bent her over his arm, and smooched her in the middle of the walkway. Wolf-whistles and cheering echoed around the walls.
‘We’re going straight home, aren’t we?’ asked Sarah, running a hand up his thigh and under the kilt, out of sight of the taxi driver.
‘We’re going to yours because it’s closest,’ gritted out Tom, his breath hiking as she stroked his aroused body.
‘Great.’ Sarah smiled and glanced at the watch on her free arm.
‘Pushed for time?’ asked Tom drily.
‘Well, you know this fantastic, multi-orgasmic monkey sex that you promised? Can we have it in front of the television? The Wales game kicks off in an hour and …’
Whatever else Sarah had been going to say was drowned out by Tom’s shouts of laughter and deep kisses.
The Harford Scarlet Series
by
Toria Lyons
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Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2014
ISBN 9781783755141
Copyright © Toria Lyons 2014
The right of Toria Lyons to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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