Nick grabbed her wrists and brought her hands to his lips.
“No! They just know the rubbish the papers printed. It was a soap opera to them, nothing real. But it’s my life and your life, and I want it to be our life. So I want to kiss you in daylight. I want to walk with you in a park. I want to take you out for dinner and not care who sees us. Fuck the lot of them! It’s no one else’s business. I’m not ashamed of us, are you?”
Anna smiled softly.
“For a man of few words, you sure do know how to say all the right things.”
She pulled away from him and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains and letting the cool, grey, London sun paint the walls with a faint glow.
Then she turned to face him.
“I don’t care who’s watching. Kiss me!”
Laughing, defiant, tumbling onto the sheets, they kissed and held each other, bare skin sliding together as Anna’s flesh turned rosy and a flush coloured Nick’s tanned cheeks.
He undressed her slowly, worshipping her body, exploring the flesh he’d been without too long, relishing every moan and sigh, the silk of her skin under his rough fingers.
Then he paused, his fingers tangling in the delicate necklace, the gold chain with a rugby ball pendant.
“You’re still wearing it?”
“Yes. I’ve never taken it off.”
His arms trembled as the muscles bunched when he braced himself over her, and his eyes closed when he pressed inside her. Anna sighed and moaned, arching her back to meet him, wrapping her long legs around him, her nails scoring thin red lines down his back and buttocks.
He groaned as he felt his balls tighten and it was too soon, but Anna wasn’t holding back either. She bit his ear and licked his throat, then swore as he pressed her into the mattress with his hips, kissed her breasts as they bounced with his thrusts, his head buried in her neck.
God, she’d missed this, his urgency, this intimacy, this reckless abandon of self to become them, to become more than she and him. A union, a joining, a coming together in heat and lust and need. And love. With him there was always love.
Anna gasped, flying and falling as Nick drove inside her harder and deeper, finishing with a shudder, a profanity, and a long moan of pleasure as he finally let himself go.
Breathless and gasping, they lay in a sweaty tangle, pale sunlight dancing across flushed and heated skin.
Nick held her hand and kissed the knuckles gently.
“I’m better with you here. You make it all worthwhile.”
Anna slept, falling into a wonderful, dream-filled sleep, relief and exhaustion pulling her under.
As Anna slept, Nick watched her, his eyes absorbing every curve, every angle, every breath in her body.
It still felt dreamlike that she was here, that she’d come back. The only way he knew it was real was because happiness soared in his heart. He felt whole, he felt complete. But it felt fragile, as if it could break again at any moment, as if what they had could still be taken away from them.
Nick thought about what they’d already been through: his injury, his court case, her arrest, her father’s death, losing the job she loved. Anna had lost so much already and he’d regained everything, even her.
But what if it all went away again? It could, easily. If he got injured, something that put him out of the game for good, would they go on as a couple? Could they?
How could they make a living? What would they do? Where would they live?
But as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, his fears fell away.
They’d find their path. The world had taught them some harsh lessons, but they’d survived.
Nick smiled grimly to himself, his expression defiant.
She’d made him stronger, now he would be strong for her.
“Have you got a dress in your suitcase?”
Anna raised her eyebrows at Nick’s odd question.
“I have a few, but I don’t think they’re your size.”
Before she knew what was happening, she was on her back with Nick pinning her to the bed and tickling the hell out of her.
She resisted as long as she could but had to give in.
“Uncle!” she yelled, red faced, tears running down her cheeks.
“Uncle who?” asked Nick, pausing in his tickling.
“It means I give in!” Anna gasped.
Nick flopped down beside her.
“Oh, right. That’s okay then.”
When she’d gotten her breath back, she turned on her side to look at him.
“Why were you asking about a dress?”
Nick scratched his beard as his forehead wrinkled.
“I’ve got this fundraiser thing to go to tonight. I want you to come with me.”
Anna was cautious. She wanted to say yes, but maybe it was too soon. What was the protocol for announcing to the world that they were together when they’d spent so long forced to stay apart?
She pursed her lips. One way to find out, and now seemed as good a time as any.
“Who’s it for?”
“A children’s charity,” he answered, then met her eyes. “It’s something the Phoenixes do every year. Jason says it should be fun.”
“Will Sim Andrews be there?”
Nick nodded.
“Maybe it’s not a good idea that I go.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Nick argued, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his hand.
Anna took a deep breath.
“Okay, but we don’t blindside him again. We should tell him first.”
“Fine by me.”
Nick looked handsome in his tux, but Anna didn’t feel quite as pulled together as she’d liked to have been, bearing in mind she’d only had a few hours’ notice and this was their first public appearance together. But after the initial flurry of interest as they’d arrived on the red carpet, it had been reassuringly low key.
Her simple silk sheath dress needed to be ironed quickly but it draped elegantly as she walked. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could do about the bags under her eyes, despite an industrial application of concealer.
Nick had phoned Sim Andrews to break the news. It had been a short but positive conversation. Since the police weren’t charging Anna, Sim’s views towards her had thawed somewhat, and the Phoenixes’ Head Coach made it a point to come over and kiss her on the cheek. He told her how proud he was that two of his team were playing for England, and that Fetuao was also playing for his national side. Nothing important was said, but the fact that he was speaking to her at all gave her a warm glow. And when he offered his condolences for the loss of her father, it was heartfelt.
After an hour, Nick had been called away for the charity’s Press photographs and Anna found herself by the buffet table.
“Boring, isn’t it?” smiled the woman standing next to her.
“Trying to decide whether or not to chance the shrimp?”
The woman laughed.
“Ah, that’s definitely not boring, that’s risky. Who knows how long it’s been sitting here under the hot lights. My advice: avoid!”
Anna smiled. “Thank you for the tip!”
The woman held out her hand.
“I’m Isabel Buxton. I’m a senior producer on ‘Loose Women’.”
The way she said it, Anna suspected that she ought to know what that was.
Isabel raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that. I haven’t been in the UK very long,” she hedged.
Isabel chuckled but didn’t seem offended.
“I’ll let you off then. It’s a TV panel show, by women, for women, about women. We have four female presenters, and we discuss everything from current affairs and daily politics, women’s issues, viewers’ concerns, as well as some celebrity gossip. We’re on during the week at lunch time and we’ve been going since 1999. We’re just coming up to 2,500 shows,” she said proudly.
Anna was on he
r guard.
“I know, I know,” Isabel sighed, correctly reading her expression. “You’ve been the subject of a media witch hunt and you probably don’t want anything to do with journalists.”
Anna gripped her glass of warm champagne more tightly.
“No ‘probably’ about it.”
Isabel nodded.
“Fair enough. But I’m assuming that coming here with Nick tonight was a statement of sorts?”
It hadn’t been planned, but it definitely seemed to be working out that way. She didn’t say anything out loud. Now she knew who Isabel worked for, she was even more cautious.
“But wouldn’t you like a chance to put your side of the story? It would be on live TV, so no editors. You could tell your story your way.”
Isabel held out a rectangle of cardboard.
“This is my business card. We’re doing a show on social media manipulation in a few weeks. I think you’d make a great guest.”
She pressed the card into Anna’s hand.
“You’ve been a victim of the media—wouldn’t you like the chance to steer that ship for a change? At least think about it . . . and stay away from the shrimp.”
“How did you know I’d be here tonight?”
“I didn’t,” Isabel said with a wink. “I’m just a shameless opportunist. But it’s one way not to be a victim anymore.”
Anna had to admire Isabel’s chutzpah as she watched her walk away. Then she felt Nick’s warm hands slide around her waist as he nuzzled her neck, the soft skin beneath her earlobe. It seemed to be one of his favourite places.
“Who was that?”
“Friend or foe . . . I’m not sure. She’s a TV producer. She wants me to go on a show named ‘Loose Women’ and talk about my side of the story, as she calls it.”
“My mum watches that,” Nick said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, she said there’s some good stuff on there.”
Anna was thoughtful.
“What are you going to tell your parents . . . about us?”
Nick frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, won’t they be worried now that I’m back?”
Nick grinned at her.
“Nah. Mum told me that once I’d stopped arseing about, you’d come home. Dad does what Mum tells him. They like you Anna. They’ll be happy for us. Don’t worry about it.”
“Well . . . okay. And Trisha?”
He gazed at her seriously.
“She told me to do the interview that was on last night. She said I was trying to be too clever by quoting your mantra and I should do something more obvious.”
“No, I was already on my way, but I really want to watch that interview.”
“Make sure you tell her that for me,” he grinned. “She’s a know-all pain in my arse. She’ll hate it that she was wrong.”
“You want me to tell her that, too?”
“Bloody hell! Not if you want me to live. But since you brought it up, what did you tell your mum when you came back?”
Anna smiled and squeezed Nick’s waist.
“It was more her telling me. She told me to hurry back to my ‘young man’ and stop wasting time.”
“I like the sound of your mum.”
“Yes, she’d really like you, too. I’m sorry that I didn’t introduce you at Dad’s funeral . . .”
“It was a tough time.”
“It was. But I never thanked you for coming. It meant a lot to me.”
Gently, he held her fingers in his hand and looked down.
“You said you wished you’d never met me. It sounded like you meant it.”
Anna glanced away, her lips trembling.
“It was a shitty thing to say and you didn’t deserve that. I’m really sorry. I blamed myself for Dad’s death, the strain I’d put him under. It was a cruel thing to say to you. I honestly didn’t mean it.”
Nick’s eyes widened in understanding.
“You think the stress about us . . . you think that . . . that did it?”
She hesitated.
“Maybe, yes; maybe, no. No, not really. It didn’t help. But he’d been on pills for high blood pressure for years, but he wouldn’t do anything about improving his diet. Mom was always nagging him, but he wouldn’t listen. Galloping Gary Scott—no one could stop him when he wanted something.” She sighed. “I wish you could have met him.”
“Me, too.”
There was a pause as the all too frequent tears formed in Anna’s eyes and Nick squeezed her hand again.
“Mom says she’ll come visit soon.”
“Yeah? That would be brilliant. Maybe she could come for one of my matches.” He gave her a side-long glance. “I’ve been picked to play for England against South Africa next month.”
Anna’s expression brightened immediately.
“Oh my God! That’s amazing!”
He kissed her softly.
“Nah. It’s more amazing that you came home.”
IT WAS A bad idea. Terrible idea. What on earth was she thinking?
Anna gripped her hands together to stop them shaking. Brendan nudged her in the ribs.
“You’re acting like a crack addict waiting for a fix. And stop sweating! You’re ruining your makeup!”
Anna had thought about Isabel’s offer for several days and in the end decided to do it. She’d go on ‘Loose Women’ and give her side of the story. It had been Isabel’s comment about not being a victim that had gotten to her. Maybe it was time to take charge. She couldn’t bring herself to approach any of the newspapers who’d had a hand in vilifying her, so this TV chat show seemed the best way to go.
Either that, or she was talking herself into an epic fail.
Nick had been reluctant for Anna to put herself back in the spotlight, but understood that she needed to do something. After they’d talked it through, he’d finally agreed that it was something she needed to do and he’d given his grudging approval. Not that she needed it, but it was nice to have it.
Nick was at an away-game and hadn’t been able to come with her to the TV studio, so he’d suggested that Brendan would be a good person to take for support.
Anna was rethinking that as he fussed around her, tugging her neckline lower as Anna tugged it up again.
At least she’d felt somewhat reassured when Isabel welcomed her warmly and introduced her to the lead anchor, a friendly woman in her late fifties named Ruth, who seemed down to earth and straight forward. The other presenters had been pleasant, too, and Anna had the unusual sense of being with women who were supportive, rather than attacking her. It felt good.
The studio audience had been warmed up, the titles played, and Ruth went into her opening spiel.
“We’re talking today about social media. We’ve all got Facebook accounts, Twitter accounts, Instagram, Snapchat, Whatsapp—we all know how quickly information can get out there. But what happens when you’re the focus of all that attention? And what if it’s largely negative? What if it hurts you? What then? Today, our guest is a woman who knows all too well what negative media intrusion can do. She was accused of lying under oath about being in a relationship with rugby ace Nick Renshaw, an allegation of perjury that never reached court due to lack of evidence. Please welcome Dr. Anna Scott.”
Anna walked on with a nervous smile and sat in the middle of the panel of four women, facing towards the audience as they applauded politely.
Ruth:
Hello, Anna. Thank you for coming.
Anna:
Thank you for inviting me.
Ruth:
Perhaps you could give us an account of what happened to you, Anna?
Anna:
I was crucified by the Press for something I didn’t do. I was arrested and spent the night in a cell. I was never told the name of my accuser. The police found no evidence that I lied; no evidence of any wrong-doing because there was nothing to find. But I lost my job, my home, everything.
Ruth:
Linda:
But you were in a relationship with Nick Renshaw. You still are?
Anna:
Yes, we’re together now. We weren’t at the time in question. I came to the UK in the summer of 2014. I’m a qualified medical doctor and chose to specialise in sports psychology. My late father was friends with Steve Jewell, the then head coach at Manchester Minotaurs rugby team. Steve had two new players, one coming back from long-term injury, and he wanted me to work with them.
Colleen:
And the injured player was Nick Renshaw?
Anna:
Yes. I worked with him for several months, along with a number of other rugby players, soccer players and local athletes. Then I had the chance to move to London to work with teams down here. I decided to open a second clinic. While I was doing that, Nick had some problems of his own.
Nadia:
He beat up his fiancée when he caught her cheating on him.
Anna:
He admitted to causing damage to her car and to his former friend’s home where he saw them together, intimately involved, should I say. She was injured accidentally, even the judge said so at the time. But Nick pleaded guilty and was fined and did community service.
Linda:
You spoke up for him at the court case.
Anna:
His lawyer asked me if I’d appear as a character witness. I agreed.
Ruth:
And you weren’t in a relationship with Nick at this time.
Anna:
No.
Ruth:
When did this professional relationship become something more?
Anna:
In stages. He wrote to thank me for my support at his court case. I emailed back. It became an online friendship. But then my work took me to London, as I said, and we didn’t stay in touch. I met him again when he came to play for the Finchley Phoenixes.
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