Hate to Love You (20 page)

Ryan was happy. He didn’t need me and he never had. How would he react to having his secure little life upturned by the arrival of a drug-addict mother? What did I have to offer him except a scarred past and inept, clueless “parenting”? Knowing me would make him feel insecure instead of loved.

I heard again my words to James, the self-righteous demands to see Ryan sounding like nails raking on glass. No wonder he had been so disappointed at my attitude. He had a perfectly happy son whose life would be upturned forever if I entered it.

When would I learn that it was too late? Too late to make different decisions and too late to rectify my mistakes. I steadied myself against the bed board. My compass was definitely wacko and I didn’t know what to do anymore.

Maybe I should throw it away.

I kissed Ryan’s soft cheek and took one long, last look at him. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

It was time to let him go. I would rather be locked in a room with Manuel than upset Ryan’s happiness with my selfishness.

James was waiting for me in the sitting room, immaculately dressed once more.

Delicious
, my mind sighed.

But there would be no repeat of our powerful, erotic exchange. It was over.

Forgotten.

Silently, we walked along the corridors back to the party. “I’m handing in my notice on Monday,” I said. “I never should have forced myself on you and made your working environment uncomfortable.”

James stopped, forcing me to do the same. “I don’t want you to quit.”

My mouth hung open and he smiled faintly.

“I meant what I said to Caroline. You’re the best secretary we’ve ever had, even if you are prone to criminal behaviour.”

I gulped back a gushing response. “I’ll stay until the end of my probation because I need a good reference, not to mention the money,” I added. “But you can relax, I won’t be making any more demands about Ryan.”

“You won’t need to.”

“I won’t?”

“My mother showed me your hair follicle test and after careful consideration I have decided to grant your request to visit with Ryan,” he said. “I was going to tell you when I got back from Madrid on Wednesday. We can talk about it over dinner if you like.”

I could see Ryan and James was inviting me to dinner?

Duh
, my mind said
.
Proximity makes the Paisley grow stupider
,
remember?
That’s what the man said.
Now make an excuse because there is no way you can go out with him.

But I couldn’t obey. I was thrown by James’s decision and by his invitation. I felt touched—no, I felt
caressed
by his trust. As if he’d reached into the sore, twisted thing in my chest and stroked it back into life. I was filled with wonder, gratitude, so much that my guilt over Ryan’s real paternity was momentarily forgotten.

“But I’ve been so selfish, only thinking about what I wanted and not considering Ryan’s best interests,” I said, ashamed of my impulsive plans and petty jealousy. “I don’t want to cause him any pain.”

“Then don’t,” he said soberly.

I nodded, wanting to say something eloquent that would communicate how much his trust meant to me. My throat was too dry, my eyes too wet to communicate. I took James’s hand and brought it to my mouth, turning it over to press my lips into his palm and kiss it. Medieval, I know, but I think he understood.

One of the silver servers exited the ballroom and saw us, and I dropped James’s hand as if it were a viper.

“No fraternising with the serving wenches,” I said jokingly.

James rubbed his thumb over where I had kissed him. Oh, no, had I slobbered on him?

He gestured at the ballroom. “Join us.”

Okay, this was awkward. James’s good manners dictated he invite me to the party because I was Ryan’s mother. But I had a job to do and besides, my black dress and pageboy wig made me look more Manson than Monroe. Hardly appropriate for a lavish sixtieth.

“Cinderella goes to the ball? Not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because Cinderella could have avoided a lot of trouble if she’d stayed at home and read a book.”

“But then the prince wouldn’t have had so much fun playing with all those feet.”

The teasing glint in his eyes reached inside me and pulled out a laugh. “Caroline’s in there,” I said, sobering. “I haven’t seen her in seven years and I’d rather avoid ‘Clash at the Bash.’”

The relaxed vibe between us disappeared and James looked chagrined, nodding at me curtly before he rejoined his guests. That didn’t stop me from walking on air back to the kitchen. Guilt tried to ground my feet but I kept it at bay. I obeyed my better judgement though, and didn’t return to the ballroom, helping out in the kitchen instead. When the party finished I left Matham Manor on a cloud, determined to leave the past behind and look to the future.

My past didn’t receive the memo.

Chapter Seventeen

No Fairytale Endings

It was Wednesday afternoon and Velma was sorting out a technical glitch in my computer while I was at James’s desktop, growing alarmed over a client bank account I was having problems with. Five thousand pounds was missing and I couldn’t find it, much as I double checked each transaction, tracing every fiduciary deposit I’d made the previous week.

What the hell had happened? When I phoned the bank they said the money had been transferred with my password. I was stumped, raking my mind and wondering if I was losing the plot. If I didn’t find it, I would tell Greg and see if he could help me. He had the password also. Maybe he’d received instructions from the client I hadn’t known about. No way would I tell James.

Call me proud but I didn’t want him to think I was incompetent after his compliments at the weekend. I logged out of the account and gazed at James’s screen. It was neat, just like his desk. There were a few folders saved at the top right corner; client names mostly, and one called Puerto Escondido.

Hidden Port.

Was James a closet pirate? I was intrigued but I had learned my lesson about being nosy. Not that I would open James’s files, mind. Just saying. Still, why did he have a file like that on his desktop?

I checked the time and went to stand over Velma’s shoulder, not wanting James to come back from Madrid and think I was snooping. I was more nervous than the first day of work, wondering if he remembered his dinner invitation.

James came in a few minutes later, phone stuck to his ear.

“All done,” Velma said brightly, batting her eyelashes at James.

Why didn’t she sway her hips back to reception? Greg was in a meeting and it was the ideal time to talk to James alone.

As soon as Velma left, James ran his gaze over me, pausing briefly on my breasts. In spite of my best efforts heat crept into my face. I’d worn a clingy violet top and a flirty, hip-hugging skirt. There was cleavage on show but that’s what push-up bras are for, right? Besides, if we were going out for dinner I could hardly accompany James to a swanky restaurant looking like a middle-aged housewife.

James’s suit was as sleek and well-tailored as usual but I thought he looked particularly handsome. He was also wearing different cologne, something with a hint of bergamot, and I beat back the thought he’d chosen it for me. Well, if he wanted to turn me on he was succeeding.

James’s briefcase almost knocked over the tea mug I’d left on his desk and I got up to retrieve it. There was something predatory in his shoulders as he watched me advance. My Sluts R Us button responded and I swayed my hips—much better than Velma had—as I approached. My mind reminded me of my guilt, giving me a good reason not to flirt, but my body didn’t listen.

James picked up the mug and sat back, a challenge in his eyes. My pulse rocketed out of control. Images of unzipping his trousers and straddling his hips, of sinking down on him as he rose and hardened inside me stopped me in the middle of the room. He saw what I was thinking and became still in that way he has of concentrating fully on my every move.

Advance or retreat?

A brisk knock on the office door took the decision away.

“Hello, Sparkles.”

It was a voice I’d hoped never to hear again, a nickname that froze me to the spot. I wasn’t ready for this! Not now and not ever. Blood that had been rushing through my body only a few seconds ago drained away, leaving only a wispy, fragile shell behind. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath and turned around slowly.

Ten years had passed since I’d last seen Manuel, but it could have been ten minutes for all that time had lessened the impact. He looked much the same, even though he was in his fifties. Medium height with thick brown hair and a long nose, still handsome and athletic.

And deadly.

Fear and rage paralysed me. He took my fear and swallowed it whole, returning it with not a single remorseful word. What I read was regret, but not for what he had done to me. It was regret he hadn’t been able to screw me like he’d wanted.

Manuel dropped his eyes down my body. Up again. He looked at me like he used to, with hunger and lust. I blinked, shame and helplessness overtaking my rage, just as it had as a young girl. He smiled at my reaction, triumph in his eyes. He had defeated me in the length of time it took me to breathe in and out.

“How about that kiss, Sparkles.”

“Manuel,” I said hoarsely.

James pushed his chair out and I was vaguely aware of movement behind me. My uncle didn’t stop his advance, hand outstretched.

Oh God, he was going to
touch
me!

My mind urged me to
do
something, jump away or hurl abuse. Anything to avoid the feel of his skin on mine. I took a step backward and smacked into a solid chest. James put his hands on my arms and pulled me into him, keeping me from fragmenting into tiny pieces. I wanted to shout but it was like one of those nightmares where you think you’re screaming and wake up, mouth open and not a sound coming out.

“Leave me alone,” I whispered.

Manuel smiled. “Can’t I visit my favourite niece? Caroline told me where you work.”

A low, feral sound came from James’s chest. “Not when you’re a sick bastard who should be in prison.”

James didn’t give Manuel a chance to respond. He grabbed his arm and dragged his struggling body towards the door.

“Your parents are dead, Paisley!” Manuel shouted over James’s shoulder.

James thrust him against the wall and Manuel straightened his collar. He rolled his shoulders angrily. “They were in a car accident on the way back from church. The funeral is on Saturday at St Albert’s.”

I stumbled into James’s desk. Manuel moved towards me but James blocked him.

“I’ll drive you to Trenmore,” Manuel said. “Isabel is already there.”

“You’re not taking Paisley anywhere,” James said. “Don’t visit her, talk to her or look at her again or you’ll deal with me. After that the only people you ever fuck will be your fellow inmates.”

My numb brain registered that James was swearing and thought it odd, but what he did next was even more out of character. Manuel made a move in my direction and James punched his jaw. The cracking sound was like popcorn. He didn’t let Manuel recover, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him out of the office. Later, Velma told me James threw Manuel into the lift, but she’s prone to exaggeration when she’s gossiping.

When James came back his features were suffused with barely controlled violence. He phoned security, gave them Manuel’s name and description and instructed them to ensure he exited the building and wasn’t allowed back.

I trembled, thinking I should be reacting to Manuel’s news somehow. My parents were dead. Dust to dust and ashes to ashes, yet I couldn’t feel a thing.

And Manuel knew where to find me.

I retreated to the glass wall. My body was encased by fear and my mind by self-loathing. Why hadn’t I done something? Shown Manuel he couldn’t affect me anymore? Instead of confronting him as a grown woman I’d allowed James to fight my battle for me. I was the same pathetic weakling Manuel remembered.

James came to a stop next to me, his body tense. Could it be that he cared about me even a little bit? That beyond the lust I’d seen in his eyes at Matham Manor there was... A little thrill raced to the tips of my toes, only to be stifled by the thought that what James felt for me was pity. He knew about my past with Manuel and had seen my inability to deal with his visit.

The afternoon was sunny but it didn’t matter. I looked at the City of London and all I saw were dark streets and hidden alleyways. Somewhere out there was a man who still had the power to hurt me.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” James said.

“It’s okay. We hated each other.”

James turned his head but I resolutely didn’t look at him. His voice was gentle. “Manuel won’t come back.”

I couldn’t answer. Maybe this was what it felt like to be an iceberg—tiny shards of crystallised terror and shame, sculpted into a Paisley-shaped figure.

“Please don’t put his visit in my evaluation report,” I said dully. “I don’t think ‘the candidate receives visits from psychopaths, inciting boss to violence’ is a good—”

James swore under his breath and reached for me.

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, and jumped away. “Nobody fucking touches me unless I say so!”

His hand froze in midair.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” I said brokenly.

I rubbed my arms frantically, trying to stop trembling so hard.

“He’ll never harm you again,” James said, with quiet assurance. “I promise you that.”

His declaration was made in friendship, with the same kindness he’d shown a messed-up eighteen-year-old girl. And just like back then there was no pity in his eyes. He radiated compassion. Tenderness. It affected me more than his anger had, filling me with an inner warmth that was far stronger than the physical attraction I’d felt only minutes before.

“Ryan has a game out of town on Saturday,” James said. “I’ll ask one of the other parents to take him so I can—”

“No,” I said, appalled he felt obligated to take me to the funeral.

“John and María were Ryan’s grandparents, and my in-laws for a brief period,” he said quietly.

Right, I’d forgotten. “Did they ever meet Ryan?”

James sighed. “They weren’t interested, as many times as I offered to visit with him.”

“They wouldn’t be,” I said bitterly. “I wonder if I should even bother to go to the funeral.”

“I’ll take you.”

No
,
no and no!
I hadn’t deserved his kindness at eighteen and I didn’t deserve it now. I wanted it—oh, how I craved it, but I couldn’t accept it.

“Tarzan will take me,” I said, almost tripping over my feet in my haste to put distance between us.

“The dancing minister?”

I nodded.

“A man for every occasion.”

I stared at him blankly.

“Go home, Paisley,” James said, sounding like my boss again. “Take as much time off as you need.”

I felt his steady gaze on my back all the way out the door.

* * *

Tarzan and I squeezed into the middle of a pew at the back of Saint Albert’s Catholic Church. The funeral service was scheduled to start in twenty minutes, but with a decrepit-looking Father Martin puttering around the altar I had the feeling it would be delayed. He was retired, but had insisted on officiating.

Most of the Spanish community of Trenmore was in the crowded church. Caroline sat at the front next to a dark-haired man I presumed was her husband, her head covered by a black mantilla
.
She hadn’t seen me come in and I wanted to keep it that way.

My mobile pinged and I read the text from Marcia and smiled. If she were here she’d be making me feel better by slagging off my relatives, but she had to work and there was Fleur Anise to consider.

Tarzan raised his eyebrows.

“Chocolate cupcakes and
Psycho
await us tomorrow afternoon.”

He pulled a face. “A slasher film after laying your parents to rest?”

I shrugged. “When the going gets tough, the tough watch slice and dice. It helps to ease the tension.”

“I can suggest other films to do that.”

I lowered my voice. “
Pussy Party at the Raunchy Reverend Retreat?
”

Tarzan’s fair skin turned pink. “You’re never going to let me forget that phase, are you?”

“Just keeping it real, Reverend, but I won’t tell Marcia.” I leaned in to whisper in his ear. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“You’ve got too many of those already.” He gave me the all-seeing minister look that never fails to make me squirm. “You have to tell James the truth about Ryan if you want any kind of meaningful friendship with him.”

“Good thing I only want sex.”

My mind didn’t even bother to zap me for the lie. It didn’t need to. James had been in my thoughts almost every single second since Wednesday, and I wasn’t trying to deny the attraction anymore. I was fluent in man-speak and the signals he’d sent out before Manuel’s visit were red hot and very male.

But it felt as if there could be more to it than physical desire.

I quieted my clamouring thoughts by telling myself I was mistaken, tripping on the weird numbness from my parents’ deaths. James couldn’t have any romantic feelings for me. I was hardly “his sort,” if you know what I mean. Besides, he already had a lover, a girlfriend or an f-u-c-k buddy in the form of Vanessa. Regardless of the smouldering looks he sent my way, it was a friendly, parent-to-parent relationship James wanted.

My mobile rang, and I recognised his private number. A few people turned around, giving me irritated looks when I didn’t answer. Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded” was hardly appropriate for a church but I stared at my phone and let it ring. James had phoned a few times since Wednesday but I’d felt too awkward to speak to him.

I tapped the screen and waited.

“Hi,” he said.

How can one tiny word block the blood flow to your brain and twist your tongue into schoolgirl incoherence? I made a garbled sound and shot to my feet. James said something but I didn’t catch it. He seemed to be in an outdoor space with plenty of noise. I squeezed past the mourners in my pew and headed outside while he told me Ryan’s rugby game had just finished.

“Ryan’s team won but he’s upset because he was substituted. I’ll have to cheer him up later,” James said. “It’s your turn next time.”

“You mean that?” I said hesitantly. “I can still see him?”

You’re not supposed to intuit emotions via satellite but hey, my screwy mind does things other people’s don’t. I wasn’t surprised I could feel James’s displeasure without him saying a word. I should have known better than to think he’d change his mind because of Manuel’s visit.

I mumbled an apology.

“Has he approached you?”

I shuddered. “No, and I don’t think he will. Tarzan’s with me. We’re spending the night in Brighton.”

Silence, and then I heard him tell Ryan to strap himself into his booster seat. I smiled, picturing a child’s car seat in the back of a Porsche or a Lamborghini.