A Winter's Wish, page 25
Sam’s eyes grew wide. ‘Seriously?’
He thought back to those years and the battles between them. ‘She’d give me chores to do when I answered back. She grounded me if I was late home. She even withheld my pocket money if she caught me cursing.’ He shook his head, smiling despite the difficulties. ‘But the one thing she never did was stop me playing football.’
‘You played football?’
He went over to the chest of drawers and pulled open the top drawer. His medals were still there, along with his certificates and the ticket stubs from the games she’d taken him to. His twice-yearly treat, a trip to see West Ham at Upton Park.
‘I was pretty decent when I was younger, I played for the county and the London Football Academy. I had training three nights a week, plus games on Saturdays. She took me to every single session. She said I needed a physical outlet for my anger and a reward for my good behaviour.’
‘So her methods worked?’
‘Only after she forced me to attend boxing classes.’
Sam laughed. ‘I can’t imagine you boxing.’
‘I was terrible at it. I hated being hit, and I never wanted to punch my opponent. Two fundamental flaws. I promised Peggy I’d behave better if she let me quit.’
‘And did she?’
He nodded. ‘I realised I was never going to beat Peggy. She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before.’ He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s also when I realised she was never going to give up on me either, no matter what I did.’
Sam’s expression softened. ‘The definition of unconditional love.’
He rubbed his chest. ‘It was the turning point. I stopped fighting her and started letting her… I don’t know… love me, I guess.’
Sam blinked away a tear. ‘What an amazing woman.’
‘Of course, it took me years to realise how lucky I was. Or that I’d become as attached to her as she was to me.’
Sam looked quizzical. ‘Is that why you’re so resistant to get close to your birth mother? It feels like a betrayal to Peggy?’
He was about to deny it when it struck him that that was exactly how he felt.
Sam edged closer to him on the bed, taking his hand. ‘It would be entirely understandable, it’s taken you years to get over being taken into care and learning how to be part of a family again. Why would you want to repeat that process again? It was hard enough the first time around.’
His throat tightened. It always did when he thought about his birth mother. Sam was right, even the idea of getting to know Kirsty again was exhausting. All that angst and miscommunications, having to talk about his feelings and be emotionally vulnerable. The idea turned him cold. But the thought of spending the rest of his life tied up in knots didn’t thrill him either. He was damned either way.
Sam was looking at him. Her pupils had dilated in the dim lamplight and her eyes looked huge. ‘You know, for someone who’s been through so much, you’re incredibly insightful and well-adjusted.’
‘Are you kidding me? I’m a mess.’
‘No, you’re not.’ She touched his cheek. ‘You’re bruised and confused, but not a mess.’
He expected her to drop her hand, but she didn’t.
She held his gaze, her expression endearing and serious. Her palm grew warm, creating a buzz in his blood. ‘Look how you helped me tonight. I couldn’t think clearly, but you took control and got me out of a dire situation.’
Guilt heated his face. She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew his motivation.
‘You’re a good man, Jamie Lawson.’ No, he wasn’t. ‘I was an idiot not to see it sooner.’ Leaning closer, she brushed her lips against his.
Oh, hell. He should pull away. It wasn’t right. He was duping her.
By then she kissed him again and his body refused to move. He was drugged by her touch… her smell… her honesty.
But he wasn’t being honest with her, was he?
He should definitely pull away. Her judgement was clouded by adrenaline and the drama of earlier. She wasn’t thinking straight.
She kissed him again, her touch soft and teasing.
And now he wasn’t thinking straight.
Logic told him to put a stop to things before they escalated.
It was one thing to pretend to be a friend while secretly digging for information on her brother. It was another thing entirely for that ‘friendship’ to become intimate. That would be unforgivable. It would be a betrayal of her trust and kindness, after all she’d done for him.
A good man wouldn’t take advantage of a loaded situation like this.
He pulled away. ‘Sorry, but we can’t.’
The sudden movement caused her to fall into his chest. She looked crestfallen.
‘Not in Peggy’s home,’ he added, trying to soften the rejection. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’ It was a feeble excuse, but it was all he could come up with.
She scrambled back up the bed. ‘Of course. What was I thinking?’ She looked embarrassed.
‘Not that I don’t want to,’ he said, because he did. ‘But not like this. Not until we can do this properly.’
And by properly, he meant… not until she knew the truth about why he was a part of her life. Not until the story about Max was out in the world and he could confess to being an undercover journalist. And not until he could explain that falling for her was not part of the deception, and that his feelings for her were very, very real.
He got off the bed, defying every nerve ending in his body that desperately wanted him to stay. ‘Hope you sleep okay. See you in the morning.’
Her hand touched her neck, self-consciously. ‘Thanks again for everything.’
‘No need to thank me.’ Because he’d done nothing heroic. Far from it. ‘I did it because I care about you.’ At least that part was true.
He closed the bedroom door before his resolve cracked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam woke with a jolt, confused and unsure about where she was. Her surroundings were strange and unfamiliar. A grey light seeped through the white voile curtains casting the room in shadows, reminding her she was in Jamie’s old childhood bedroom.
Relieved, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, her face hot from the recollection of a dream in which she’d been frolicking in her parents’ swimming pool with Jamie. Only it wasn’t just a dream, was it?
Flopping against the pillows, she tried to rid her mind of the images imprinted on her brain. She wasn’t accustomed to having erotic dreams. But then, it’d been a long time since she’d been interested in anyone. Her dormant senses had been reignited.
Pushing back the duvet, she swivelled to a seated position, letting her toes enjoy the sensation of the deep-pile rug beneath.
She hadn’t meant to kiss Jamie. But then, she hadn’t meant to the time before either. One minute she was in control of her actions, thinking coherently and behaving rationally, and the next she was throwing herself at him.
But it wasn’t like he hadn’t reciprocated. A man didn’t moan, pull you closer, and tug on your hair to deepen the kiss if he wasn’t a willing participant… right?
As mortified as she’d felt when he’d abruptly ended their kiss, he was right to put the brakes on. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for them to spent the night together. Not at Peggy’s: it would have been disrespectful.
Fanning her face, she pushed herself up from the bed. She needed a cold shower.
A pile of towels were neatly folded on the chest of drawers where she spotted a prom photo poking out from the drawer. Even aged eighteen Jamie had looked good in a tux. His build was slimmer, his face clean-shaven and his red-brown hair accentuated the glint in his eyes. She imagined he hadn’t been short of female attention.
But his companion in the photo wasn’t a teenage cutie in a glitzy prom dress. It was Peggy. She was beaming into the camera looking pristine in a long gold dress, a white corsage attached to her wrist. Jamie had taken Peggy to his prom?
Fighting the lump in her throat, she carefully replaced the photo and shut the drawer.
Picking up the towels, she headed for the bathroom. A lanky teenage boy had just exited. He nodded a greeting and then scuttled into his bedroom, embarrassed at having been caught in his underwear.
She could hear music playing behind another door. She wondered how many kids Peggy had staying with her at the moment.
Once showered and dressed, she headed downstairs.
A series of framed photos lined the staircase, each one draped in shiny gold tinsel and flashing with Christmas lights. So many kids. Mainly teenagers, all looking happy and well cared for. Peggy had obviously been fostering for most of her life. The world needed more Peggys.
As she descended the staircase she could hear voices coming from the kitchen. Faint at first, but then clearer as the discussion became more agitated. Were Jamie and Peggy arguing?
Sam hesitated, torn between heading back upstairs or entering the kitchen and dispelling the disagreement. But then she heard her name. Was she the cause of the argument? Perhaps Peggy had been unhappy about being ambushed last night?
Then she realised her staying the night wasn’t the issue.
‘When are you going to tell her?’ Peggy’s tone was angry. ‘She deserves to know the truth. I did not raise you to be deceitful, boy.’
‘Soon,’ Jamie replied, sounding flustered. ‘When the time’s right.’
‘And when will that be?’ Peggy demanded.
Sam couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Trepidation began to crawl up her arms, making her skin itch. Jamie had been deceitful?
‘Once this is all over,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell her everything.’
Sam had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn’t sound good.
‘So the poor girl gets to find out by reading it in the newspaper?’ Peggy’s voice rose another notch. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘I’ll tell her before then. Today. As soon as I’ve submitted the story.’
Story? Sam pushed opened the kitchen door. ‘What story?’
Two sets of eyes turned to look at her. Peggy and Jamie were standing either side of the kitchen table, their hands resting on top as they glared at each other.
On seeing her, they immediately straightened. The colour drained from Jamie’s face. ‘Morning.’ His eyes didn’t meet hers. ‘What can I get you for breakfast?’
Did he think she’d be that easily deterred?
‘What story?’ she repeated, feeling slightly sick. Her hands had started to shake.
A teenage lad appeared in the kitchen.
Peggy went over and ushered him out of the room. ‘Not now, Ash. Jamie and Sam need a moment.’
‘But I’m hungry,’ the kid complained as he was dragged out.
Sam waited until the door shut behind them. ‘What story, Jamie?’
‘I can explain,’ he said, looking anywhere but at her. He was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, his hair mussed from sleep.
She stood her ground. ‘I’m waiting.’
He mumbled an expletive and rubbed his forehead. ‘I work for the South London Herald.’
Her throat suddenly felt dry. ‘You’re a journalist?’ He nodded. He’d kept that piece of information quiet and she had a feeling she was about to find out why. When nothing more was forthcoming, she prompted, ‘And?’
‘I was assigned to do a story about your brother.’
Oh, God. Her face grew hot. ‘When?’
The question seemed to throw him. ‘Pardon?’
‘When were you given the assignment? It’s a simple enough question.’
He hesitated. ‘Six weeks ago.’
‘Right.’ Her heart rate doubled. ‘What was the story?’
He moved away from the table, his movements jerky and awkward. He shoved his hands inside his jeans pockets and then instantly removed them, like he had no idea what to do with them. ‘I was tasked with investigating rumours of insider trading at Quinton International.’
Her heart rate accelerated even more. ‘So you’ve known for over a month that my brother was under suspicion?’ Before even she’d known. Before her family had known.
He nodded again.
‘How?’
‘My boss was sent a photo of Max receiving a large envelope. We think it contained money.’
That didn’t sound good. ‘Who from?’
‘A man.’
‘A man?’ Her voice rose. ‘What man?’
‘We believe it was Hylton Sabell.’
Oh, God. This was just getting worse.
She rubbed her chest, trying to stem the pounding sensation that was rattling her ribcage. Her mind flitted from one question to another, trying to make sense of the puzzle. And then another thought occurred.
‘Is that why you volunteered at The Crash Pad?’
This time his nod was barely visible.
The impact was crushing. Her pulse suddenly seemed to slow and she felt light-headed, as if the overwhelming disappointment had severed an artery. ‘You volunteered at a shelter for homeless youths so you could get information for a story?’
Jamie’s shoulders were bunched by his ears, his head lowered. He looked vulnerable and wounded… and guilty as hell.
A slow rage began to burn inside her. ‘Let me get this straight. You pretended to be a decent, kind, and caring bloke who wanted to help those less fortunate… so you could get the dirt on Max?’
He closed his eyes.
She took his silence as confirmation. ‘You… complete arsehole.’ She moved towards him. ‘You criticised me. Made judgements about my family and my motivations for starting up the project, and the whole time you were working as an undercover journalist?’ She pointed a finger at him. ‘You accused me of being fickle and superficial. You shamed me and mocked my efforts. You acted like some kind of superior being, and yet the whole time you were using me?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
She opened her arms. ‘What was it like then? What have I missed?’
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but changed his mind. He looked tortured and conflicted, moving about the kitchen as if desperate to escape. But she wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily, he deserved to squirm.
She folded her arms. ‘Well? I’m waiting.’
It was a while before he found his voice. ‘When I first volunteered it was because of my job… but then I grew to appreciate what you were trying to do at the shelter.’
‘Oh, big of you. Good to know I have your approval.’ Her tone dripped with sarcasm. ‘So why didn’t you confess why you were really there?’
‘Because you didn’t trust me at that point, and I thought you’d get rid of me if I admitted I was a journalist.’
‘You’re right. I didn’t trust you, and with good reason, it seems.’
He took a step closer. ‘But the more time I spent at the shelter, the more invested I became.’
Her hands went to her hips. ‘In which case, you should’ve gone to your boss and requested someone else be assigned to the story due to a conflict of interest.’
‘My boss wouldn’t have agreed to that. It was my first undercover assignment.’
‘Oh, poor you. Yet another money-driven individual prepared to put work ahead of what’s morally right. And I thought you were different? More fool me. You’re pathetic, you know that?’
He looked deflated. ‘Yes.’
‘And selfish. You wanted it all. To get the dirt on my family, write your crappy story, and not be made to feel bad about duping people who genuinely cared about you. Am I wrong?’
A small shake of his head.
‘And I thought I’d misjudged you? Turns out my first assumption was bang on. You’re a spineless… selfish… arrogant arsehole.’ She banged the kitchen table. ‘You point the finger at others, questioning their intentions and morality, but you’re the one whose character is flawed.’
He flinched. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t.’ She was in his face now, expecting him to back off, surprised when he didn’t. ‘You were hoping to submit your story, receive your promotion or whatever, and walk away completely unaffected at having hurt innocent people.’
She could see him blinking furiously, as if trying to hold it together. She didn’t care. ‘You know what? Maybe it’s not your fault. By your own admission you have attachment issues. You’re a lone wolf, unwilling to forgive anyone who’s made a mistake. Well, congratulations. Because the upshot of not caring about anyone makes it a hell of a lot easier to walk all over them.’
‘I care—’
‘Bullshit.’ She batted his hand away when he reached for her. ‘If you truly cared, you wouldn’t be submitting the story. Because unless I’ve missed something, you are submitting the story… right?’
He stayed silent.
‘Just as I thought.’ She needed to leave. Her resolve wouldn’t hold out much longer and she wasn’t prepared to let him see her cry. She would retain her dignity, even if it killed her. ‘Thank you for your help over the last few weeks – even if your actions were part of an agenda,’ she added, pointedly. ‘I genuinely wish you good luck with your birth mother. I hope you can find it within you to forgive her and accept that none of us are perfect. Not even you.’
He caught her arm when she turned to leave. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too. I’m more sorry than I can express.’ She fixed him with a glare. ‘I’m sorry that I trusted you, that I believed in you… and that I let my guard down around you and allowed myself to think just for one moment I might’ve found a man I could…’ she trailed off, stopping herself short from saying it. There was no point. He didn’t know the meaning of love. And sadly, most of that wasn’t his fault.
His hand tightened around her arm. ‘I don’t want it to end like this.’
‘That’s not your decision.’ She shook free from his hold. ‘Stay away from The Crash Pad. You’re no longer welcome. My volunteers deserve better. As do the kids.’
