Chapter Sixteen
Peeping Paisley
James eased out of his jacket and tossed it on his bed. The bow tie and cummerbund came off next. He stood in front of the mirror and removed his cufflinks, giving me a clear view of his reflection. His shirt was covered in dark stains that looked like blood. He frowned at it, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Then he opened a button and I stopped straining to hear what he was saying.
James undid his shirt like he did everything else, with efficient, measured purpose. Every centimetre of skin he uncovered increased the temperature in the wardrobe another degree, until it went from balmy summer to tropical heat wave. I wanted to shout at him to hurry up before I melted onto his expensive Italian shoes.
At the same time, my mind was screeching at me to respect James’s privacy. With an effort, I scrunched my eyes shut. The sound of his low curse popped them open. Something had fallen off his dresser and he’d bent down to pick it up. My breath caught at the view of his sculpted shoulders and back.
He straightened and gave me an even better one. James obviously worked out regularly. His six-pack was like something out of Men and Fitness Magazine, defined and muscular, perfectly in proportion with his height and build. My lips tingled, remembering how I’d kissed and nipped him, how silky and firm he’d felt against my skin.
Inside my body.
Sadness brushed my thoughts. Seven years ago I had made love with this man. I had claimed him and been possessed in return but I had never seen his body. I had never studied the small mole on his lower back or deliberately kissed the intricate thorn tattoo around his left bicep. Was that from a bad boy phase? I smiled at the thought. And what about the flat, barely visible scar on his pecs? Was it the result of a childhood accident or something more recent? It pained me not to know.
James swung around and I held my breath. Was he going to look for a shirt now? If he did he would find me and—My breathing accelerated dangerously. He came towards the wardrobe but stopped when he reached the bed. Relief washed over me and my heart rate slowed, but only for a few seconds. What he did next sent it straight into triple bypass territory.
He faced the wardrobe and unzipped his trousers, just enough for a teasing peek at what I’d been dreaming about for so many years. Was he trying to kill me? I lifted my gaze to his chest and shivered, remembering how I had drawn letters on that firm, taut canvas, twirling and curling P’s that danced over his abdomen and down to his long, thick—
Oh God! This was wrong, wrong, wrong. I shut my eyes tightly and a dreary room full of faceless strangers superimposed itself over James’s bedroom. My name is Elizabeth Paisley Benton and I’m a pervert. I hide in men’s closets and get off watching them undress.
Peeping Paisley, my mind added snidely.
I was unable to stifle a small whimper. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t innocent at eighteen and I certainly wasn’t at twenty-five. But this was James I was ogling. And this was me, hot to the roots of my hair, eyes shut and body trembling—and therefore completely unprepared for when he yanked the wardrobe open and dragged me out by the arm.
James slammed me against the wall and all I could do was try to breathe through the stranglehold on my neck. His eyes widened when he recognised me and he loosened his hold.
“Shinto,” I croaked.
“Shinto?”
“Religion... Japan,” I wheezed.
James reared back and looked at me as if I belonged in an insane asylum. Then it looked as if he belonged in one—maximum security.
“Then you’d better say your prayers,” he said, low and hard. “Because I am this close to showing you what happens to people who break into my flat to stalk my son. This time you’ve gone too far.”
My attempts to twist free were pretty pathetic. I’ve never been a fitness buff and my eavesdropping exercise had left me weak-kneed. “I wasn’t stalking Ryan.”
I told him about the silver service job and how I’d ended up in his flat. “I was impatient, angry and desperate. Nothing I do or say makes any difference to you letting me see Ryan and I wanted Francesca’s help. I even risked jail so I could talk to her.”
His look was scathing. “And eavesdrop on private conversations.”
“I’m sorry.”
He grunted. “No doubt you’re also sorry to hear how my relationship with Caroline ended.”
I met his look, dead certain of my sentiments. “I’m sorry it turned ugly but Caroline would have made your life as miserable as she made mine. Whether you believe me or not I didn’t want that for you. Not after I met you and we—Well, the truth is I hoped that she wouldn’t hurt you.”
James braced his palms against the wall on either side of my head. His mouth was so close to mine I had the feeling that he was going to lean in and kiss me. The inexplicable current that always charged between us sizzled across my skin and my traitorous body arched in anticipation.
Naked, tanned pecs battled with James’s irate face for my attention. He seemed to be struggling with himself, as if there was an earthquake rumbling inside him, climbing up the anger scale and threatening to crack through.
“Let me go,” I said, hating how weak I sounded.
He braceleted my hands behind my back and yanked my hips against his. “Isn’t this your favourite position, up against the wall?” he growled.
If I’d had enough oxygen in my lungs I would have gasped. He was rigid, hot, and it felt as if my dress would melt off my body. Confused and unsure of James’s mood, I was suddenly afraid of his strength and his anger.
“I should have you arrested,” he said.
“Will you?”
James straightened and let go of me. I promptly put some distance between us, backing up towards the bedroom door. Did he have to study me like I was his prey, surveying me from head to toe and making me more jittery by the second?
James took a step forward and I stepped back. He paced a slow, deliberate circle around me and I rotated on the spot, mirroring his every step. I knew from watching the Discovery Channel that you should never turn your back on a predator, so I stood my ground. It was like facing a panther, with no fence between us.
“Take the wig off,” he said.
I touched it uneasily. “And why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re in my bedroom uninvited and I said so.”
Fine! It would give me something to do other than stare at him.
“You’re not a very good stalker,” he mocked.
I lifted my chin. “I studied Crime TV.”
James smirked. “From the way you scrambled down our copper birch that night, we thought you’d hurt yourself. I bet Bonaparte twenty pounds you were limber enough to hit the ground running, and you were.”
I had landed hard on my hip and sprinted into the park, pursued halfway to the edge by the massive chauffeur. “I’m glad you found me amusing.”
“I don’t find breaking into my house and invading my privacy amusing.”
I let out an exasperated huff. “I didn’t break into the house. Like I said, I was hired by L’Amuse Bouche.”
“Hired to skulk in my wardrobe?”
Oh crap, he just had to bring that up. My face was a flame and my body a melting candle. “I’m sorry I watched you undress.”
James’s eyes gleamed like two unguarded gems, tempting me to delve deeper. Contrary to other times I’d tried to read him, his thoughts jumped out at me, crossing the space between us and striking me between the eyes.
<<Liar, liar.>>
Hesitantly, I answered him.
<<Uhm...pants on fire?>>
James’s eyes darkened, drawing me in.
<<Are you really sorry you watched me, Paisley?>>
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Something inside James shifted. The barrier keeping me out of his head had begun to corrode and was crumbling, fast. I took advantage, punching through and reading him as if he was the last page in my favourite bodice ripper, afraid that if I looked away I’d miss out on a word or sensation.
A dull flush crept across his face but he held my gaze. He was on the defensive and I wanted to know why. I probed emerald green flecked with gold, delving deeper. He was angry all right, and full of distrust, but beyond that I found...longing?
Yes, and need.
I trembled, and the heat in my blood boiled over, creating tiny beads of moisture between my breasts and at my forehead. One of them trickled onto my lips and I tasted it, letting the salty liquid sink into my tongue. Powerful and heady, it was part of the sensuous necklace that coiled around my body, draping me in desire.
I had to be seeing things in James’s eyes that weren’t there! I must be zonked or confused. Or insane. He wasn’t demanding an answer and I wasn’t shaking my head no. He couldn’t be imagining me naked while I imagined taking him into my mouth, making him moan like I had that night in Caroline’s bed.
I saw everything I had done to him afterwards pass through his thoughts. His body went rigid and he looked angrier than before, as if he really was going to explode. He seemed disgusted with himself for desiring me, even for a second.
I was transported back where I’d been seven years before, outside the bathroom being told I wasn’t good enough, that his standards were too high to ever consider me his equal. His rejection shouldn’t bother me but my body felt as though it was twisting in on itself, right there in his bedroom, and I didn’t know whether I hated him or not. Maybe I did—in the way you can hate things that are forever beyond your reach.
I shoved the wig back onto my head. “I won’t invade your privacy again, word of honour,” I ground out. “I know that’s worth nothing to you but there it is. I’m a drug addict, an unfit mother and an inept stalker. Below you in every way and ridiculously stupid to ever think you’d give me a chance to see Ryan.”
I wiped a tear away angrily. Ryan would never know me as his mother; James had decided and that was that. The pressure on my chest threatened to flatten my next words before I could toss them out, round and flippant.
“This has been fun and all, but I’ve got food to fling and you’ve got snobs to snoot with.”
I rushed out of the bedroom and across the sitting room, not noticing that James had followed me until I was hauled back against his chest. His hold was implacably strong. “What channel am I on now?” he demanded.
“Channel A for arrogant arse.”
“No,” he said, holding me so tightly I felt the unmistakable prod of his erection. “A for aroused.”
His lips were at my ear and his breath on my neck and—hold on a second, was he smelling me? I had to get out of there before I smelled him back, inhaled him into my very core and refused to blow him out. I struggled frantically.
“Will you stop for a minute?” he said gruffly. “I’ve come to a decision.”
I gasped. “You’re going to have me arrested?”
James released me, making the sort of frustrated noise he did when someone was being thick at the office. “Follow me,” he said, and led me to Ryan’s door.
Baffled, but with burgeoning hope, I stepped into the bedroom. Ryan was asleep in a car-shaped bed. All I could see was his dark hair and small forehead until James walked over and adjusted his duvet. Ryan’s cheek was smooth, his face so innocent my heart contracted, hoping he never went through anything that I had. I tip-toed over and stroked his hair, trying to calm my erratic pulse.
“He’s snoring,” I whispered, and James chuckled.
“Like his mother.”
“I do not snore.”
James sent me a wry look but said nothing else. He watched me watch Ryan, and then he gave me permission to stay with him while he changed his clothes. Alone, I looked around the dimly lit bedroom. A collection of miniature dinosaurs competed for space with spaceships and a rock collection. Holiday pictures adorned the shelves, snapshots of experiences I would never share with Ryan. Phases of his life that I had missed and were unrecoverable.
I studied each happy photo. Do they really allow kids on skis when they’re just out of toddlerhood? I picked up a framed picture of a fourish-year-old Ryan, jumping off a wooden pier into azure waters. Was it the Caribbean? Thailand? The straw hut at the end of the pier looked like something out of a Thomas Cook commercial.
I snorted softly. James would never do anything so common as to book a package holiday. No, they probably flew first class and stayed in a private five-star mansion with staff to cater to their every whim. Nothing like the kind of place I could take Ryan.
Like Blackpool.
Another picture showed James and Ryan on a rugby pitch with a team of players. James had a whistle slung around his neck and his jersey said Coach.
I read the school letter on Ryan’s desk, stating the date and time of the next parent-teacher conference. James had chosen next Thursday, 6:30 p.m. to see the Year Two teacher, Miss Carter. Next to the comments section, he’d written “discuss maths and reading extension work.”
It shouldn’t have been so disconcerting that James had a facet to his life that I didn’t, especially after my epiphany at Les Miserables. Still, it was a revelation. When I went home at night I switched on the TV; he switched on the Parent.
It was obvious that father and son shared a strong bond. I had suspected as much, what with James being a single dad. I knew from observing Marcia with Fleur Anise that the relationship was perhaps closer than it might have been were she not a single mum. But it was one thing to know that James loved Ryan deeply and quite another to see the evidence in 2D.
Did Ryan wish, even a teensy bit, that he had a mother?
I sat next to him and put my ear to his soft breath. Funny how seemingly insignificant events can cause devastation on a massive scale. A butterfly flaps its wings and a few weeks later a tsunami wipes out Sri Lanka.
I was wiped out by a child’s soft snore.
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.