Chapter Fifteen
Kyle whisked her down the hallway to his bedroom, which looked out over the front yard. Through the open window he heard the thump of bass coming from one of the three hotted-up cars in the driveway. They all had their bonnets up, clusters of guys staring at the engines as they sucked on their tinnies. One of them was Rob. One was Danny.
Fuck Danny for ruining this day. Although his backtracking in the kitchen had managed that well enough without his cousin’s presence.
“I think this is more shrine than bedroom.”
Kyle dragged his gaze from the window and laughed as he looked around at the walls, full of sporting ribbons, and the shelves his father had built to hold all his trophies. He’d excelled at athletics and swimming as well as rugby. But that wasn’t why he’d really dragged her in here.
“So”—he shut the door—“this bed”—he pointed to it—“is where teenage Kyle dreamed about hot women who, one day, would let him cover them in food and lie there while he licked it off.” Kyle slipped his arms around her waist and drew her closer, his lips nuzzling her temple.
“Not rugby glory?”
He smiled against her temple. “That, too.”
“Teenage Kyle seemed to have a very fertile imagination.”
“That’s because teenage Kyle spend an inordinate amount of time in that bed with his hand on his cock.”
“He sounds like a deviant.”
“He was. Actually…” Kyle’s lips trekked across Val’s cheek to her jaw, then down her neck, his hands sliding from her hips to the front of her shirt, pulling it down to expose her bare breasts. “He still is.”
“Insatiable, too,” she said, but hummed appreciatively and dropped her head back to give him greater access.
Kyle took shameless advantage. “You have no idea,” he muttered, bending slightly as his lips found a nipple. She gasped, then moaned as his hand claimed the other breast. “God, I’ve been wanting to pull that top down ever since you put it on.”
“I’d have thought you’d have had gotten enough nipple action while you were licking unicorn icing off them.”
“Never.” He puffed the denial against the slippery wetness of her nipple. “No such thing. Trust me, teenage Kyle just came in his pants.”
The vibration of her laugh buzzed his lips as his mouth closed over her nipple again, sucking it inside, rolling it around, the puckered surface melting against his tongue until it was elongated and slippery.
Her hand twisted in his hair, holding him there. It felt so damn good, and he was so fucking hard for her again.
He was never going to able to get enough of her.
But a thump in the hallway startled her, and she yanked on his hair, bracelets jingling. Kyle winced slightly at the sting but laughed anyway at the expression of horror she was sending in the direction of the door as she tried to yank her top up and end his boob party.
“You afraid we’re going to be busted by my mother?”
She gave him a reproving look. “Hell yes.”
“You know…” He squeezed her ass. “Teenage Kyle always wanted to make out with a sexy ranga chick in his bedroom.”
“I’m sure teenage Kyle couldn’t have given a fig about hair colour as long as the making out part was happening. I daresay he’d have taken bald.”
Kyle laughed at the accuracy. “It’s like you know him.” He lowered his head to kiss her again, but she placed two fingers over his lips.
“Not going to happen. I don’t want people to wonder where we are.”
She stepped out of his arms and headed for the door. “What am I going to do with this?” he asked, holding his arms out as he glanced at his cock, like a fucking iron bar stuffed down the front of his jeans.
“I’m sure teenage Kyle has a few suggestions for you.”
She smiled sweetly over her shoulder and turned the knob. Kyle chuckled as she opened the door and swaggered her ass out of the room. If he hadn’t already been in love with her, this would have been the moment he’d have fallen.
Hard.
…
Valerie was humming to herself a couple of weeks later as she fashioned the rolled dough into the crescent shape of a croissants. She couldn’t stop smiling. Everything was going so well it was hard to believe the change between now and her birthday seven weeks ago.
She was totally falling for Kyle. If the Smoke kept to their current form, they’d go into the finals season on the top of the ladder. And her father had been in an hour ago for his usual half-dozen croissants. He’d even smiled and made some conversation.
Oh and, had she already mentioned? She was totally falling for Kyle.
The last thing she expected on this beautiful Tuesday morning was for something to complete gazump her from out of left field.
“Ah…Val.” Sandy pushed through the swing doors, a newspaper in hand. “I think you need to see this.”
Val knew something was up instantly. Sandy would have been terrible at poker, and the fine hairs on the back of Val’s neck stood instantly on end. “What?”
Sandy shook her head. “Just…read.”
She opened the paper and held it up for Val to read, as there wasn’t anywhere to put it on the bench and her hands were covered in flour.
Val didn’t need to read. What the article said didn’t really matter. The massive BUSTED! headline and the picture taking up half of page three said it all. It was a little grainy, but in full colour and definitely her. And Kyle. Making out in his childhood bedroom.
Her heart banged to halt for a few seconds, then kicked in again, crazily erratic. She blinked, hoping it wouldn’t be there when she opened her eyes again.
It was.
Val put the rolling pin down, wiped her floury hand on the front of her uniform, and took the paper. Her hands were shaking, she noted absently, and Sandy glanced at them, alarmed.
“Are you okay?”
Val nodded automatically, her brain frozen, her gaze locked on the damning image. “Yes. Just…see to the customers, please?”
Sandy’s departure barely registered as Val continued to stare at the picture. It was horrifyingly compelling. Her shirt was clearly pulled down, although, thankfully, Kyle’s hand was completely covering her naked breast. Her head was thrown back as he ravaged her neck, her face turned toward the camera.
A face that was clearly in the throes of ecstasy.
Her eyes were shut, her mouth was gaping open as if she was panting or maybe calling his name. Kyle’s face was turned to the camera as well. His eyes also closed. As lost in the moment as she had been.
If it had been any other people and not in a national newspaper, she could have eyed the image critically and concluded the couple were totally into each other.
But it was them. And it was a national newspaper.
Although clearly not one known for its ethical standards.
Sure, anyone with a phone these days could be a bloody photojournalist, and there were plenty of unscrupulous outlets that paid good money for this kind of scurrilous content, but…
Why the fuck was this news?
A part of her realised it could have been worse. It could have been Kyle sucking her nipples. But maybe they had that as well? And some sense of decency had stopped them from using a much more graphic image. Another horrifying thought suddenly occurred to her—was there video? The image had obviously been taken through the bedroom window, so whoever was responsible for it must have been out in the front yard.
And not that far away.
She hadn’t seen any paparazzi following them to the Leighton house—which occasionally happened for her, and definitely for Kyle—or lurking at the party, which meant someone had probably captured it on their phone.
Someone at the party.
Who had not only been watching them through the window and taking pictures—possibly filming them—but had callously decided to sell the images.
One of Kyle’s relatives…
But who? Who would have done that to Kyle? And why? For a quick buck? Out of jealousy?
Outrage mixed with the cold slug of nausea. Her skin crawled, thinking about being watched while in the throes of such intimacy. Yes, maybe they should have been paying more attention to where they were when they’d gotten carried away in the moment, but surely Kyle felt he had a right to privacy and solidarity from his own family?
She thought about all the people she’d met at the party. How friendly and welcoming they’d been. Which one of them had been harbouring such ill intent?
Who would do this?
Shit.
What a mess. She hadn’t counted on having their cover blown so spectacularly, and she didn’t need a crystal ball to know that her father was not going to be happy. Just when it felt like he was taking some steps—albeit baby ones—toward her.
Her hands shook as she fished in her pocket for her phone—she needed to do some damage control.
She rang Kyle. He’d be in the middle of training, but just in case… He didn’t answer, so she texted him. Then she rang her father. She knew he definitely wouldn’t answer, but left a message on his message bank for later.
Val glanced at the three trays of croissants ready to go into the oven and knew they wouldn’t be going in today. The sooner the food ran out, the sooner she could shut the doors and get to Henley. Because she needed to be there when Kyle came off the field. Needed to be there to intervene in case things got out of hand between her father and Kyle.
To be the cool sensible one.
She had a feeling she was going to be needed.
Val ran into the stadium at just after one o’clock, her heart tripping, enough adrenaline sloshing around in her system to stun a bull. She’d hoped to get here a bit earlier, had left Sticky Fingers in plenty of time. But there’d been a car accident, and traffic had been a nightmare. Every minute that had ticked by while she’d sat in a line of unmoving traffic had stretched her nerves tighter.
She skidded into the locker room, hoping desperately to find Kyle there first, to warn him. But, as about a dozen sets of eyes full of compassion and pity landed on her, she realised his wasn’t one of them. She noticed some of the guys couldn’t make eye contact at all.
They knew. They all knew. Which meant so did Kyle. And her father.
“Val?” Tanner stepped forward and gave her forearm a gentle squeeze.
“Kyle?” she demanded, a little out of breath from her mad dash from the car park. She didn’t need his compassion or his pity or his gentle arm squeezes.
She needed to sort this shit out for once and for all.
A sudden smashing from somewhere in the hallway behind her reverberated around the locker room. “He’s with Griff.”
Great. She turned to go, but Tanner grabbed her by the arm.
“Maybe you shouldn’t?”
“Yeah.” Dono stepped forward. “Just…let ’em work it out for a bit.”
Val glared at him, then at Tanner, who hastily let go of her arm, then at all the other guys, who were nodding their heads in agreement despite her stabbing eyes.
Seriously? How was it that men ruled the world?
Another smashing sound shot straight through to her spine. The urge to smash things herself was becoming startlingly strong. Maybe she’d start with their heads. “And that’s them working it out, is it?”
Dono shrugged. “Guys.”
Val rolled her eyes. Jesus. Underneath it all, they really were just Neanderthals, weren’t they? “I love him, you idiots.”
They all seemed to visibly draw back at her frank emotional admission, regarding her warily in case she did something else emotional like burst into tears. Val would have laughed had she not been so startled.
She did love him. She didn’t think she loved him. Or that she might be falling for him. Suddenly it was as clear as an end-of-game hooter, cutting through all the noise in her head. She actually loved him. She didn’t know what that meant for their future, and she didn’t have time to think about it now, but the sudden urge to grin was strong.
She fought it back. The guys all looked wary enough without coming across as unhinged.
Leaving them to chew on her announcement for a while, Val turned on her heel and stormed toward her father’s office. The door was closed, but two raised male voices made it possible for her to hear every word.
“This is where you need to decide, Leighton. Rugby or Val. Because you can’t have both. Not if you want to play for me.”
Val paused, her hand on the doorknob, her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering frantically against her ribs. She knew she should just storm in there and break it up, but something held her back.
She was beyond horrified that her father was throwing around ultimatums. But there was some sick, morbid, very female fascination about how Kyle would answer.
Because she wanted him to choose her. Because she loved him. Even though it would be a monumentally stupid career move.
There was silence inside the room. A silence that stretched and took her already taut nerves with it. Each second that passed jabbed thousands of tiny daggers into her heart.
She heard a low murmur then. Her father’s voice. But she couldn’t make out the words. Val pressed her ear to the door. What was he saying? Was he threatening bodily harm? Talking about hit men?
“Jesus.” Kyle again, audible now but still not loud, necessitating Val to push her ear harder against the door. “You know, maybe if you’d given your daughter an ounce of fucking attention, she wouldn’t have picked me up in a bar and screwed everything up for some kind of sick daddy revenge.”
Val sucked in a breath as the daggers dug a little deeper. Oh, he didn’t just say that…
A massive thud like a fist on wood shook the door and Val recoiled. “Val or rugby,” her father roared.
There was a long pause. “Rugby. I choose rugby.” It wasn’t raised or angry, more defeated than anything, but the daggers were right through to the centre of her chest now, and she was bleeding everywhere.
She should have known this. He had, after all, chosen rugby that day of Bailee’s party when she’d suggested they out themselves as a couple. This shouldn’t be a surprise.
He really did choose rugby.
She wouldn’t burst into tears out here in the corridor, though. Or run away home with her tail between her legs. She’d tackle it head on, damn it.
Like a good little rugby soldier.
Because she was blindingly angry right now and she wasn’t going to stand here while these two men treated her like she was some possession that could be fought over or traded or used as some bargaining chip.
It was official. She was sick of men and their shit.
Val turned the handle and burst into the room. Both occupants started, then gaped at her entry, clearly horrified by her presence and, she assumed, by what she might have heard.
Kyle started toward her. “Val, I—”
She threw up her hand in a stopping motion, hardening herself against the stricken expression twisting his face. “Sick daddy revenge?” she demanded.
“I—”
“Save it.” Her voice cracked like a whip into the tense atmosphere.
She absently noted that the coffee mug with the broken handle that usually sat on her father’s desk was now in pieces on the floor near the wall and the wall had a dent in it. The pens that usually sat in the mug were strewn across his desk. The broken remnants of another mug sat in a puddle of spilt, muddy coffee, along with what looked like torn pages of newspaper.
“Valerie—”
“You, too.” She turned to glare at her father. “I’m speaking now.” Both men blinked at her but zipped it. “I wonder if either of you realised while you were in here fighting over me, treating me like some prize in your pissing competition, that you actually have no say over my life. I get to say what I do with my life, and you know what? I don’t want either of you in it.”
She turned then and stormed out, slamming the door for good measure behind her, the sound bolstering and comforting her until about three-quarters of the way home when its finality hit her.
And then the tears came.