Hate to Love You (19 page)

Caroline surveyed James’s flat like she used to our mother’s kitchen. “You should bring Paisley here,” she said. “She would enjoy a step up from the council flat she probably lives in.”

I whipped my eyes to James. He looked as startled as I was and Caroline...well, she looked as though she was shifting gears, accelerating straight from spiteful cow to vicious bitch. I recognised her attack expression and braced myself.

“Reginald told me Paisley is your new secretary,” she said, dripping disgust. “I see you’re happy to continue your sordid affair with my doppelgänger. She obviously meets your poor professional standards
and
your vulgar personal tastes.”

James didn’t lose his cool. “Why did you want to talk to me? I’m co-hosting tonight.”

“You’re not even going to deny it, are you?” she said angrily. “You never felt bad about what you did to me. Humiliating me, sleeping with my sister when I thought you were faithful. Making me a laughing stock on my wedding day.”

James’s long sigh sounded resigned. “Of course I did, as I told you many times.”

“You said you wanted Paisley more than you loved me.”

“That is
not
what I said.”

Oh? Well what the hell had he said? I waited, breath hitched.

Caroline tossed her head back. “I told you how promiscuous Paisley was but you didn’t listen. She slept with anybody who would give her money and then she blackmailed them. She did as much to our uncle Manuel before she was fifteen, luring him into sex with her slutty ways.”

Instant, debilitating shame ploughed through me. I clutched at my abdomen as sharp cramps clenched me tight. I hadn’t thought about Manuel in a long time but now the past flooded back, dark and terrifying. Locked doors and heavy hands on my head, holding me in place. Why had Caroline told James about Manuel? He was the last person I wanted to know about my uncle’s abuse.

I wanted to retreat to a place that didn’t fill me with anguish but couldn’t, so I tied myself to James’s face instead, concentrating all my energy on his strong jaw and wrathful green eyes.

Hold on a second...
wrathful?

James’s brows were drawn into a furious V, his fists clenched as if he wanted to punch something. The childish part of me hoped it was Caroline.

“My aunt Isabel almost left Manuel because of Paisley. He was besotted,” Caroline said.

James’s nostrils flared. “Then he’s a pervert who should be locked away.”

Caroline recoiled, suddenly aware that James’s disgust wasn’t directed at me. I shrank back also, surprised at his reaction.

“Never mind that,” Caroline said. “Everybody knew what Paisley was and how she supported herself in London when she ran away. You were just another deluded man in a long, disgusting line of customers who paid for her services. Pathetic, really.”

James’s eyes glinted. “I was Paisley’s first.”

“And you loved telling me how much you’d enjoyed it, didn’t you?” she spat.

“You goaded me into saying it,” he said quietly.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Do you realise how humiliated I felt when you couldn’t...perform?”

Huh?
My roller coaster ride of emotions swung around another loop. Shame over my past with Manuel was replaced by happiness that James had never slept with Caroline. I still felt queasy though. There really is such a thing as too much information and I wished I didn’t have to hear the sordid details of their honeymoon.

Oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to hear everything, the more disastrous the better.

Caroline’s voice shook. “A
real
man would have been able to make love to his wife. Maybe Reginald is right, the reason you’ve never married again is because you’re in the closet. Either that or you’re impotent.”

“I stopped loving you, and now I’m more selective,” James said simply.

Her mouth thinned into an angry red line. “You betrayed me and I’ll never forgive you.”

“It’s just as well I don’t require your forgiveness to have a happy life.”

“As a single father?” Caroline jeered. “How pitiful. Your life would be different if you had only agreed to the one thing I asked.”

“No, thank you,” James said, a gritty edge to his voice. “Our wedding introduced me to the real Caroline—a woman so consumed by hatred she was incapable of forgiveness or compassion. A woman who’d rather I give up my son for adoption than assume my responsibilities. You weren’t the person I thought you were. You were exactly as Paisley described and I was lucky to realise it, albeit much later than I should have.”

“Paisley, Paisley, Paisley,” Caroline said, making my name sound like a swear word. “You’re forgetting, James, that I’m
Lady
Scott-Thomas and she’s the same trashy slut she’s always been.”

“Paisley conquered her addictions with no family support,” he said, his defence delivering another shocker. “She’s shown herself to be a responsible and intelligent employee. She works hard, never complains and I can trust her to perform her duties to the highest standard.”

Oh.
My.
God.
Never again would I go anywhere without my damn mobile.

Caroline looked as if she was struggling not to scream. “I know exactly what kind of duties she performs for you.”

“This conversation is over.”

Did she know James was at the end of his tether when his voice was that soft? He took a step towards the door and she stopped him, holding out what looked like a small drawstring pouch.

“I wanted to return the wedding set you gave me,” she said, an imploring note creeping into her voice.

For the barest moment I saw raw, helpless yearning in her eyes. Caroline still loved James! Even after he’d admitted enjoying that night in bed with me. Even after she had married somebody else. Even with two children and a happy life as lady of the manor. She loved the man looking at her so stonily and she always would.

Caroline’s eyes glistened, holding back tears, and I read her thoughts. Hatred warred with love, their soldiers jealousy and regret. She wished she had never argued with him in the pub that night and run off to sulk. She wanted to turn back the clock and do things differently.

Hell, didn’t I wish the same?

The sudden empathy I felt for Caroline was disturbing, but it disappeared when I saw what else she wanted. If she couldn’t have James then she wanted him to stay single—and to stay away from me. Returning the rings was an excuse to speak to him and reassure herself that he and I weren’t together.

James didn’t seem to notice or care that Caroline still had feelings for him. His eyes were on the small pouch and then they were on the front door.

His voice was indifferent. “You designed the rings, go ahead and keep them.”

“Take them,” Caroline said imperiously. “Look at them and remember the woman you could have had.”

James filled the flat with the rich sound of deep, spontaneous laughter. Looking at him I wished yet again that I had my mobile. I would take a photo of his laughing face, blow it up to life-size and cut it out. The next time he scowled at me I would march up to him and blue tack it onto his forehead, pressing hard to make it stick.

What would he say to
that?

Attracted by the laughter, Ryan snuck up behind me and peeked through the gap. Still grinning, James bowed to Caroline and took the pouch from her hands.

“Thank you Lady Scott-Thomas. I will put them in pride of place, else I forget.”

For a moment Caroline seemed desolate. Then she flushed scarlet, the colour erupting like small volcanoes on the desert of her face. From deep within her chest came a snarl of rage. Her hand went back but James caught her wrist before she could deliver a blow. She retaliated by flinging her wine at his chest—glass and all.

Caroline’s eyes went wide and she trembled as though she was having a seizure. She took an unsteady step backward and then she turned and fled, banging the door shut behind her. James looked revolted.

“She’s mean,” Ryan said.

James glanced towards our hiding place and I leapt back. Luckily, he didn’t come and investigate. I had his neat freak tendencies to thank for that, but when he finished cleaning up the mess the gig was up.

“Come out of my room, Ry. I know you’re hiding in there.”

He sounded stern, not angry, but that would change as soon as he saw me. I might as well walk out with my wrists crossed and march myself to the police station. Ryan tugged on my dress before I could open the door.

“I won’t tell or you’ll get in trouble too,” he said earnestly.

He ran out of the bedroom and I wrestled with my conscience. Was I going to let my son get told off without owning up to my role in his misbehaviour? James scolded Ryan mildly and I felt better about not showing myself. While he gave him a piggyback ride to his bedroom I considered my options, then stuck my head out and looked towards Ryan’s door.

It was open so I couldn’t chance sneaking out without being seen. My heart was racing but I told myself to calm down, that once James had changed his shirt—

Changed his shirt?
my mind screeched, just as Ryan’s light went out.

I leapt away from the door, frantic for a place to hide. Was it a scramble under the bed or a hop into the wardrobe? Wardrobe! My long jump wouldn’t have earned me a medal but it got the job done.

The wardrobe doors had tilted wooden slats that allowed me to see into the bedroom but kept me hidden, or so I hoped. I felt like a criminal. Hell, I
was
a criminal. “Convict” would now join “drug addict” and “alcoholic” on my CV. Maybe I shouldn’t worry because I’d soon be dead anyway. If James didn’t do it then Marcia would. Or worse, she’d ask Kahlu for a charm and it wouldn’t be sugar she jammed my name into. It would be something acid that melted my skin off while I was still alive.

I was trembling, hyperventilating with what I can only describe as the beginnings of a panic attack. But that was nothing compared to what I felt when James walked into the bedroom, turned on the light and started taking his clothes off.

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.