Playing for Keeps: Harford Scarlet Series (2 page)

Sarah didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s him,’ she hissed.

‘Who?’

‘Him. Tom Murray. He’s annoying me.’

Clare took a surreptitious glance around and spotted the subject of their conversation. She wrinkled her brow in confusion. ‘But he’s nowhere near you. Yet.’

‘I don’t know what it is about him but I can feel him there – I always have done. It’s like this radar thing that I can’t control.’

‘Ooh, spooky!’ Clare stifled a grin and started humming the
Twilight Zone
theme under her breath, making them both giggle.

Sarah elbowed her playfully, the movement spilling several drops from both of their drinks, and for a moment they were distracted.

‘Sarah! Now I’ll have to get a cloth from the bar.’

‘For this? Don’t bother on my account.’ Sarah pretended to lick a couple of drops off her wrist. ‘Hmm, delicious. And now there’s not much left to drink.’

‘I can’t take you anywhere, can I?’ Clare couldn’t disguise the mischief in her voice. ‘Tom, you’ll look after her while I dry myself up, won’t you?’

‘It’d be a pleasure.’

At the sound of his distinctive voice, Sarah lifted her head, caught like a deer in headlights, mouth open and pink tongue poking out. His eyes were like lasers on her, boring through her skin, heating her blood to fizzing.

‘I can do that, if you like?’ Tom nodded at her damp wrist.

She licked her lips, tried to wet her suddenly dry mouth. Heat flushed in her cheeks. A deep breath intending to calm her instead filled her lungs with his woodsy scent. Her knees weakened, he was just so …

‘Enjoy the game earlier?’ Tom smiled at her as if he knew the sensations that were buzzing around her body.

Sarah nodded dumbly and took a huge gulp of her wine, which gave her the time to think of something to say. ‘It was a good win.’ Her mind completely blank, she tried desperately to recall anything about the game. Nope, she couldn’t even remember the final score. ‘Will you be playing soon?’ she blurted out.

‘Next week, I think.’

He stood over her; she felt surrounded by him. She licked her dry lips again.

His eyes burned into her. ‘Don’t –’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t you play any more?’ asked Tom.

‘I travel a fair bit so I haven’t got the time.’

‘What do you do?’

Finally, a safe topic. Sarah relaxed slightly. ‘I’m a consultant: I help revive and restructure failing hotels. Conference centre complexes which aren’t generating enough profit.’

‘Interesting work?’

‘It can be. So, you’ve been playing rugby up north. What made you move down here?’

‘I have several businesses down here and it saves me a lot of travelling.’

‘What do they do, your businesses?’ The normality of the conversation had settled her nerves, even though her body was still on full alert. She took another swig of wine, feeling the warmth down her throat, the buzz of the alcohol continuing to kick in.

‘This and that. Some computer software and internet businesses. A bit of property development, conversion of older properties into hotels – I’m surprised we haven’t crossed paths before now.’

‘I usually work with established hotel chains; that’s how I started before I went independent.’

He shifted with his back to the rest of the room. The way Tom was corralling her into a corner reminded her of their university days. She should stop backing away; it would only make it more difficult to get away from him. She purposely held her ground as he moved out of the way of a passer-by and he bumped into her.

He smelled so good! Under the woodsy aftershave was a hint of fresh sweat and something that was uniquely Tom. Memories began rushing back to her from ten years earlier: the way his hands felt on her. Her abdominal muscles tightened, and aching anticipation swelled the pit of her stomach – and lower down. She moved restlessly from one foot to the other, unwittingly rubbing her thighs together.

He was saying something but she could only watch his lips as a hand touched her side. The heat radiated from his palm and she barely restrained a gasp as sensation shot between her legs.

‘Yo, Tom! Drink?’

Alex’s call from the bar distracted Tom and the spell snapped. Tom’s hand left her side as he turned and nodded, holding up his own bottle for Alex to see.

Sarah blinked, shaking off the remnants of the incapacitating daze. She caught sight of Clare by the door, took her chance and managed to slip away while Tom’s attention was diverted. Downing the last vestiges of her drink, she dumped the glass and strode quickly to the exit, grabbing their coats and Clare on the way.

‘So, if I asked …’ Tom found himself talking to empty air, the only trace of Sarah a hint of her perfume. He took a deep breath and felt his body tighten with excitement. Frustration warred with anticipation in his belly, anticipation won. He smiled smugly. ‘You can run, but you can’t hide,’ he murmured to himself as he glimpsed her disappearing out of the doors.

‘What are you looking so damn pleased about?’ inquired Alex, handing him a fresh bottle of lager. ‘Is it connected to that Sarah? She seems like fun. Classy too, and you really strike sparks off each other. Her friend’s not bad either, although she looks far too long-term for me.’ He waved at a group of girls in skyscraper heels and short skirts by the bar. ‘I’ll stick to the babes over there for now. Coming?’

‘Nah.’ Tom pulled his phone out. ‘They’re not my type. I’m more of a steak man nowadays and they’re definitely fast food.’ The way Sarah’s tongue had swiped her luscious lips, he’d just wanted it on his body. Wanted to eat her up, morsel by morsel. Lick her all over. His body tightened further and he had to imagine freezing-cold showers to clear his head for his next move.

‘Fast food?’

Tom paused in scrolling down. ‘Yeah, you know, enjoyable for a moment but ultimately not very satisfying. And certainly not very good for you in the long run.’

‘You sound like the team nutritionist. I, for one, am enjoying the different cuisine down south,’ Alex announced grandly. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us for a drink?’

‘I have plans to make and people to coerce, sorry. Maybe later at the club.’

Tom watched Alex being welcomed by the girls and saw him shrug his shoulders as they pointed in his own direction. He wondered for a moment why he was going after this one woman, then recalled why. Unfinished business. The chase was on. And he loved a chase. She wouldn’t know what had hit her.

Chapter Two

‘What the hell was that about?’ Clare stumbled after Sarah as she almost sprinted away from the bar. ‘Slow down, I’m sure he’s not going to run after you.’

Sarah stopped and leant against a nearby bus stop. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped, ‘I had to get away, otherwise I was going to embarrass myself. I think I’ve had too much to drink; I was melting into a puddle at his feet.’

Clare perched on a seat and pulled off one of her high-heeled shoes. ‘OK, but give me more warning next time – these killer heels are killing me.’

Sarah forgot about her own plight for a moment. ‘Aren’t they a bit higher than your normal taste?’

Clare flushed in the stark overhead light and fixed her attention on moving the straps. ‘I was being silly. I – I wanted to feel more attractive.’

Sarah stared at Clare in concern. ‘I told you at my place, you look lovely.’

‘Well, it’s not going to do me a heap of good, is it?’ Clare stood up and blew the hair out of her eyes. ‘Look at us: you’re running away from a man and I’m wasting my time trying to attract one. Sod it, let’s go into town, get plastered, and have a boogie.’

Sarah nodded and agreed, and, as they wandered down the road to flag down a taxi, her attention drifted off again, as she remembered an earlier Tom, an earlier autumn season …

Sarah had gone to university in Kent and came away with a respectable business degree. Despite her natural reserve and being far from her family home in West Wales, she’d settled in well. The campus was a friendly one with frequent socials, and, as was traditional in most universities in Britain, each Wednesday afternoon’s was the biggest. This was when all the universities’ sports teams played each other, and the matches would often be followed by alcohol-fuelled fun and games in the campus bars.

She had considered joining the hockey team but instead had been pulled into attending the women’s rugby training. To her surprise, she’d enjoyed learning to play a sport she had, until then, only followed on TV. Sarah felt she fitted into “a sport for all shapes and sizes”. There were two light-hearted coaches who coaxed the girls into a fast, challenging side, and Sarah, once fit, could sprint around with the best of them.

Within months she had lost a stone, dropped a dress size, and developed a well-toned torso and firm, shapely legs. Her new body attracted more male attention but she usually shrugged it off and the men drifted away.

In her second year, without warning, everything changed. She had arrived at the first training session of the new term, tanned and ultra-fit after a long, active summer back in Wales. However, instead of jolly Pete and Dave, only one tracksuit-clad, glowering male was present. He introduced himself as Tom Murray, temporarily unable to play himself due to damaged knee ligaments, and frustrated as hell. The girls cowered when he shouted at them but, unbelievably, kept coming back for more. The reason behind this was obvious. He was absolutely gorgeous: tall, muscular and dark-haired, with knife-sharp cheekbones, a strong chin and piercing blue eyes. He had a faint Scottish burr that strengthened when he was angry – which was fairly often as the nervous girls often dropped balls, forgot instructions, and ran the wrong way.

One evening, after another of several weeks of unproductive training sessions, Sarah decided to collar him. She caught up with him as he strode away from the pitch, down the dark path back to the halls of residence.

‘Tom, stop for a minute. Please.’ She physically blocked his way. ‘It’s our first game in a week and I don’t think we’re ready.’ She took a deep breath and steeled herself. ‘You’re too aggressive towards the girls; they’re not learning. We don’t mind criticism and I actually prefer it to being told we’re doing fine. But you shout all the time.’ He stepped towards her and she refused to back down.

‘Please be more patient with us. We are trying.’ She went to move out of his way and he caught her arm. An electric thrill ran through her body and she stifled a gasp at the unexpected sensation.

‘Sarah, is it? I didn’t choose to take you lot on.’ His thumb started to rub back and forth on the soft skin of her elbow, awakening more nerves along her arm. ‘I was forced to until I can play again. And I admit I am taking my frustrations out on you.’ He paused, tipping his head slightly to one side and studying her in the dim light.

Sarah felt like a butterfly pinned to a glass slide. She slowly pulled away from his grasp, which allowed her brain to start functioning again. ‘So, what will you do about it?’

‘I’ll try to be more patient with all of you.’

From the next session and on throughout the year, he softened his approach and the girls started to respond. Some even started making passes at him, sashaying around the changing room barely dressed while he gave inspiring team talks or congratulated them after a good win. In the campus bar after matches, he was constantly surrounded by girls, birds of paradise in bright dresses fluttering around him.

Sarah heard stories from the rest of the team; he was talked about on campus all the time. It was rumoured that he had a different girl leaving his room every morning; girls with stubble burns on their faces and necks, smudged make-up and satisfied grins.

Despite this, she could feel his eyes watching her. He watched her during ball drills, he watched her while they reset scrum after scrum as she bound on as flanker. He used her in demonstrations of how to hold the ball or rip it from another player, his arms often wrapped around her.

Her body, sensually dormant to that point, started responding to this insistent male presence. Her breasts would yearn for contact, an accidental brush of a hand or arm; her knees weakened as his hips pressed into hers. Once, after he tackled her to the floor, instead of getting up, he stroked one hand from ankle to the top of her thigh and back. She rolled away, but for the rest of the session, the skin burned where he had touched her.

She often returned to her room after training feeling hypersensitive all over her body, in particular her well-bound breasts beneath the tight sports bra, and between her legs, irritated by her bulky shorts. She knew she was unusually fascinated by him and thought it was best to stay well away. She saw him around the campus but ducked down paths to avoid him and walked out of the bar when she saw him with a bevy of beauties. She started dating a third-year student, Ed, who took her virginity in a hotel room on a long weekend away. Ed managed to gently arouse her and she enjoyed being with him; a chance for peace from the constant scrutiny and hyperawareness of Tom.

Nearing the end of her second year, there was a women’s rugby social in one of the pubs in the nearby town. All the team had to be there to celebrate the season so Sarah went along. Tom was there, accompanied by some of the men’s rugby team, with whom the girls proceeded to flirt outrageously. Sarah remained on the outskirts, bemusedly observing the interplay between the two groups. Tom was in the middle, surrounded again.

Past midnight, and the drinking had got out of hand. Sarah decided to go home with some of the others and nipped to the loo first. On her way in along the passageway, she saw Tom walking unsteadily towards her. The only route of escape was a large walk-in cupboard used to store kitbags, and she quickly ducked inside. She waited for him to go by, jumping when his figure filled the small entrance.

‘Oh. Hello.’ Sarah blushed at being caught.

‘Hello, sweetheart – what on earth are you doing in here? Trying to avoid me, are you?’ Tom came closer and closer to her until he was towering over her. ‘So, why don’t you want to get your hands on my body like the others?’

Sarah lifted her chin and refused to retreat further. ‘Of course I don’t,’ she scoffed. Her tough words belied the bolts of energy zipping around her body. ‘Excuse me, I’m off home now.’

‘I asked
why
. You haven’t answered me yet.’

‘I don’t want to. I have a boyfriend.’

Tom raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘And he’s let you out on your own? Brave man. Or foolish.’

Sarah laughed unexpectedly. ‘You’re all too drunk to be much of a threat.’

‘Is that right?’ Tom lifted a hand and caught the back of her neck. ‘He won’t mind a drunk stealing a kiss or two, then.’ Slowly, he dipped his face towards hers and brushed a kiss on one cheek. ‘That’s for being brave enough to stand up to me at the start of the season.’ He gently kissed the other cheek. ‘That’s for being a marvellous model in training.’ His mouth hovered over hers, millimetres away, for several long, excruciating seconds, until he slowly pulled back. ‘That’s for running from me ever since. I’ll see you next year.’

Tom turned and left. Instead of wobbling unsteadily away, this time he swaggered.

Sarah stood frozen in shock. Her whole body felt aroused and her lips were buzzing and swollen as if he had actually kissed them. No wonder all the girls are falling over him, she thought; he’s pure testosterone.

In her third and final year, Sarah contemplated not playing rugby any more but her friends still dragged her down to training. To her surprise, a different tracksuit-clad male was waiting: Mike, who was firm and not afraid to cajole or shout at the girls when they let him down but who was also less devastatingly attractive. Sarah heard that Tom’s knee had recovered and he was now back playing for the university’s first XV; he didn’t have time to train the girls any longer. She found it strange, when running drills, that she actually missed the constant feel of his eyes on her. The back of her neck prickled once or twice but no one was immediately visible beyond the trees surrounding the training pitch.

She would still see him around campus and, as before, tried to avoid him. In the bar, unlike before, he actually had his arm around the same girl every night: a slender blonde named Tess. Tess had never picked up a rugby ball; sports would have ruined her nails. She would also never have risked bruising her long legs, which were usually displayed dramatically below short silk dresses or outlined by a skinny-cut pair of jeans.

Every now and again, though, he’d find Sarah and pin her down in a corner for a chat on how the girls were doing. He listened to her and offered some incisive advice, sometimes humorous comment. And all the time he would stand too close, sometimes touching her arm, shoulder, hip, talking quietly as if to a nervous filly when she went to shy away. It would only last a few minutes but it left Sarah feeling charged. He asked after Ed and she always said things were fine, although in reality they’d become distant and hadn’t been seeing much of each other.

At the end of her final year, there was a big Wednesday night out. Sarah had joined some friends on a raucous day trip to the beach. She’d slept on the minibus back and partially recovered, though her friends had carried on partying. They all entered the main campus bar on a high and proceeded to drink and dance the night away.

At around two in the morning, a tipsy but tired Sarah made her excuses and departed; she was meeting Ed for lunch the next day. They had finally decided that it was time for them to break up – their relationship was going nowhere and, having made the decision, both were greatly relieved. Fortunately, she had returned to living on campus for her final year and didn’t have far to go to get to her bed.

There were signs of rampant celebration dotted all over the path: discarded plastic pint glasses, a small spatter of vomit for Sarah to skirt, a mismatched trainer and high-heeled sandal. Rounding a corner outside her halls, she heard a muffled groan. She peered cautiously into the unlit grounds to see Tom Murray a few feet away, stretched out on the dewy grass wearing only a pair of drink-stained jeans. For a moment she was spellbound by his bare chest, the defined muscles highlighted and shadowed perfectly by what little light came from the path. Hesitantly, she bent down and touched him on the shoulder. His eyes flickered open and tried to focus on her.

‘I must be dreaming,’ he muttered. ‘Angel. I’ve been waiting for you all my life.’

Sarah laughed drily. ‘An angel dressed in jeans and a sweater? I don’t think so. I think I’ll leave that to Tess.’

‘Tess dumped me.’ He stuck his lower lip out like a naughty child. ‘She shaid, “Issh time to move on.” Heartlesh woman.’

Sarah’s heart twanged in sympathy. ‘Join the newly single club. Come on, I’ll give you a hand home. Everyone’s still partying hard and the campus security guards have enough to contend with.’

‘Yesh pleash. Nine Carshwell Road. Keysh under the flowerpot.’

He thrust his arms up towards her and, doing most of the work, she managed to get him on his feet, her arms around his wide chest. He smelled mainly of beer but, underneath that, she could pick up a delectably male scent, reminding her of those moments in training. Though this time, she would be directing him.

Together they stumbled, limped and weaved down the road to his terraced digs just off the campus. Some moments she struggled to keep a grasp of him, trying to hold him up around his lean, muscled waist when his legs wavered, occasionally guiding him with a hand on his tight buttocks – a task which wasn’t much of a hardship.

She propped him against the door as she rummaged under the flowerpots dotting the path to it.

‘Whass keepin’ you, my sweet?’ Tom yelled from the doorstep. He took two steps back towards Sarah, fell down a step and flopped on the lawn. ‘Whoops!’

Sarah giggled. Already covered in sticky drink, he was now decorated with grass clippings and mud. She pulled him up again to face her, and manoeuvred him through the door. She briefly attempted to prop him up and get away but he somehow stayed between her and the entrance door, not letting her escape.

Tom lifted his arms and draped them over her shoulders, leaning into her. ‘I need a sh-shower, and I won’t let you go until you shoap me down,’ he breathed in her ear.

Despite his inebriated state, she could feel curls of arousal tightening through her, and her legs weakening. Luckily, the bathroom was the first door she tried: a small, blue-tiled room with a clean, white bathroom suite.

Tom collapsed on the side of the bath and leant around the shower-screen to poke at the mixer taps. Somehow he managed to turn the water on. He looked back to Sarah.