Playing It Close (24 page)

She shrugged. “A fair amount. Mostly I have this for watching matches.”

His brows shot up as his stomach dropped. “Rugby?”

“And tennis,” she said almost defensively. “The occasional big athletics meet.”

“But no football?”

She gave a mock shudder. “I prefer sports played by men, not overpaid prima donnas.”

“Thank God. You had me worried in Venezuela. Football’s more like theater with all that playacting, throwing themselves down on the grass pretending to be injured when no one’s touched them. Bunch of little girls.”

She cleared her throat. “I think you’ll find they’re not girls, and whingeing and cheating doesn’t make them girls. Not unless they were born with vaginas.
That
would make them girls.”

His body went stiff, and she gave him a mocking grin. “Sorry. Are you uncomfortable with that word?”

He tried to shake it off. “Of course. I’m a finely honed athlete, love.
Cheating
is the dirtiest word you could use.”

“Mmm-hmm. I get a bit annoyed when men assume that
girl
is an insult.”

“I can see why that would be annoying. Sorry, I didn’t really think about it. I guess I’ll have to come up with a different insult for footballers.”

She cocked a brow. “Why not
bunch of little boys?
”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t really have the same impact.”

Eager to change the subject to something that wouldn’t earn him a bollocking, he crossed to her DVD collection and discovered several that lined his own shelves. Pulling out a highlights video of England’s last tour of South Africa, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Please tell me you don’t watch this on repeat every night.”

“I’m not obsessive, Liam. My sister got that for me. Besides, that was hardly your best tour. I think the producers struggled to find enough footage to fill ninety minutes. It’s mostly you boys messing about in the changing room, which is usually a sign that there weren’t enough highlights on the pitch.”

He slid the DVD case back into its slot between
Rocky
and
Heathers.
“We
were
a bit rubbish,” he muttered. It’d been his first time captaining England, and the pressure had got to him.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Tess asked from the doorway. She held up the bottle. “Glass of bubbly?”

“I don’t drink during the season. Just water’s fine.” He followed her down the hallway to a bright kitchen and dining room. Although it seemed to be one big room, the dining area must’ve been added on to the original house because it stuck out into the garden and was surrounded by glass, like a conservatory. The late summer sun cast yellow beams of light against the walls and wooden floor. A small desk in the corner was covered with papers, letters and a laptop, but otherwise the place was immaculate. “This is a beautiful house. How long have you lived here?”

“I bought it four years ago, but it needed some work so I only moved in about three years ago.”

She didn’t live with her parents, then. Tension eased from Liam’s shoulders, and he sat on a bar stool on the opposite side of the kitchen counter from Tess, who filled a glass with water from a bottle in the fridge. “Want anything in the water?”

“What, like lemon?”

“Yeah, or I have some powders that’ll give it flavor. Raspberry? Strawberry?”

He grimaced. “The more I hear about your diet, the more I’m appalled. Do you eat anything natural?”

“I will tonight, thanks to you.” She didn’t sound pleased at the prospect. Pouring a glass of water for herself and adding a heaping teaspoon of something pink, she said, “I’m going to come clean here. I’m not much of a cook. My goal for tonight is to avoid poisoning us both.”

“You’re not serving anything raw, are you?”

“Not if I’ve turned the oven on correctly.”

“Good. I’m fine with anything as long as you don’t grate a bunch of courgettes and tell me it’s pasta.”

“At least that’s one thing we can agree on.”

He thought they’d found a few things they could agree on. Firstly, their mutual love for the world’s greatest sport. Secondly, his lackluster performance during his first England captaincy, which he preferred not to dwell on. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, his worries about her being a fan eased somewhat when she’d been honest with him. She’d never gushed over him, and he was grateful for that—though he wouldn’t mind if she stroked his ego just a little bit.

She opened the oven door and steam poured out, blowing tendrils of her hair away from her cheeks, which turned pinker from the heat. A second later, a delicious smell hit him. “What’s that?”

“Cod and roasted vegetables. I thought it would be safest if I stuck with food I’m used to eating, even if the cod I eat’s usually battered and fried.” She closed the door and gave him a concerned look. “Does it smell okay?”

“It smells amazing.”

Her shoulders eased down. “Good. I wasn’t sure how long to give it.”

“Open the oven again.”

She did, and he leaned across the counter to look inside.

“I’d give it at least another five minutes, until the veggies stick to the pan a little.”

“You can cook?”

“Of course. I’ve lived on my own for a long time. If I didn’t cook, I’d starve.”

She grimaced. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Get you out of my mind.
There. He’d admitted it, even if only to himself. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and that was the reason he was here. He’d been prepared to bravely swallow whatever shit food she put in front of him in pursuit of getting answers to all the questions she’d left him with when she’d abandoned him in Venezuela.

He stood and walked around the counter. Laying his hands on her shoulders, he let his thumbs stroke the hollows above her collarbones. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she tilted her head to one side, as if he was slowly melting her, and her neck no longer had the strength to support her.

Brushing the underside of her jaw, he stepped closer and gazed down into her lovely brown eyes. “Tess?”

“Hmm?”

“I enjoyed yesterday morning.”

She gave him a funny little smile. “You enjoy getting your kit off in front of your team?”

He chuckled. “I never need much encouragement to get my kit off. But I meant I enjoyed being in the water with you. It brought back good memories.”

Her smile faded. Disappointed, he stroked her lower lip with his thumb, trying to bring her smile back.

“What’s wrong, Chambers? They weren’t good memories for you?”

She sighed and shook her head. “They were some of my favorite memories.”

“Then why the sad face?”

“Because...” The hesitation just about killed him. “Because I feel awful about how I left you. I should’ve had more courage than that, and I’m sorry. I...I didn’t think. I made assumptions, and I’m afraid they were wrong, and I might’ve hurt your pride in the process. I never meant to do that.”

There was so much he wanted to unpack from that little speech that he didn’t know where to begin. He dove right in to the part he suspected might hurt the worst. “What assumptions did you make?”

He stood so close he could hear her swallow as well as see her throat move. “That since you were a professional rugby player, you’d be grateful that I left without a fuss. That you’d probably expect it. That you’d do it to me, if we’d ended up in my room that night.”

“You basically assumed I’m a slut.”

She jerked, but he kept his hands gentle, not letting her pull away. “I—I don’t think...”

He saw the moment she came to terms with the fact he was right. Her head dropped forward, chin against her chest, and she looked like a chastised little girl. He tugged her closer until her forehead rested against his chest. “It’s not an unfair assumption, Tess. You just happened to meet me during a time when I wasn’t inclined to be slutty.”

Her hands rose, hesitated midair, then settled on his hips, her touch shooting endorphins though him. He slid his fingers into her slightly sweaty hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“What were you inclined to be, then?”

He thought about it for several seconds before finding his answer. “Whoever I am away from the rugby pitch, I guess.”

Tilting her head back, she considered him with a probing look that made him wish he could snatch the words back. “And who’s that?”

That was the million-pound question, but he wasn’t ready to admit he didn’t know. Shit, why was he doing this? He’d wanted to find out why she’d left him, not bare his own soul. “And who were you trying to be, little Tess?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. Pink hair. Skinny-dipping. I’ve seen you in your real habitat now. You’re too comfortable in suits for them to be a new personality you’re trying on. Wet T-shirts on the other hand—” he grinned at her scowl, “—
that
was something new for you. You went to Venezuela to try on a different you. A wilder you. How was the fit?”

She pulled away and leaned against the counter. “I think I could get used to the fit, but it didn’t come naturally to me. I spent so many years working in an environment that’s both conservative and out of control. I never wanted to be either of those things, so I’ve tried to live my life somewhere in the middle. But it all fell apart about six months ago. I thought maybe it was time for a change, time to see if there was someone else I’d squished down inside me who was ready to come out.”

Her words pinged through Liam’s mind, hitting so many familiar emotions that he felt like a human pinball machine. He’d searched for balance throughout his career, but he’d been a Legend nearly as long as he could remember and it had dominated his life. He’d played for the Under 16s while he was still in school, then left school at sixteen to join the academy. From the time he was ten, everything in his life had been geared toward a rugby career. His parents had been proud but had tried to encourage his interest in other things, other people, and they’d mostly failed. His mum’s death had finally shaken him from a life that that had become self-absorbed—so much so that his own mum hadn’t been able to depend on him being by her side when she’d needed him most.

Like Tess, he was ready to find out whether there was someone else he was supposed to be. Something had happened to her around the same time his mum died, and now he realized they had another thing in common: they’d gone to Venezuela to discover themselves and had discovered each other instead.

He had to know more about what she’d gone through. “Why did it all fall apart six months ago?”

Her jaw worked, as if she fought with her reply. She finally sucked in a huge gust of air and let it slowly out. “I was fired.”

“From?”

“I worked in the City trading derivatives.”

“You were a trader?”

She nodded.

“What’d you do, lose millions for your bank?” His confusion grew as she shook her head. “How’d you lose your job, then?”

“Blogging.”

His face went slack. “Blogging?”

“’Fraid so. The atmosphere at work was...” She paused. “I have to think about how to phrase this so I don’t end up in court again. It was fraught with misogyny.”

“Honey, I’d be the last person to unleash lawyers on you. Just tell me what happened.”

She glanced at the clock, then turned away to open the oven. Donning a spotless pair of white oven mitts, she slid the roasting tin out and set it on the cooker. “This look okay?”

“Perfect.” His chest ached with the need to find out more, but she clearly wouldn’t be rushed. If she needed a little space before spilling her guts, he would give it to her. “Put me to work, Chambers. What can I do?”

“Take some plates out of that cupboard while I get the cod and veggies out. I made some couscous, hummus and tzatziki earlier. You can take them to the table. I’ll just pop the pita into the toaster and be right over.”

He did the heavy lifting, taking everything to the table. He couldn’t help but be impressed by what she’d made, considering her admitted lack of kitchen skills. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Wait till you taste it before you start complimenting me. I’m pretty sure I put too much lemon in the hummus and not enough in the tzatziki.”

She brought toasted pita triangles to the table on a side plate and set it between them. They sat and she served him in silence while he tried not to jump all over her for more information. When she finally spoke, her voice was so carefully casual that he almost thought she’d changed the subject. “Have you heard of the Tarrington inquiry?”

He searched his memory. “Not that I can recall. Why?”

“Don’t watch the news much?”

“Watch it all the time, but I’m guessing you don’t mean the sports news. If I can avoid politics, I do.”

“You’re probably a much happier person for it. Anyway, I’m one of the key witnesses.”

His brows shot up. “In a judicial inquiry? What the hell happened?”

She scooped couscous onto her plate. “I wrote an anonymous blog about some of the things I heard around the office. Needless to say, my employers weren’t impressed. They fired me, so I got angry and took them to an employment tribunal. They settled out of court, but by that point it was all over the news and other women came forward with similar stories. Then the politicians got involved. It’s been messy and humiliating and I wish I could go back in time and quietly quit before it all went to hell.”

She suddenly put down her fork and knife, folded her hands primly on the table and lifted her eyes to meet his. “That’s why I left you. I’d thought my part in the inquiry was over and I could get on with living my life, but I was recalled to the stand. I had to come home.”

“And you couldn’t tell me this?”

She hesitated. “I could’ve. Maybe I should’ve. But I acted like a chickenshit instead. That day, Liam...it was so perfect. Being with you, nothing could’ve been better for me. It was like a fantasy come to life. And I didn’t want to pop that bubble by bringing reality into it. I wanted to leave the memory intact so I’d have something sweet and sexy and romantic to cling to when real life got too real.”