Spencer stroked her hair, holding her quietly for several long moments. “What do you want to do about your father, love?”
“I have no idea.” She burrowed deeper into his embrace, and he didn’t press her to say more. “I don’t want to see him. He’s been sending me letters for years. Somehow he figured out I had my name legally changed to my mom’s maiden name, and I think he Googles me. Every time I change jobs it takes a month or so to get a letter from him. As soon as a press release with a quote from me goes up on a website, he seems to know where I am.” It had never been more than an annoyance to her, since she knew he was securely locked away where he couldn’t physically reach her. But he’d still controlled her life, even from prison.
“He didn’t get a life sentence. He’s eligible for parole in a couple of years, if he survives. And in that time, my mom will have missed out on holding her only grandbaby. She’d only be forty-six this year, Spencer. She should be able to see our child’s wedding, but instead she’ll never meet them. Our baby will never know her.” She glanced down in shame, suddenly aware that his mother was also dead. “I’m sorry...”
“Don’t be daft. It’s completely different.”
She shook her head in resignation. “It’s not just that I refuse to forgive him because he took my mother away. It’s that I
know
him. I know how he works, how he breaks down everything you are until you feel utterly dependent on him. He’s my father, the only one I’ll ever have. No matter what monstrous things he’s done, he’ll always have that power over me. The only way I can protect myself is by cutting him out of my life completely.”
“Then why do you keep his letters?”
“I don’t know. In case he says something incriminating? In case...in case he says he’s abjectly sorry? I don’t know. I don’t know.” She drew in a deep breath. “Do you see what kind of power he has? I keep his letters when I should burn them. I should write to the warden and demand he stops them. But I let them come and I keep them and I tell myself it’s just in case. All I really know is that I’ll never let anyone have that kind of power over me again. Never. I had no choice in letting him be important in my life, but I’ll never love someone so much I let them destroy all I am until I’m nothing apart from them.”
He took a deep breath, her head riding the wave of it on his chest. “That’s what you think love is?”
She tried to quiet every thought and feeling competing for her attention. Was that all she thought love was? A way of grooming someone for abuse? She pulled back from him, and he let her. “In my mind, I know love is much more than that. But I’m...I’m scared, Spencer.”
The tears hit before she could control them. His brows lowered and his nostrils flared as though her tears hurt him as much as her. “I’ve been so scared of falling in love with you. I’ve always known that growing up with an abuser made me more vulnerable, but I still went and fell in love with Seth—or what I thought was love, anyway.”
Spencer swiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “You may have fallen in love with him, sweetheart, but he wasn’t in love with you. From what you’ve told me of him and your father, I don’t think they’re capable of loving anyone but themselves. That’s the difference here.” He clasped her cold hand and held it against his chest. “I love you with every beat of my heart. I’d sacrifice anything to make you happy, not use it against you. But you have to trust that my love for you is real, that you’re safe to let yourself love me back. The question is, can you do that?”
Vulnerability lurked in his eyes. It was probably mirrored in hers. She’d never opened herself up to anyone this way.
Caitlyn had always imagined love would hit her like a tidal wave, if it hit her at all. One minute she would be innocently enjoying herself and then
wham!
She’d be tumbled off her feet and grasping for some kind of anchor.
Instead it had wrapped itself around her so subtly that she hadn’t even realized it was too late. Every bit of her loved him, yearned for him, needed him. These past few months, she hadn’t been fighting her own feelings for him. She’d been fighting to trust his love for her.
All the times she’d made herself vulnerable in front of him—from admitting her lack of experience to accidentally slicing open her hand to having sex with him the first time—sprang into her memory. In not a single instance had he betrayed her. Never had he made her feel less than desired, cherished.
Loved.
She held his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. He held himself still, kissing her back but with such restraint that her heart broke. They’d reached the point where he couldn’t trust her not to hurt him. In protecting herself, she’d sacrificed him.
“I love you—so much, Spencer,” she whispered against his lips. “And I’m so sorry for all the ways I hurt you. I do trust you. I’ll do anything to start earning your trust again. Anything.”
He pulled back slightly, his face shuttering as if he prepared himself for a hurricane of emotion he wasn’t sure he could survive. “Anything?”
“Absolutely anything. Name it.”
Threading his fingers through hers, he squeezed her hand. “I only want one thing. To know you believe in me. If I don’t have that...”
“You have that, Spencer. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long, but if you’re ready to talk to me, then I’m ready to listen.”
* * *
The safest place to begin—the place where it always began and ended for him—was on the rugby pitch.
“It was the World Cup in Australia, just after we played the semifinal. We thrashed France in the semis. They were one of the favorites and we...we tended not to live up to our fans’ expectations.”
He couldn’t face her for the next part, training his gaze on the standard-issue hotel chair he’d sat in moments before. “It was my nineteenth birthday, and we played in Adelaide. We went out to celebrate, but we all made sure to be back in our rooms for curfew. No drinking, or anything like that. We took the game too seriously to throw it away so easily.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod as if to coax him into talking. He didn’t need coaxing. He hadn’t talked about it in eleven years, and nothing could stop the words now.
“There was a knock on my door. Two women—girls—with a box of cheap wine. They said they wanted to celebrate my birthday with me.”
He raked his hand over his face. “God, I was such a cock. I thought I was a god. I saw my whole future stretched out before me with beautiful women wanting nothing more in life than to please me.” He laughed, a thing without humor or forgiveness. “I almost thought they owed it to me. Australia owed it to me because I was so shit-hot.”
He opened his eyes. Her hand was on his knee and he hadn’t even felt it. He stared at the floor to the side of her, wiping his hand over his mouth and speaking through his fingers as if to muffle the worst of it. “One of them was sixteen. It never occurred to me to ask them for ID, obviously. Even if it had, sixteen’s the age of consent in the U.K., so I would’ve thought I was okay. If she’d been two months older or we’d been in a different state, it would’ve been fine.” He dropped his hand. “But she wasn’t, so it wasn’t.”
The silence would strangle him. Guilt radiated from his body in waves, blocking any signals he might have had from her.
“But you weren’t convicted.”
“No. I wasn’t convicted. The charges were dropped the day after the final.” He breathed out sharply. “She was kept anonymous so the media wouldn’t ruin her life. I knew her name, though, and I saw her picture a couple of years later. She was standing next to her dad as he was appointed assistant manager for one of the provincial teams.”
Caitlyn’s hand dug into his knee. “Spencer, what are you saying? Was it a setup?”
He thought for a minute before shaking his head. “No. I just—no. It couldn’t have been. No father would put his daughter up to something like that. But it explains how she knew where the team were staying. And it explains why her father wouldn’t have wanted the attention of a trial. I just wonder if his timing in bringing and dropping the charges might not have been a bit fortuitous.”
The worst was over. He’d gone twelve rounds, or however many rounds a bull went with a torero, and he’d survived. Now he just needed to pick up the pieces, and face whatever happened with Caitlyn like a man. “Emma used to be one of the scum-suckers?”
“She’d probably prefer the term
journalist.
”
“Right. And I’d rather be called a billionaire. Doesn’t make me one.” No, he couldn’t deflect this onto Emma’s shoulders. He should’ve told Caitlyn himself, and only one person deserved the blame for that. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I never said anything. I can’t tell you how much I regret that.”
“No, you were right. Look at how I reacted when I found out. It hit my panic button, and I can’t imagine it would’ve been any better on another day. It may have taken a long time for us to get here, but I love you, Spencer. And I trust you with everything I am.”
God, he’d needed to hear that for so long. His control broke, and he thrust his fingers into her hair, captured her lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she practically climbed inside him. When he paused for breath, he perched his forehead against hers, smiling as she caressed his lips with her thumb. He nipped at it, flexing her closer. “You love me?”
“So much. So much.”
He grabbed her bum and hitched her up his body so he could fall back onto the bed, right where they needed to be. Whispering her name over and over, he pressed kisses onto every inch of her face, unable to hold back the loving words he’d suppressed for far too long.
She let go of a needy little moan that ratcheted up his lust. Twisting so he was above her, he reared and hooked his hands under her armpits, tossing her farther up the bed. She squealed as she flew across the mattress and bounced on the pillows, holding her arms open as if she craved his embrace. He crawled up her body, his grin growing as he stared down at her. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, until she self-consciously pushed curls off her face and asked, “What is it?”
He shook his head, running his hands over the tops of her thighs. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” One of his hands worked its way up the front of her sweater to sweep over her smooth belly. “Have a family with you.” His fingertips skimmed the underside of her breast as need tightened his groin. “Love you forever.”
Tears spilled over her eyelids—happy tears, he hoped. She pulled him down and kissed him tenderly. “I’ll love you forever, too, Spencer,” she whispered. “Every day. I promise.”
He sealed his lips over hers, breathing in her promise and letting his hands make promises of their own as they made love.
Later, as they snuggled together, Liam came back and pounded on the door. “Time’s up, Bailey! Reception gave me another key, and I’m coming in.”
They had just enough time for Spencer to bury Caitlyn up to her neck in covers before Liam rushed in and froze in horror. “Jesus Christ.”
“What did you think was happening in here?”
“I thought...you two...” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll get another room. You, mate, are going to pay for this.” With a nod toward Caitlyn, he said, “He’s a prick. You could do better.”
The door slammed behind him. Caitlyn stroked down Spencer’s chest, pausing to swirl her fingers around his belly button before traveling lower, leaving a sizzling trail of nerves in her wake. “How do you think he’ll make you pay?”
“He’ll probably torture me during our training sessions this week.” He gazed at her with adoration. “But it’ll be worth every second.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Will you be all right by yourself this morning, love?”
Caitlyn cracked her eyes open wide enough to see Spencer crouched next to her in his white-and-green tracksuit. The rugby club’s founders couldn’t have chosen colors that suited him more if they’d tried. They were so freaking hot next to his dark hair and highlighting the green in his hazel eyes.
“I’ll be fine.” She stretched and yawned.
He opened his mouth to say something else but kissed her forehead instead. “See you later?”
She answered the question in his voice by brushing his cheek with her fingertips. “See you later.”
He pulled open the curtains, a small smile tipping the corners of his lips as a beam of eye-gouging light fell across the bed. “It’s a sunny day. Perfect for rugby.”
His optimism was contagious. She grinned like a fool. The second he left the room, she sprang out of bed and rushed to the shower, eager to start her day. Her sunny day.
Sun-ny days.
The soap slipped from her hands.
Sesame Street?
How did she even remember the tune when she hadn’t seen the show in at least twenty years? A memory streaked through her mind of sitting on her mother’s lap singing the song and clapping together. Caitlyn rested her forehead against the plastic shower wall as she waited for the familiar despair to cripple her. Instead, nothing but warmth and a smile washed over her. It was the first precious memory she’d had of her mom in years.
She picked up the soap again and wondered if she could remember the words. Something about clouds being swept away and the air being...what—clean? sweet? clear?
One day very soon, she’d be able to hold her own baby and sing “Sesame Street” together. She put an item on her mental to-do list: learn the words before giving birth.
This love thing had left her feeling lighter than she ever remembered feeling. Her father’s remote influence on her drifted away on the changing tide. She wouldn’t visit him. Wouldn’t read any more of his letters. He could die in the prison hospital, and she would do nothing but receive a phone call. She didn’t make the decision out of vengeance, fear or anger. He simply ceased to have any hold over her emotions. Last night Spencer had helped her remove her father’s spectral claws and fling them as far as she could.
Caitlyn toweled her hair dry and got dressed. As she stepped into the bedroom, she saw the packet of letters that had followed and haunted her for years lying abandoned on the floor. When she picked them up, the familiar shivers of revulsion didn’t hit her. She popped open the snap and pulled out a few envelopes.
Then she spent the next twenty minutes tearing them into tiny pieces and flushing them into the London sewer system.
She’d finally opened her eyes last night and seen what a good man looked like. She’d realized, too, that Spencer hadn’t dug a trowel into her heart these past few months to hurt her. He’d been scraping away the debris to help expose what was authentically her.
Last night he’d started patching the holes.
Today she’d get to work repairing his own damaged heart.
* * *
Several hours later, she huddled in her winter coat in a Twickenham park nervously awaiting him. She saw him as soon as he rounded a curve in the path, looking much the same as the first time they’d met. Bruises swelled his brow and a cheekbone. He sported a patch covering a cut on his chin. Despite all the evidence that he made his living through sheer physical force, he’d been transformed in her mind. He was the patient man who put her needs above his own. The gentle man who had given her ample reason to open her heart and soul. The man she loved above all others.
His eyes lit up as he saw the food spread on the picnic blanket she sat on. Mud splashed beneath his feet as he rushed toward her. Or, more precisely, toward her food.
“Food!”
He paused to give her a kiss before ripping into a chicken thigh. He didn’t speak for several minutes—unless his moaning noises of contentment could qualify as speech. When he’d made a big dent in the piles of food, he gave a satisfied groan. “Man, I needed that.”
She leaned back on her elbows next to him, trying to quell her jittery nerves. She didn’t know how men lived with this kind of pressure.
“Spencer, I wanted to thank you for last night.”
He reached to cover her hand but didn’t say anything. He had turned quiet and contemplative. “It’s getting dark already,” he said. “We should probably go.” He got up and started packing things away.
It was now or never. She wrapped all her courage around herself and stood next to him. Taking a bag of trash from his hands, she dropped it on the blanket. “I wanted to ask you something.”
His eyebrows bunched at her frantic tone. “Of course. What is it?”
“Spencer Bailey, I love you with all my heart. You’re my best friend, my lover and my hero. You told me once that I was the one who’d have to put the moves on you.” She dug in her pocket until she found the box and dropped to one knee before him. With shaky hands, she held up the box. With a shakier voice she said, “Here’s my move. Will you marry me?”
His jaw dropped. In slow-mo he kneeled so he was only a head taller than her. Wordlessly, he reached out and crushed her against him. From knees to mouth they pressed against each other, content to kiss and stroke and cuddle for several minutes. He tilted his mouth over hers, cupping her cheek with such tenderness that tears pricked her eyes as joy rushed through her.
She finally pulled away. “Is that a yes?”
“God, yes.” He grinned, the slow sexy one that had been making her tummy flip for several months. Resting his forehead against hers, he admitted, “I feel a bit daft being proposed to, but we don’t have to tell my mates about this, right?”
She shook her head, her heart so full she couldn’t speak.
“What’s in the box, sweetheart?”
She followed his gaze to the forgotten box clutched in her fist. “Oh. I should’ve opened it first. Sorry, I’ve never done this before.”
He grinned. “I should warn you now, if the diamond’s not big enough I might change my answer.”
She cracked open the box and pulled out a flat gold band. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I thought plain would be better than ornate. Don’t worry if it’s not your taste,” she assured him as she brought it up to his finger. “I kept the receipt.”
His whole body shook with laughter. She had to grab his hand to keep it still. “That’s my girl. Always practical.”
She slid the ring onto his finger and wrinkled her nose when she saw the massive gap.
“I was going to ask how you knew my size, but obviously you didn’t.”
“I just asked them for the biggest one they had.”
“Sweetheart, I know I must look huge to you, but I’m not a behemoth.” She blushed and he dropped a kiss on her lips. “Don’t worry. You kept the receipt.”
The world around them faded away again as they kissed.
“There’s something else,” she whispered when she came up for air.
“More? What more could I want than a ring and food?”
“Look behind those bushes.”
He stood and walked to a high, snow-dusted hedgerow several feet away. “Well, you
have
had a busy day, haven’t you?”
She gathered the remnants of their picnic and joined him. “There’s a small break in the bushes over here that we’ll have to squeeze through. I don’t think this is legal, but no one can see us from the path—I checked.” She led him through the bushes to stand in front of their accommodation for the night. “It’s a five-person tent, so there’s room for our family to grow.”
She unzipped the door but he stopped her before she could crawl inside. “We may not be married yet, but we’re going to start doing things properly.” He bent and gently put his shoulder into the front of her hips, upending her over his shoulder.
“Spencer, what are you doing?”
“I agree it doesn’t look like much of a threshold, love, but that won’t stop me carrying you over it.” He dropped to his knees in front of the entrance. “Stop wriggling. This is trickier than I thought. Like a reverse limbo.”
After bumping her butt against the tent a half dozen times, and nearly collapsing the thing once, he finally managed to get them both inside. By the time they fell onto the sleeping bags, they shook with laughter.
“Now come here, Yank, and let me show you something new,” Spencer murmured as he slid her toward him.
“No, I have something new to show you.”
His cocky brow rose. “Oh really? What’s that?”
Tugging him as close as possible, she whispered against his lips, “How much I love you.”