Redemption: A British Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

“That would be nice,” I replied, with absolutely no enthusiasm.

Neither Maisie nor I wanted to see Dad, but Mom didn’t like us badmouthing him in front of her. Ever since our last visit eight years ago, we’d only ever seen Dad when he’d visited the US, and that was becoming less and less frequent. He wasn’t completely to blame, but I did get the impression that spending time with his children wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

“OMG, maybe we can see Olly as well,” Maisie screamed excitedly. “I still chat to him all the time online. I reckon he’d meet up with us.”

“No,” I replied, far too quickly. “We’re not meeting Oliver. Absolutely not.” Way to play it cool, Michelle.

Maisie still worshipped our stepbrother, but I knew better. She had no idea what a jerk he’d been to me when we’d last spoken eight years ago. As far as Maisie was concerned, Oliver was the hotshot rugby player who’d introduced her to the game when she’d been six years old.

To me, he was the asshole who acted nice one minute and then blamed me for his own fuck ups. I hadn’t seen him in eight years, and I could quite happily go another eight.

“Why not?” Maisie asked, as Mom walked outside for a cigarette. “Don’t tell me you still have a crush on him?”

“Maisie,” I scolded, looking around to make sure Mom hadn’t heard. “Don’t talk like that. He’s our stepbrother.”

“Even as a six-year-old, I picked up on the tension between you two. Besides, he clearly feels the same way about you. He asks about you every time we speak online.”

“He does? Wait, what do you tell him?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t tell him how boring your life is. I pretend you have a social life and go out on dates and things.”

“I do have a… no, I’m not getting another lecture from my little sister. Let’s figure out the logistics of this trip before I change my mind about going with you.”

“You know, using words like ‘logistics’ really takes the fun out of big international adventures. Come on, let’s get online and do some shopping. I need a new summer wardrobe, and you… well, you just need an entirely new wardrobe.”

“
C
an
you believe we’re in first class?” Maisie asked, as she tapped her cup of orange juice against my whiskey.

“No,” I replied. “I can’t.” Nothing about this trip made any sense. Once I decided to join Maisie on the trip, I called England Rugby who confirmed that the scout was real and the entire thing was legitimate. They were fine with me accompanying Maisie, but said I needed to buy my own ticket.

The flight was going to set me back nearly a thousand dollars, but just before I bought the ticket I got a call back from a representative who said that England Rugby would pay for everything. The next thing I knew, we were both booked in first class for a trip to London.

“I knew rugby was a lot bigger in England,” Maisie said, “but this is kind of insane. First class tickets for a fourteen-year-old female player is unheard of.”

“Please don’t go getting your hopes up,” I said, for what must have been the tenth time at least.

“I know, I know. This is just a summer and I’m not suddenly going to become some rich and famous rugby player like Olly.”

“You don’t want to become like Oliver.”

“Just because he made one mistake in the 2007 World Cup Final, doesn’t make him a bad rugby player overnight.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I took a long sip of my whiskey.

Just the mention of Oliver’s name made me need a drink to calm my nerves. Maisie kept insisting we meet up with him at some point, but that would be tough to arrange with Maisie at a training camp all summer and Oliver playing rugby for West London R.F.C.

Maisie started to argue with me, but she knew talking about Oliver annoyed me so she kept quiet. She still owed me for coming along on this trip with her, and that bought me a few minutes of silence.

We were the first off the plane when it landed, and our priority pass took us straight to the front of the line at “Her Majesty’s Customs.” The name sounded a little old-school, but the officers were far more cheerful and pleasant than their contemporaries at the Transportation Security Administration. Mind you, that was like saying Maisie was better than most girls at rugby; true enough, but the bar was set pretty low.

“Business or pleasure, ladies,” the officer asked as he checked our passports.

“Business,” Maisie replied. “I’m here to play rugby.”

The officer frowned—never an expression you wanted to see at Customs. “You’re being paid to play rugby here?”

“No, she’s not,” I said. “She’s here for a summer camp playing rugby.”

“Ah, good. Because otherwise you’d be on the wrong visa. What about you, Ma’am?”

“I’m here to look after her, and make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Business then,” the officer joked.

I smiled and took the passports back from the officer and headed to pick up our bags which were first off the plane. Things were going well so far, at least.

Once into the main airport we followed the signs for the taxi stand, until I felt Maisie tugging on my sleeve.

“We have a driver,” Maisie said. “Look.”

Maisie pointed to a man holding up a sign saying ‘Maisie Portman.’ This was getting more ridiculous by the minute.

“You must be Maisie,” the driver said, as we approached. “Pleased to meet you. My name’s Bob and I’ll be your driver.”

I had never gotten the hang of British accents, but Bob sound like he was from London. A local would be able to pinpoint exactly where, but all I knew was that he didn’t sound like Oliver which meant he probably wasn’t from West London.

“Hi Bob,” Maisie said. “This is my sister, Michelle.”

I shook Bob’s hand and asked where we were going.

“Your hotel is about a forty-five-minute drive from here,” Bob replied. “The traffic’s an effin’ disaster at this time of day. Let me take your bags.”

“That’s okay, we can carry our own bags,” I said.

“Don’t be daft. I’m the driver. Besides, wouldn’t be right of me to let two beautiful ladies like you carry your own bags.”

“Thanks, Bob,” Maisie said cheerfully, handing over her bag. I reluctantly followed suit and let Bob lead the way outside, where he took us straight to a waiting limo.

“You’re kidding me,” Maisie exclaimed when she saw it. “We have a limo.”

“You know, at this point, I’m not even surprised.” Everything about this trip was odd.

Maisie jumped in the limo as soon as the door opened. A second later I heard her scream.

This entire time I’d known something was up. The trip seemed too good to be true. If Maisie had been attacked again I’d never be able to forgive myself.

I looked inside the limo and saw Maisie with her arms wrapped around a man on the back seat. He saw me and my eyes locked onto his. I’d recognize those dark green eyes anywhere. He pushed Maisie off him and smiled at me.

“I have a feeling you’re surprised now,” Oliver said, leaning back and crossing his legs. “It’s been a long time, Michelle. So, are you pleased to see me?”

The limo suddenly felt small and claustrophobic, but I stepped inside and let Bob close the door behind me.

Maisie sat down opposite Oliver and I took a seat near her. I should have sat next to him; at least that way I wouldn’t have to look at him. I would have been able to smell him though. He always smelled irresistible, regardless of whether he was going out for the evening or had just finished a game of rugby.

“It’s Olly,” Maisie said, stating the obvious. “Can you believe it? This trip just gets better and better.”

“I’m glad one of you thinks so,” Oliver said. “Your sister doesn’t look so pleased to see me.”

“Ignore her,” Maisie said, clearly already doing just that. “She’s just tired from the trip.”

I wasn’t at all tired. I’d never felt more awake. What was he doing here? It had been eight years. Eight painful, frustrating years without so much as a word from him. Now he was just a few feet away, smiling at me as if we were old friends.

I stared at Oliver in his dark gray suit, with a white shirt, and pink tie. At least this way I couldn’t see his legs. I’d always been unable to resist Oliver’s thighs. They were built like tree trunks and composed entirely of muscle. Most rugby players had strong legs, but Oliver’s still stood out among the crowd.

“Would you like a drink, Michelle?” Oliver asked.

Was that it? ‘Would you like a drink?’ How about ‘sorry for acting like a fucking idiot all those years ago, Michelle?’

“Just a water,” I replied.

Oliver leaned forward with a bottle of water from the cooler in the door, and I took it gingerly by the lid to avoid making contact with Oliver’s hand. Even after all these years, I didn’t trust myself around him. He hadn’t changed much. There was more stubble around his face and his dark brown hair was more disheveled, but he was still the same old Oliver, for better and for worse. Mainly for better.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I’m going to assume the limo and the first class flight tickets are something to do with you?”

“Yep,” Oliver replied. “Traveling first class helps with the jet lag and I didn’t want you to take a week getting acclimatized.”

“Thought as much.”

“That’s Michelle’s way of saying ‘thank you,’” Maisie added.

I looked away as Oliver smiled at me. I’d rather he think I was just rude, instead of seeing the longing I still had for him in my eyes. Even Maisie had picked up on the way I used to look at him, and she’d only been six at the time. I dreaded to think how obvious it would be now.

“Do you work for England Rugby?” I asked.

“No,” Oliver replied, “but the whole initiative with getting women playing rugby is run in conjunction with my club. I’m kind of an ambassador for the program I suppose.”

“That’s awesome,” Maisie exclaimed. “That means we’re going to see a lot of you this summer, then?”

Oliver looked over at me, still smiling. “Oh yes, I’ll be around. In fact, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

I met his gaze this time, but inside I was trembling. Not with excitement like Maisie, but with fear for what the summer might hold. Oliver was bad news, but I was drawn to him like I’d never been drawn to another man. No one before or after him had come close.

I’d tried to move on, I really had. Maisie liked to comment on the lack of men in my life, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t been on dates or had boyfriends. I even had a relatively active sex life. Not a good sex life, but an active one.

I’d never been able to find a man that made me feel the way Oliver did. Some of them had made me laugh, and a few had been charming, but Oliver made me truly feel something. Something deep inside. Something between my legs. God, so many feelings between my legs.

But there was another side to Oliver. Maisie saw him as the cool older brother that she never got to see, but I saw him as the man who had thrown us out of his life when things went wrong. He’d accused Maisie and me of “distracting him from his game” and had made it quite clear he wanted us to stay out of his life. That was eight years ago.

I’d happily obliged, and hadn’t spoken to him since, but Maisie had been too young to remember what had happened. Now he had purposely brought us back into his life, and this time he seemed only too happy to have us around. What had changed?

One thing was for certain, if he kept smiling at me like that, it was going to be damn difficult to keep hating him. He already had Maisie’s trust and friendship, but he’d have to do more than buy us first class plane tickets to regain mine. Not after what he had done.

W
ithin minutes
of seeing Michelle again, I knew it would take a lot more than a nice suit and an expensive plane ride to win her round. I’d spent hours choosing exactly what I should wear when I met her. She remembered me as the guy who wore only two types of outfit: rugby kit or jeans and a t-shirt.

I needed to show Michelle I had changed and matured since we’d last spoken, so a suit seemed like a good idea. Many women had told me that I looked damn near irresistible with my thighs bursting through the trouser legs of my suit, and their subsequent actions usually confirmed that statement. The suit didn’t seem to have the same effect on Michelle though. It wouldn’t be easy to regain her trust.

I’d kept my involvement in the trip a surprise—mainly for Maisie’s benefit—and I’d been hoping for a slightly more positive reaction. Maisie had warned me that Michelle was hard to please these days, but even so, I hadn’t expected her to look so stern. She looked at me with an intense hatred that I usually reserved for criminals or those who tried to cheat on the rugby pitch.

Michelle blamed herself for what happened to Maisie. I reminded her of that night, and she hated me for it. I should tell her it was my fault; that Maisie only had those burns because of me. But I couldn’t. If I told her that then I’d have to tell her everything else, and that couldn’t happen.

Michelle had been slightly chubbier back in 2007, but she’d lost all that weight now. She looked gorgeous back then, and she still did. She obviously kept in shape. The tight yoga pants she’d worn for the flight revealed toned legs, and I could see firm arms underneath the cotton jumper.

The rest of her looked as tantalising as it always had done. The zip on her jumper was open just enough for me to see the tops of her breasts under the strappy top. They looked positively succulent; firm and tender, almost as if they were untouched.  

She looked like a model in a commercial as she tilted her head back and took a long drink from the water bottle. I suddenly felt rather hot and bothered, so I grabbed a bottle for myself from the small fridge.  

Maisie looked out of the window eagerly, taking in the rather underwhelming sights around Heathrow airport, and pulling faces at people in passing cars who couldn’t see through the one-way glass.

Maisie didn’t remember what happened in the last few days she’d spent in England, but Michelle clearly did. I’d been an arsehole, no doubt about it, but I had my reasons and it was a long time ago.

I couldn’t spend the entire summer being enemies with Michelle. I could win her round, but I’d need to get some time alone with her and apologise. I had no idea whether she would accept an apology, but I had to at least try.

“Maisie,” Michelle scolded, when she caught her little sister sticking her middle finger up at another car.

“What? They can’t see me,” Maisie replied.

I caught Michelle’s attention and held my finger up to my lips, asking her to remain silent. I reached my hand up and pressed a button on the roof that changed the one-way glass to be just tinted. It wasn’t enough that people could completely see in, but someone up close to the window would be visible to those outside.

Maisie raised her middle finger on the other hand and started aggressively gesturing at a passenger in the front seat of the car next to us. The passenger turned and looked directly at the limo and frowned. She started mouthing something and then stuck two fingers up in return. The car horn started beeping soon afterwards and Maisie backed away from the window in surprise.

“Hey, this limo’s broken. The glass doesn’t work properly. I think they saw me.”

I smirked and tried not to laugh, but when Maisie peeked through the window nervously and then backed away when confronted by the sight of a large angry lady leaning out the window, I burst out laughing and pressed the button to make the windows one-way again.

“Serves you right,” Michelle said, a smile appearing on her face for the first time. I hoped to see plenty more of that. Michelle deserved to be happy all the time. It pained me to think that she hadn’t been happy these last eight years. The way Maisie made it sound, Michelle worked hard, but took little time for herself. If I had my way, she’d never stop smiling. Well, except in bed perhaps.

“I wanted you to get a proper introduction to English hospitality,” I said, still laughing at the look on Maisie’s face. “Can’t have you thinking it’s all first class flights and limo rides.”

Maisie went back to looking out the window. I stared at the side of her face where the burn marks were still clearly visible after all these years. I wanted to make a huge fuss over them and apologize profusely for what happened, but Maisie hated that.

I’d tried to explain before, but she didn’t want to hear it. She’d long since accepted that her face was disfigured and as far as she was concerned it was everyone else’s problem, not hers. I wished I had ten percent of her positivity.

The limo made good time getting to the hotel, which was just as well because I was starving.

“Do you want me to help you get to your rooms?” I asked.

“Rooms?” Michelle asked. “Aren’t we sharing?”

“No,” I replied. “I assumed you’d want separate rooms. I’m sure you don’t want your younger sister in there cramping your style if you bring someone home.”

“Ha,” Maisie laughed. “It’s more likely that I’d—”

Michelle shot Maisie a look that shut her up mid-sentence. I knew only too well that a look from Michelle could stop tornadoes. The look she’d given me when I’d told her I never wanted to see her again had stopped my heart beating in my chest. It still did when I thought back to it.

I’d had a slight ulterior motive to getting Michelle and Maisie separate hotel rooms. I would be doing everything in my power to get close to Michelle this summer and the last thing I needed was Maisie popping up at the wrong time. Better that Michelle have some semblance of privacy and then maybe, just maybe, something might happen.

“We’ll be just fine unpacking by ourselves, thank you,” Michelle said, as she stepped out of the limo. “Nice to meet you again, Oliver.”

“Are you hungry?” I yelled out, just before Bob could shut the door.

“Yes,” Maisie replied. “Starving.”

Michelle nodded in agreement. “We can eat in the hotel.”

“Nonsense,” I replied. “Come back down here whenever you’re unpacked and I’ll take you to my favourite pub.”

I made Bob keep the door open so I could watch them disappear into the hotel. I had a mental image of Michelle’s arse still in my mind from eight years ago, but she looked different now.

Her hips swayed more as she moved. I saw the doorman check her out as she walked inside. I couldn’t blame him; she must get stares from every man she walked past.

Maisie and I talked online sometimes and, even though I never asked, Maisie mentioned Michelle’s boyfriends once in a while. None of them had lasted that long, and she was single at the moment. That was all that mattered.

“She looks like she’d be quite the handful,” Bob said, as we watched Michelle and Maisie disappear from view.

“Yes, she’s got a perfect arse,” I replied dreamily.

“Um, I meant the Maisie girl,” Bob said. “She’s going to be a handful when it comes to the training camp.”

“Oh, yes,” I replied awkwardly. “Quite the handful.”

Maisie was the least of my problems this summer. I could do no wrong in her eyes. Michelle was the one I needed to win round. I’d spent eight years convincing myself that I didn’t need her, but it was time to stop kidding myself. I wanted her. The question was, did she want me?