Chapter Twenty-Three

Aiden tried to enjoy his Sunday evening, and mostly he succeeded. Coming third wasn’t a total disaster, he kept reminding himself. Sure the gap between him and Carlos was wider now but they weren’t even halfway through the season yet. There was time to catch the smarmy bastard.

Plus it was hard to keep kicking himself about losing a race when his brother was reciting an endless stream of schoolboy gags, one or two of which Aiden had actually managed to laugh at. If he was honest though, it was Mel who gave him the biggest lift. Listening to her lilting voice as she encouraged Tom to regale more of his jokes. Smiling with her when Tom, inevitably, forgot the punchline. Laughing at her when she finally gave in to the giggles. Yes, having Mel around was the best antidote to a dismal race he’d ever come across.

Which was why, once he’d shuffled Tom off to bed, Aiden desperately didn’t want the evening to end.

‘Another drink?’ If she accepted, he was guaranteed at least another half hour of her company.

‘Are you going to join me?’

He debated for a moment. So far he’d stuck to the rules and the only alcohol he’d drunk was winners’ champagne, so his bloodstream wasn’t exactly overburdened with the stuff. Plus the next race was two weeks away and he could really murder a beer. ‘Yes.’ He fiddled about in the kitchen area, prizing the lid off a lager bottle, retrieving a bottle of wine from the fridge, before joining her on the sofa.

‘Have you thought what you’re going to do about Tom when your mother comes back?’

Midway through filling her glass, his hand stilled. ‘No,’ he replied rather abruptly. After the crappy day he’d just had the last thing he wanted to do was think about even more crap.

‘Fine.’ Her single word response was filled with exasperation. ‘As it’s clear you don’t want to talk I’ll leave the wine, thanks, and go back to the hotel.’

‘Now wait a minute.’ He grabbed hold of her arm, just in case she had any ideas of making a break for it. ‘Of course I want to talk to you. I can think of plenty of other things I’d like to do with you too, but I guess they aren’t on the agenda, so talking is good. Just not about Tom. Not at the moment. Please?’ Even to his own ears his voice sounded whiney. More than a plea, closer to a beg.

‘What are we allowed to talk about then, Aiden? Because I know you won’t want to talk about the race, Tom’s off the agenda and heaven forbid I ask you anything about your past. So, what’s left?’

He had a feeling he was being very skilfully manipulated. ‘There are lots of areas,’ he countered defensively. ‘How about we talk about you? I’d really love to know what it was like to be Melanie Hunt growing up.’

‘It’s not a story that will thrill you.’

‘Don’t you worry, I’ve got other ideas how we can achieve that.’ He smiled when she flushed, knowing it proved he still had the ability to affect her. The day she stopped reacting to him was the day he’d blown any further chance with her.

‘I was a much adored only child,’ she began, ignoring his remark. ‘My parents wanted a sibling for me, but it never happened.’

‘I suspect they were pretty happy with what they had.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled wryly at him. ‘God, that sounds so arrogant, but I knew they were happy because they showed me. They doted on me. I wasn’t spoilt with material things. I was spoilt with love.’

‘In my case it was the other way around.’ He’d meant the words to stay in his head but she glanced sharply at him so he must have uttered them out loud.

‘What—’

‘We’re talking about you,’ he cut in firmly.

‘Fine, though it’s your turn next.’

Not if I can help it. This time he made sure the words stayed in his mind.

‘There isn’t much more to say,’ Mel continued. ‘Mum was a schoolteacher, which was really cool because she kept similar hours to me so I didn’t have to be shunted off to childminders or spend hours home alone. She was also French so I grew up bilingual.’

She smiled at a distant memory, her pretty eyes growing soft and dreamy. ‘We’d have these great holidays in France with my grandparents where the locals would assume I was this English schoolgirl and occasionally make snide remarks behind my back. You should have seen their faces when I rattled off a sarcastic comeback in perfect French.’

‘I can imagine.’ He could also picture Mel as a schoolgirl, hair in wayward pigtails and a short skirt showing off her perfectly formed legs. ‘What about your dad?’

‘He was a teacher too, but at university where he lectured on English. I inherited my love of words and writing from him, which is why I went on to study journalism. He was also a major racing enthusiast, which is no doubt why I ended up in the sport.’ Once more she smiled fondly at the memories. ‘I repeat, we’re talking major here. He went to as many race meetings as he could and those he couldn’t he watched religiously on the television. When I became old enough to take an interest, he’d take me to meetings, too. Mum would hit the shops while Dad and I hit the circuit. Watching races together became our thing for many years.’ As she’d talked her eyes had filled with tears and now they spilt down her face.

‘Hell, I didn’t want to make you sad, Mel. You don’t have to talk about this.’

She brushed at her damp cheeks. ‘I’m fine, really. In a funny way I’m actually enjoying this. It’s been a long time since I talked about them and it’s lovely to relive the memories.’

‘Even though they’re making you cry.’

‘Yes.’ She wrestled a tissue out of her handbag and blew her nose. ‘I don’t often get the chance to indulge in looking back. Sometimes I do when I’m by myself, but it’s not the same.’ She glanced up at him with watery eyes. ‘It’s lovely to share them with someone else for a little while.’

It gradually dawned on him quite how tough her life had been following their deaths. ‘Do you have any grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles nearby?’

‘Mum had a brother who lives in Scotland, but we were never close. Dad was an only child. I have grandparents in Provence whom I try and see once a year.’

‘So who was there to support you after your parents died?’ When she didn’t immediately reply, he felt a rush of anger on her behalf for the injustice of it all. ‘Heck, Mel, you were eighteen and effectively all alone in the world?’

‘No, it wasn’t that bad. Friends rallied round and my grandparents came over for a few weeks and helped me with the funeral arrangements. Then I went back to university and tried to carry on as normal.’

‘Jesus.’ He shook his head and drained back his beer. ‘I’m in awe of how you handled it all. By rights you should be angry and bitter at how they were taken away from you, and yet you’re the most grounded, warm, real person I’ve ever met. They’d be so proud of you.’ Her eyes rounded in shock and he had to laugh. ‘What, you really don’t know how incredible you are?’

Stunned, Mel stared at Aiden. She knew he could fake words, but it wasn’t possible to fake the look in his eyes. This gorgeous man, one of an elite bunch who risked death on a racetrack most weekends, surviving through sheer grit, determination and mind boggling skill, thought she was incredible?

‘I’m not,’ she told him honestly. ‘I just choose to be grateful for the time I had with them, rather than bitter at what I’d lost. Many children weren’t as lucky as me.’ Pointedly she looked at him. ‘From the few details you’ve shared, I sense you weren’t. I was on my own from the age of eighteen. When did you feel on your own, Aiden?’

Immediately his lean frame tensed, quickly followed by the other familiar gestures. The awkward shifting. The avoidance of her eyes. A minute ago she’d bared her soul for him yet he looked ready to bolt. Which was why it was such a shock when he finally spoke.

‘I’ve felt on my own for as long as I can remember.’ He scratched his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d said.

‘Will you tell me about it?’

Wordlessly he rose and got himself another beer. It was as if he couldn’t talk about this without anaesthetising himself first.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Let’s start with your father. When did you realise he was a famous racing car driver?’

Aiden lay his head against the back of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know. It was sort of a gradual thing. He wasn’t home much, though neither was my mother for that matter. I didn’t question it because that was how things were. The house was filled with trophies and racing paraphernalia and there was always some car race on the TV. I can remember the nanny telling me that my dad was driving one of the cars and I wasn’t shocked, so on some level I must have known. Certainly by the time I was old enough to go to school I knew my dad was a World Champion driver.’ He turned and gave her a slight smile. ‘It gave me bragging rights.’

‘Did they take you to watch him when you were older?’

He snorted. ‘Hardly.’

‘What, you never saw your father race?’

‘I saw him at Silverstone once. I bunked off school, caught two buses and then snuck in with a large party. There were all these people sitting on seats, enjoying a great view and then there was me, getting the occasional glimpse of fast metal through the wire fencing. I remember thinking if I told them I was Seb Foster’s son, they wouldn’t believe me.’

‘I can’t believe he didn’t take his own son to his races.’

Aiden shrugged. ‘You have to understand I wasn’t planned, wasn’t wanted. Occasionally I served a purpose, when the great Seb Foster needed the image of the warm, family man, or when he wanted to show-off to his son about his latest victory, but mostly I was a nuisance. I’ll always be grateful they allowed me to go karting though. I guess my father’s ego demanded his son would be a driver, too.’

‘Did he at least watch some of your races?’

‘No, never.’

A haunted look settled over his face and Mel suddenly had a clear view of a little boy, desperate for some attention from the man he idolised. ‘Where was your mother in all this?’

‘Following my father round like a lost puppy. She knew he held all the cards. He was the man with the talent, the money and the fame. I think she was very aware her glamorous life could be over in a flash if he ditched her, so she tried to ingratiate herself with him at every opportunity.’

Mel felt a brief twinge of sympathy for the lady. It wasn’t hard to imagine how insecure she’d felt with everyone wanting a piece of her husband.

‘And after he died?’

‘She put all her efforts into finding the next rich man to replace him. Dragging a kid around with her was hardly going to help, so she made sure I was hidden away at boarding school for as many weeks of the year as she could manage.’

The bitter edge to his tone made her wince. ‘You still carry a lot of hurt around inside you. I can’t imagine that’s very healthy.’

He gave her a rather flat smile. ‘Thanks for the psychoanalysis.’

‘I don’t mean to belittle how you feel.’ She wished she knew how to tread through this emotional minefield without risking an explosion. ‘But dwelling on the past isn’t doing you any good. You need to move forward.’

‘And stop feeling sorry for myself, huh? We’re not all as perfect as you, Mel. Some of us find it harder to put the shit behind us.’

He’d had a tough day, but still. She didn’t need to sit here and take this. Quickly she drank the last of her wine. ‘It’s time I was going.’

‘Why? If it’s because of that last remark, I’m sorry. It was graceless.’ He drew a hand down his face and she thought how drained he looked. How sad. ‘Truth is I admire the hell out of you, Mel. I wish I had half your strength.’

He wished he had her strength? ‘It’s easy to be strong when your memories are good ones.’ Rising to her feet she bent to kiss his cheek. ‘I’m leaving now because it’s late and we both need to get to bed.’

The harsh lines of his face finally unbent and he smiled. ‘Excellent. Finally we’re in agreement.’

‘Different beds,’ she corrected. ‘As in you in yours and me in mine.’

For a few heart beats he didn’t reply. Just gazed fiercely up at her, letting her know that wasn’t what he had in mind. ‘Let me kiss you,’ he said finally. ‘Then, if you still want to go, I’ll let you.’

‘Aiden, please, no—’

‘Just one kiss,’ he interrupted. ‘You don’t even need to think of it as a kiss. You could consider it a humanitarian gesture. Your way of ensuring this Delta driver ends the day on a positive.’

His grin was completely disarming, leaving her with no real choice, or so she told herself.

‘Mel?’

He stood, tilting his film star handsome face towards her and aligning his sensual lips with hers.

‘Just one kiss,’ she whispered.

There was no chance to stress the point any further because already he was swooping, claiming her mouth as greedily as his hands claimed her body. As she was drawn closer into the circle of his arms his tongue plundered her mouth. Delving, tasting. Driving her crazy.

And that was before his hands shot under her shirt and inside her bra. Before he started to tease her breasts with his clever fingers.

‘God, Mel, I can’t get enough of you. I’ll never be able to get enough of you.’

‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ Unbidden an image of Devon with her busty body draped around him raced into her mind. ‘Did you say it to Devon?’

He pulled back, his face dazed, his lips slightly swollen. ‘What? Who?’

‘Devon. The journalist you slept with not that long ago.’

‘I know who Devon is. What I don’t know is why we’re talking about her.’

‘She was asking after you today. She’s still sniffing round.’ God, why was she saying this now? Why was she saying it at all? She sounded so jealous.

‘Mel, if you’re going to have me sleeping with every woman who comes sniffing round, as you so elegantly put it, I’m going to be bloody knackered.’

Suddenly Mel didn’t want to be in his arms. She tried to push away but he caught her, holding her still.

‘Hey, come on, that’s a joke. Of course I’m not interested in her, or anyone else for that matter. It’s you I want.’

He looked so earnest and so utterly frustrated with her. Mel wished she could smooth the frown lines from his forehead and kiss the tightness from his mouth but the image of Devon wouldn’t budge from her mind. Nor would the casual way he’d slept with the journalist and then discarded her. ‘I’m sorry. I want to go now.’

He let out a loud expletive. ‘For Christsake, Mel. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this friends only lark. You’re driving me crazy.’

She regarded him sadly. ‘If it helps, I’m doing the same to myself, too. But one thing I’ve learnt since losing my parents is that I have to look out for myself.’ Reaching up, she planted a light kiss on his lips. ‘Goodnight, Aiden.’

Quietly she slipped out of the door and into a rare English balmy evening. Neither that, nor the thought of a few days off work, managed to lift her spirits.