Oxford Shadows (5 page)

The monoline of his eyebrows raised two notches on his forehead. She gestured toward the sofa and they both sat back down on it. Her hands lay flat on the front cover of the book.

“I went through all the pictures I’ve taken since I arrived in Oxford.” She stalled. He stared at her, and his scrutiny prevented her from forming fully blown sentences. “I made … I made a selection”—she hesitated—“of pictures of her.”

Ollie recoiled, and his face turned as white as an aspirin tablet.

Maybe this was a bad idea.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have.” She jumped to her feet, eager to get over the awkward moment.

Ollie grabbed her hand. “No.” He pulled her back to sit next to him. “I’d like to see it.”

The book now on his lap, he opened the cover and Pippa’s bright, sensual smile welcomed them. While he turned the pages, memories banged against Madison’s heart. Christ Church ball last November, the Fours Head race they attended together, Madison’s twenty-second birthday at Freud’s … moments that were only a few months old. They could have belonged to another lifetime.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” There was no anguish in Ollie’s voice, but grief bled from the tears in his eyes.

Madison bit her lower lip. She lay her hand on his, giving it a gentle stroke. “I can look after the album if you like … until you’re ready to take it.”

Her friend shook his head and planted his gaze on her. “No. I need it. I want to remember all the good times, when we were friends, and then once we started …” The words stuck in his throat.

She nestled her head on his shoulder. No matter what Ollie had said in the past about not holding her responsible for Pippa’s death, it didn’t matter. Madison was guilty as charged.

Rupert hadn’t visited the Turf Tavern since his return from Louisiana. The last two weeks had been crammed: exams, handing out papers—to good ol’ McCain, supporting Monty …

Rupert’s chest tightened. The car crash had happened way back in January. Monty had screwed up by driving after one too many shots of tequila. How the two of them had survived the accident was a miracle. Over the next months, Monty, Rupert’s best friend and housemate, had benefited from bail, but the court had finally charged him with DUI and dangerous driving. Since it wasn’t Monty’s first struggle with the law, his past had played an aggravating factor. This time, Monty wasn’t going to walk away with just a driving ban. This time, he was going to the slammer.

On the night of the accident, Rupert had climbed into the car to prevent a wasted Monty from driving in a last-ditch attempt at damage control. But risking his life hadn’t been enough. That knowledge ate at him. He would have been a better friend if his head hadn’t been buried deep up his own ass.

“Hi, Rupert.”

He startled. A busty blond greeted him in the courtyard. The late April daylight faded away, but the chilly air wasn’t enough to discourage students from standing outside for a pint or, in her case, a glass of Pimm’s. Rupert’s eyes settled on the girl’s face. Blurred memories flashed across his mind, forcing him to gaze down at his boat shoes. He had slept with her. But when? At school, in the aftermath of his mother’s death, when shagging unnamed girls seemed like an effective way to dull the pain. He had been so full of shit then.

“Hi …” His voice trailed off. Amanda? Kate?

“Ella.” She filled in the blank.

Schmoozing girls used to be a hobby. Now he could only shuffle his feet and search his brain for an excuse to bail.

“Rupert?”

The call came from behind him. Ella’s eyes left him to fix on the intruder.

He swiveled around and the sight of Madison punched him right in the guts. It always did. There was lust, sure, but also longing and belonging. This girl rocked his world.

“I’m inside with Ollie.” Madison gestured for him to follow her through the door.

Once she had stepped back inside, Rupert spun toward Ella. “Sorry. It was good seeing you again. All the best.” He patted her shoulder and waved at her. Clumsy was an understatement: he had lost his mojo and didn’t mind at all.

After retreating into the pub, he headed toward Madison, who was leaning against the bar, her eyes perusing the menu. He wrapped his arms around her waist, brushing a kiss on the back of her neck. She shivered, and a muffled moan escaped from her lips.

He hadn’t completely lost his touch after all. “I missed you,” he whispered for her benefit only.

She shifted so her back pressed against his chest, her pelvis molded against his hips.

Bang.
His body’s response was automatic. “You’re killing me.”

His voice was hoarse and annoyed him, and she giggled. When did he turn back into this horny teenager? His hands circled her waist. He buried his face in the thickness of her hair and breathed in the perfume of her shampoo. The herbal scent she had left on his pillow.
Good Lord.

Ollie appeared by their side. “Get a room.”

My point exactly.
Anyone else and Rupert would have told him to bugger off, but Ollie was different. The dude had lost the girl he loved. Rupert wasn’t enough of a jerk to twist the dagger in Ollie’s heart by showing him what a lucky bastard he was to have Madison … alive.

“Can I get you a drink, mate?” Rupert tapped Ollie’s shoulders. They were becoming friends. Weird.

“I’ve already got a lager. Thanks for the offer, though. Get yourselves some food. I’m not hungry. I got through half of Jackson’s fridge earlier.”

“Bangers and mash?” A cute arch of her eyebrows punctuated her question. “Still your favorite?”

Rupert smiled. “It hasn’t changed since the first time we came here together.” The night they kissed before parting for Christmas break.

Madison placed the order and fished for her wallet.

He grabbed her arm to push the red purse back into her bag. “Please, let me treat you.”

She shook her head and resolve flickered in her eyes. “No way. You always pick up the check. My turn.”

He took a step back. All the excitement down there had thankfully died down. “I want to take care of you.”

She swiveled so that they now faced each other, her head failing to reach his shoulders. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, with her lips set in a stubborn pout. “There’s a difference between taking care
of
me and caring
for
me.”

“I am a native speaker, you know.” He could do stubborn too.

“Please, let me treat you tonight. Anyway, I don’t want to change my habits and get champagne taste with my beer pocketbook. You always go for the most expensive choice on the menu.”

He rolled his eyes and searched for a compromise in the low-beamed ceiling of the Turf. “Okay.” Compromising with Madison meant agreeing with her.

The bartender took the card payment and gave them a piece of paper with their order number. Rupert took hold of her hand and led her to the table where Ollie was nursing a beer, his shoulders hunched so that Rupert expected him to drown in his pint any second.

Madison sat next to Ollie and extended her hand toward him, but stopped midway. Her gaze searched for Rupert’s, and the uncertainty in her eyes betrayed her unspoken question: Would Ollie recover one day? Rupert hadn’t the faintest idea. A heavy silence settled over their table. Rupert grabbed the jug of water and poured some for Madison. She took a sip, her fingers gripped tightly around the glass.

Rupert dug deep into his PR skills in an attempt to lift everyone’s spirits. “So when can we meet the infamous Aunt Louise?” he asked Madison.

A strangled noise erupted from Madison. She raised her hand to her chest and grimaced as she swallowed. “Why?”

“It’s pretty much self-explanatory. Your aunt is now living in Oxford. She’s your immediate family, so I should meet her.”
Being your boyfriend and all.

“Okay.” Her eyes had lost focus, a sign that she was still processing his request.

“What about Sunday lunchtime? I’ll book a table at the Randolph. And that will be
my
treat.” Rupert leaned over the table, bracing himself for a debate.

“Not for me.” Ollie had addressed the waiter, who now stood next to Rupert. Ollie’s finger pointed back and forth between Rupert and Madison to direct where the plates should be set.

Madison’s eyes rounded. A pink flush spread across her cheeks, across her nose. Rupert wasn’t the one having this effect on her.

The waiter was.

7

RUPERT HAD TO TWIST in his chair to get a view of the waiter. The man’s muscular arms burst from his short-sleeved T-shirt, hiding half of a circular tattoo. His skin was several shades darker than Rupert’s, the guy’s black hair several inches longer. Rupert wanted to size the guy’s guts by locking eyes with him, but he was absorbed in eyeing up Madison.

Back off.

“You work here?” Madison’s voice and lips trembled. Waiter Guy answered with a nod. A shy smile broke across her face.

They’ve already met.

“Hi, mate. I’m Ollie. You two know each other?”

Thanks, Oliver.

“I’m Sam. Nice to meet you, Ollie.”

American. A Southerner. Maybe an acquaintance from Yale or Louisiana.

Madison’s flush had subsided, and she twirled a wisp of hair around her index finger.

“So how did you meet Sam here?”

Rupert repeated Ollie’s question but addressed Madison only. He extended his legs and relaxed against the back of his chair. His laid-back pose contrasted with the tightness of his clenched fists. He didn’t miss the exchange of glances ping-ponging between Sam and his own girlfriend. The smell rising from his plate didn’t tempt his appetite. Instead of indulging in his favorite meal, his stare drilled into Madison.

She let go of the strand of hair and straightened her spine. “Sam helped me find my bag the other day.” The subtext was clear:
Stop acting like a cuckolded husband. I just happen to know the guy.

Sam’s mouth twisted into the quip of a smile, as if he knew more or better. He slid his hands into the pocket of his tight jeans. Rupert was now staring directly at him. If Geronimo was counting on his English reserve to save his cocky ass, he was going to taste disappointment.

“You guys enjoy your dinner.” Sam waved and retreated. Only three steps away, he spun around. “If you ever feel homesick, Pumpkin, I have a well-aged bourbon here. You know where to find me.” He tipped his head in the direction of the bar.

Rupert leaned forward and grasped his glass of water. If anyone needed to knock back several glasses of bourbon, it was he. He had to shut up. Going all caveman on Madison wasn’t an option.

Ollie cleared his throat. He raised his eyebrows at Madison as a request for a further explanation. A shrug was her answer. She took a bite of her dinner, chewed and swallowed. Only then did she gratify them with an answer.

“Sam grew up in New Orleans.”

If the whole New Orleans male population was schmoozing Madison like that jackass, she was never setting foot in Louisiana again. At least, if Rupert had any say in the matter.

Between Ollie’s I’ve-drowned-in-my-beer silence and Rupert’s brooding, tonight was the second worst dinner Madison had had at the Turf, right behind the time her boyfriend had almost gotten into a fight with his ex, Harriet. Her last mouthful of bangers and mash taken care of, she savored a sip of the Chardonnay Rupert had bought for her. She had asked for a small glass, and he had indulged in a tall one for himself. After his encounter with Sam, he looked as happy as a dead pig in the sunshine, and his teetotal resolution had obviously gone down the pan. But if she told Rupert about the mugging and her rescue by Batman, it would probably warrant another Turf drama.

Rupert slid his hand through his hair, and it gave him the out-of-bed-look she saw on him the few mornings they had awakened next to each other. She swallowed more Chardonnay, hoping to wash away the wave of desire.

“So you’ll ask your aunt if she’s free for Sunday lunch?”

Madison welcomed the shift of focus to Louise with another sip of wine. “I’ll ask her. She’s settling in at the moment, so it might be better for her to wait another week or two.” Madison didn’t want her aunt to share her concerns about Rupert. The truth? Madison was scared those same doubts would seep into his mind and trigger a wake-up call in the vein of:
What the hell am I doing with this trailer trash?

Rupert’s right eyebrow lifted in a phlegmatic James-Bond-like movement that shouted “British” out loud. When he had followed her to Louisiana, Madison’s mother Bernadette had built up a repertoire of Rupert’s swoon-worthy features. The eyebrow-arching thingy topped the list. In both Madison and her mom’s opinion.

“Whenever’s convenient for her. I’m at her disposal,” he answered in a purr.

She could resist and stand up to angry, jealous Rupert, but when he turned himself into this sexy pussycat, melting was the only option available to her. That and jumping on him, straddling him, sliding her hands underneath his shirt to feel the taut skin on his torso …
Holy hell.
She cleared her throat.