Blood of His Fathers (Sinners and Saints)

  Blood of His Fathers

  Sinners and Saints

  Book One

  By Michelle Chambers

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  2665 S Atlantic Avenue, #349

  Daytona Beach, FL 32176

  Blood of His Fathers

  Copyright © 2009, Michelle Chambers

  Edited by Mary Ann Haverlack

  Cover art by Les Byerley, les3photo8.com

  Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-165-8

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Electronic release: July 2010

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Manchester, England

  Friday, February 26

  Jessica Addison looked out the first-class compartment window onto the monotonous streak of black tunnel wall flashing by, pleased she hadn’t been stuck with unwanted company for the entire two and a half hour journey. In less than fifteen minutes she would reach her destination. There was no turning back. It was foolish to feel this way, but she was more than a little nervous about attending her high school reunion. She tugged her coat tighter about her body and crossed her legs at the knees.

  What would her old-classmates think of her now? How long had it been since she last saw any of them—fourteen, maybe fifteen years? She released a silent breath. They weren’t her friends. None of them had ever been her friends. She didn’t have friends.

  Her eyes focused on her reflection in the tinted window. Except for the barest touch of lip gloss she wore no further make-up. The insecure, spotty schoolgirl with large owl-like glasses was gone and in her place was a woman who’d grown in confidence these last few years. A woman who believed in herself far more than she’d ever done before.

  Jess tightened her fists until her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. Despite her newfound strength one thing hadn’t changed, her fear of dark enclosed spaces. She closed her eyes and wished the tunnel would hurry and come to an end.

  For most of her life she’d been afraid. To live, to love…to give her heart, and she knew who was to blame for that. Her mother. Tom, on the other hand, had thought the explanation a little less complicated. She was simply incapable of loving herself or anybody else, he’d said. Isn’t that why their marriage had failed?

  Tom loved her. That’d been evident in his every look and touch, yet the more Tom had wanted her the more she couldn’t help but despise him for it. Jess grimaced. Marriage to Tom had been neither her desire nor her decision. He’d entered her life when she’d been vulnerable and her own happiness had meant nothing. But she’d never imagined she would be the one to hurt him.

  She’d tried to make their relationship work and for six years Tom had been enough. But she couldn’t prevent the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘what could’ve been’ from rising up between them. Or stop the pervasive mist of regret from chilling her heart.

  It shocked her that she could still remember her first lover. Still hear his voice whispering to her in the darkness, still feel his weight crushing her as she became a woman in his arms. If only she could go back in time and relive that moment. To have the confidence to believe his words and the courage to say yes to all he’d offered. She shouldn’t have runaway.

  The train slowed, its wheels screeching softly along the track. She clasped her hands firmly together on her lap. It was absurd. She hadn’t even remembered his name, but one night, so many nights ago, he’d taken a part of her that Tom could never make whole.

  The winter sunshine exploded abruptly behind her closed eyelids and she released a heavy sigh, dispelling the idiocy of her fear. The tunnel would’ve come to an end sooner or later. She blinked her eyes open and gazed out onto the red-bricked terraced houses and snow-covered embankments passing by.

  It hadn’t been easy taking Jake away from his father. Yet what she wanted, what she needed, what she longed for was something Tom could never give her. A sense of completion. Tom didn’t complete her. Not like—Jess expelled a deep breath and lowered her gaze to her bare ring finger.

  She hadn’t regretted the divorce. Tom had said she would. He hadn’t wanted her to suffer the consequences. He hadn’t wanted to see her hurt.

  She frowned, puzzled.

  Suffer the consequences. A strange choice of words, funny how she’d never considered them before.

  A voice crackled over the intercom. She glanced out the window again, half-listening to the obligatory announcements reminding passengers of this and informing them of that—letting her gaze flick over the graffiti-sprayed walls, high voltage junction boxes and weather-beaten signs welcoming her return to Manchester.

  “No regrets,” she murmured.

  She uncrossed then re-crossed her legs. Why did she let her mother talk her into going to the silly reunion in the first place? With Tom she’d finally found her voice. She’d learned to stand her ground and defend her decisions. Why couldn’t she do that with her mother? Why did she have to be that weak, lost little girl still seeking her mother’s approval?

  She ought to hate her mother, but she couldn’t do that either. God knew she had reason enough, but there was Jake to consider now. There was an undeniable bond between him and his grandmother that she couldn’t bring herself to break. Jess smiled as she remembered her son’s beaming, conspiring face the evening her mother came to collect him. The little traitor had gone without as much as a token struggle or backward glance.

  “That’s better,” a masculine voice acknowledged.

  Her startled gaze lifted to the tall man leaning with nonchalant ease near the exit doors. Everything about him—from his muscular physique encased in an expensively tailored dark suit to the confident curve of his lips and amber colored eyes glittering from beneath straight, dark brows—exuded power and position.

  In years gone by Jess would’ve crumbled under the sheer intensity of his scrutiny, but time had taught her to control her emotions and hide her feelings well. She calmly released the breath she was holding and schooled her features into one of blatant disinterest. She tilted her chin and forced herself not to look away.

  “What’s better?”

  “Your smile,” he said. “Very pretty and all too fleeting.”

  Jess lifted a finely shaped eyebrow with practiced indifference. “Really,” she said, unconvinced.

  He chuckled. A soft, sexy sound that fluttered down her spine and nestled with incredible precision between her thighs. “Yes, really.”

  She tightened her arms across her chest and ignored the unaccustomed warmth spreading up her cheeks and pooling in the pit of her stomach. She turned her face toward the window glad the train had finally pulled into the station. In a matter of moments they would be going their separate ways and she would never think about this man again. Or the way her body stirred to life under the feral heat of his gaze.

  The final few passengers in the car filed past her toward the exit. She slid from behind the table separating the double seats and stood, reaching for the overnight bag on the luggage rack above her head. To her dismay it’d shifted during the journey and now lay beyond her searching fingers. She rose on her toes and tried again.

  �
�Allow me.”

  She tensed at the sound of his voice behind her. She’d thought he’d gone. She briefly closed her eyes and remembered to breathe.

  There was no longer any distance protecting her from their attraction. It practically ignited the air between them and melted her insides. She locked her knees and stiffened her spine, fighting the urge to listen to her body and succumb to the sensual aroma of faint aftershave and masculine scent seducing her senses.

  It’d been a long time since a man affected her like this. But she hadn’t simply divorced Tom to get laid by the first handsome man who turned her head or sent her pulse racing. She’d made that mistake a long time ago. She didn’t intend to make it again. She clenched her fists and sought to control her breathing.

  His hand stretched above hers as he reached for the travel bag. And whether by accident or design their fingers touched. Jess jerked backward taking her hand with her and collided into the solid frame behind her. He placed his free hand against her stomach and used the length of his body to steady her.

  “I’ve got you, Jessica.”

  He’d murmured her name. He knew her name.

  That sudden realization took hold of her brain sending a cold chill down her spine. She spun sharply from his embrace as quickly as the small space between his body and the table would allow. She craned her neck to meet his gaze and wished she were wearing three-inch stilettos. No one ever called her Jessica, not even Tom had called her that.

  Loud voices and approaching steps broke the tensed silence as new passengers in search of seats for the return journey to London moved through the train. Some stayed in the car while others jostled up the narrow aisle behind him en route to the next wagon, pushing him steadily closer into her comfort zone.

  The heat of his body seared through her clothes to her flesh, branding the sensitive peaks of her breasts until they swelled, heavy and tight and screamed for relief. She took a step backward, mortified by the very power of her response to him. The table pressed against the back of her thighs, hindering her movement.

  He suddenly pulled back and held out the bag to her. She grabbed it with more force than was necessary and clasped it to her chest. She studied a point on his suit.

  “H-How do you know my name?”

  “Another time, Jessica,” he said.

  Was that a threat or a promise? She raised her eyes to his. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips before he turned and walked away from her. She sank back against the table and, expelling a ragged breath, willed her body once more under her control.

  Tom!

  Her ex-husband’s name exploded through her mind and her heart skidded against her ribs. Tom had threatened to take custody of Jake. He was also wealthy enough to afford the best of everything and everyone—including lawyers.

  Jess spun to the window in time to see the tall, dark-haired figure weave through the crowded platform and disappear from view. She rushed from the train. If he worked for Tom she wanted to know.

  She stared down the platform.

  Shit! Where is he?

  “Jess! Jess!”

  A loud, shrill voice greeted her with obvious delight from the gate at Platform Seven and she was forced to turn her thoughts to the woman waving with frantic enthusiasm at her. It was Claire. Claire who’d sent the invitation for the reunion and who’d invited Jess for a pre-party get together.

  Jess cast a final glance about her and, relaxing her features, commanded her brain to function. She walked with purposeful steps across the platform, although she couldn’t bring herself to return Claire’s genuine smile and warm welcome.

  * * * *

  Claire lived in an old mansion in an affluent suburb of Manchester. The short drive from the train station had been punctuated with polite questions from Claire and offhanded replies from Jess. But once inside Claire’s beautifully decorated home Jess softened. It was clear the chirpy, personable woman showing her around the renovated Victorian carriage house wasn’t the same selfish, intolerant Claire from her schooldays. She didn’t deserve Jess’ reserve or judgment.

  Claire moved closer to where Jess stood studying a family photo hanging on the wall in the living room. A young boy around Jake’s age and two younger girls romped about a playroom. All three were seemingly quite oblivious to the camera aimed at them.

  “My children,” she said. “And I know what you’re thinking, Jess.”

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all,” Jess said. “I never thought you of all people would be married to a black man.”

  “I know, neither did I, but Lee challenged me on every level. My beliefs, my thoughts and especially my prejudices.” Claire gave a slight shrug and smiled. “I couldn’t imagine my life without him or my kids.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Lee thought he’d give us some girl-time. He took them to his mother’s for tonight.”

  Jess turned and took a good look at Claire for the first time since her arrival. “I’m glad you’re happy, Claire.”

  “I am. What about you?”

  This time it was Jess’ turn to shrug and smile. She mentally dismissed the handsome face and amber colored eyes teasing her brain. There was only one man in her life now. Her son. And she wasn’t going to give him up without a fight.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m happy.”

  Which wasn’t wholly a lie.

  She crossed the room and settled on the plush sofa by the bay window while Claire plopped opposite her on another. Under the auspices of a bottle of wine they reminisced about schooldays, friends—or lack of, teachers and ex-boyfriends—or lack of, and speculated about who’d be at the reunion and who wouldn’t. After a second bottle of wine they headed to the kitchen to continue an increasingly animated conversation and eat the culinary vegetarian dish Claire had prepared earlier.

  By eight o’clock that evening she’d detoxed in Claire’s sauna, had a refreshing swim in the indoor pool and applied the final touches to her make-up. Thoughts of Tom and the stranger on the train had been all but dispelled.

  Jess whirled about the guestroom she’d been allocated at the top of the house. She stopped in front of the large cheval mirror and smiled at her reflection. It’d taken her an age to find the vintage, black Kathryn Kuhn strapless chiffon gown she wore. It suited her perfectly.

  She touched her hands to the heavily boned bodice and traced the under wire cups barely containing her breasts. One wrong move tonight and she’d probably spill out of the dress. Claire’s shout alerted her to the waiting taxi.

  Jess stilled as she felt old insecurities rise within her. She drew in a steadying breath and took one last look in the mirror.

  “You can do this,” she told herself firmly.

  Then spinning toward the bed she grabbed the matching pashmina lying there and marched out the door.

  * * * *

  The party was in full swing when Jess and Claire arrived at the old school. Their entrance hadn’t gone unnoticed and Claire was immediately swooped upon by a gaggle of chatty females. But she managed an apologetic smile before being whisked away to the other side of the Banqueting Hall. Jess brushed a nervous hand down the front of her long dress and sighed. Claire had left her alone to face ex-classmates and former tormentors. She pasted a small smile on her face and meandered through the crowded hall, gently kicking at the black and white balloons at her feet.

  She could boast some modicum of success as a freelance journalist, and although she’d had numerous pieces published on subjects ranging from the arts to the environment, Jess could find no one who recalled having read any of her articles. That was quite demoralizing. But she took comfort from the fact those who once teased and mocked her during her school years were now busy envying her metamorphosis—jealously guarding husbands and boyfriends on their arm. Now, uncertainties were reversed.

  Never one for crowds, she soon sought refuge in the hollow, quieter corridors of the old school, far away from the noise, endless questions and insincere comments
.

  The school hadn’t changed. Stairs still creaked where they had creaked eons before. Powder blue paint still peeled from the same old places on the same old powder blue walls. Except the ceilings were not as high, corridors not as long and rooms not as eerie and hollow as captured in the blueprint of youthful perceptions.

  Jess ambled further through the vaulted hallways, absorbing the ambience of a distant past and battling painful reminders of her own. She left the upper classrooms and returned in quiet contemplation to the ground floor. And then slipped out the emergency exit door leading onto the central quadrangle.

  Her strappy high-heeled sandals were hardly appropriate for a brisk, snow-filled night. And she’d left her pashmina in the Banqueting Hall. Head bent, she braced herself against the biting cold and scurried along the stone colonnade to the library at the other side of the quadrangle. The caretaker had promised to unlock the library door. She hoped she’d not be disappointed.

  She pulled open the door and was immediately hit by a gulf of air escaping across her face and shoulders. She relished the brief rush of warmth and entered the place where she’d spent plenty of school hours hiding and masking her loneliness. She closed the door behind her and, adjusting her eyes to the darkness, concentrated on listening to the silence.

  Faint shafts of moonlight streamed through the high windows, although she didn’t need any light to fuel her memory of the room.

  She walked the length of the central aisle, her heels clicking softly over the black and white tiles. Past row upon row of towering bookcases adorned by marble busts of dead poets and literary scholars. Some sitting atop pedestals like bookends and others aloft, gazing down upon their late night guest. Then standing before her under a beautiful stained glass window was the full-length marble statue of the school’s benefactor and namesake. She rubbed her hands over her bare shoulders, warming the chill settling once again upon her skin, and studied the alabaster face shining in the moonlight.