Taking His Own Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

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  CHAPTER ONE Zara

  CHAPTER TWO Zara

  CHAPTER THREE Chance

  CHAPTER FOUR Zara

  CHAPTER FIVE Chance

  CHAPTER SIX Zara

  CHAPTER SEVEN Zara

  CHAPTER EIGHT Chance

  CHAPTER NINE Zara

  CHAPTER TEN Chance

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Zara

  CHAPTER TWELVE Zara

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Chance

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Zara

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Chance

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN Chance

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Zara

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Chance

  CHAPTER NINETEEN Zara

  CHAPTER TWENTY Chance

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Zara

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Chance

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Zara

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Chance

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Zara

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Chance

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Zara

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Chance

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Zara

  CHAPTER THIRTY Chance

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Zara

  Epilogue - Chance

  Epilogue - Zara

  Wedding Invitation

  The CEO's Secret

  Clarissa

  James

  Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Wildblood.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design © 2017 by Tabula Rosa Designs.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  All sexual acts are consensual and take place between non blood-related characters aged 18+

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Zara

  Ten Years Ago

  I’ve only been at Mayhew Sixth Form College a few months, and I feel like an outsider. There are plenty of reasons for it. Plenty of things I could do to try and fix it. But in the end, it comes down to an old-fashioned mismatch of personalities. Mayhew and I are just not meant to be. End of story.

  I’m a year older than the sixteen year olds in my classes. My family’s spent years moving up and down the country, following my Dad’s wandering career as one of Britain’s leading conservationists. I’m prouder of his achievements than I can say, but the impact on my schooling has been tough. So that’s strike one against me and the college girls.

  Mayhew’s a tiny town at the edge of the Surrey Hills. Another one of Dad’s Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Most people’s parents here commute by train into London. My Dad can be found tramping through muddy riverbeds in his thigh-high waterproof boots. He’s writing a paper about Saving the Otters. Mayhew’s been great for his career – not such a hot move for me and my sister. Small town teenagers keep to themselves and are suspicious of strangers. Everyone at college has had the same clique of friends since they were five years old. Strike two.

  No, I don’t fit in at Mayhew. But I’m not too bothered. I’m not like my big sister, the social butterfly who takes every chance she can get to hang out with the cool kids in her year. I just want to be left alone, get on with my studies, and wait for the inevitable move when Dad loses interest in Surrey. He’s already interviewing around for bigger, better positions elsewhere. Abroad. Far, far away. The paper on the otters is a stepping stone – bringing him one step closer to the biggest dream of all. A dream that, honestly, I want no part of. Not that I have much of a choice.

  There’s only one thing that makes Mayhew Sixth Form different from all the other schools I’ve been to over the years.

  It’s not the fact that I’ve been put into a lower class to retake my A Level exams from scratch.

  It’s not even that it’s a college, not strictly part of the lower school, and students are free to come and go throughout the day – or hang around the park smoking and messing around – as they please.

  No. There’s nothing memorable about Mayhew itself. But I’ve known who the hottest boy at school is from my first day.

  His name is Chance. Chance Madison. He’s got dark blonde hair, just long enough to run my fingers through, and eyes such a deep brown they’re almost black. Almost a whole head taller than me – well, everyone’s taller than me. I’ve got my Dad’s side of the family to thank for that – and he moves with the kind of easy, athletic grace the other boys on the football team would kill for.

  Except he isn’t interested in football. Hardly even shows up to training any more. What is he interested in? That’s where Chance gets tricky. He sits at the back of student assemblies with a scruffy rucksack slung over one shoulder and his thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets. He smiled at me one my first day here and my heart just about flipped right out of my chest – that was until I realised he was smiling at the boy standing next to me, too, and the guy walking past him. Chance Madison’s got charm bursting out of his fingertips. Even the teachers are in love with him.

  Which is lucky, because the once-a-term assembly is the only place he makes a regular appearance. I found out his subjects from a girl in my Biology class: Maths, Further Maths, Computer Science, and Physics. So he’s smart, dead smart, and into numbers. Great. I can work with that. I camped out in the Computer Room every lunch hour for a week. Guess who didn’t show?

  No, he wasn’t sick. Word is Chance Madison doesn’t bother showing up to more than one class a fortnight. The teachers kicked up a fuss last year – until they saw the grades he was getting. Now, they leave him to his own devices.

  What the hell is he doing with his free time? There’s the million dollar question. No-one can tell me that. Everyone loves Chance Madison – but no-one can tell me a single damn thing about him. Even his brother, James – same age as he is, adopted – he’s not telling anyone. Chance’s business is his own.

  I like that about him. I like everything about him, so much I can’t stand it. So once I figured out the Computer Room was a wash I made it my mission to get in with James’s crowd. There’s no way I could work up the nerve to hang around outside the football team changing rooms by myself for weeks on end, on the offchance he’d turn up for a game. And then try talking to him in front of his jock friends? No, sir. Not my style at all.

  Thank god for my big sister, eleven months older than me and willing to do most anything to put a smile on my face. Even let me tag along while she made inroads with the coolest crowd
in her school year.

  That’s how I eventually found out the one place Chance will show up to, once a week, without fail.

  Chess club. Would you believe it? That’s where all the little kids from the lower school go when they don’t have anyone to hang out with at lunch time. Chance turns up to teach them chess every Wednesday. Judging by his reputation, he probably taught himself to play to grandmaster level in an afternoon.

  Well, I found out about his chess habit last Friday. I spent the weekend agonising over my outfit. I’ve gone for a short skirt, denim, and a good few inches above my knees. Rules say I have to wear tights, so they’re as sheer as I can manage without ripping a hole. A tight red jumper with a low scoop neck. I’m sure my boobs look great in it – thank god I finally grew some last summer. There was a time I wasn’t sure they’d ever come in.

  It’s barely appropriate for sixth form, even in a place like Mayhew where every day feels like a fashion competition. Compared to some of the other girls, I’m a wallflower most days in my jeans and trainers. My Art teacher raises his eyebrows and moves away from my desk quickly when he sees what I’m wearing. I take it as a plus. I need Chance to notice me. If he doesn’t I think I’ll just about die.

  I stop off in the bathroom to touch up my pink lip gloss as soon as the lunch bell rings. My heart is pounding in my chest. I’ve rehearsed time and again what I’m going to say to him, what he might say back, how he’ll react…

  I’m steeling myself for the possibility he won’t want to talk to me at all.

  Through the wire-lined safety glass of the classroom windows, I see his golden head bent low over a desk, unpicking a puzzle in black and white squares for two young kids in the lower school uniform. The way they’re looking up at him, their faces confused but grateful and rapt with attention, melts my heart. They’re hanging off his every word.

  Chance points out a couple of things on the board and pats the younger boy on the back. He flashes him that megawatt smile, and even through the window I feel my knees go weak. I almost go running back to my usual lunch spot, hidden behind the bushes around the back of school where my sister and her friends will be smoking.

  But I don’t. I take a deep breath and walk through that door.

  Chance looks up as I come in. His eyes connect with mine and a jolt of electric heat runs through my body. I swear the air between us starts to shimmer.

  “I want to learn to play chess,” I announce. My voice is too loud. I’ve never done anything this brash before. I swear I can hear the sound echoing off the clumsy, hand-drawn posters on the walls. My cheeks start to redden.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” It’s not Chance who answers me. I turn, confused, to see a tall, skinny female teacher I’ve never met hurrying forward to welcome me into the room. “We don’t get many sixth formers in here. Are you a complete beginner?”

  I nod dumbly. Chance is looking at me. I can tell he’s biting down the hint of a grin. Whether he’s laughing with me or at me, I can’t tell. My hands fumble at the edges of my skirt, easing it lower over my thighs. Why the hell did I decide to dress this way to come to school?

  “I’m Miss Harper,” says the teacher, with a breezy smile. She doesn’t seem to mind my face, as full of make-up as if I’m going out to a nightclub – or the fact that I’m glaring at her viciously because she’s the last person on earth I want to speak to right now. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

  “No, I’m new this year. I just joined the sixth form.”

  “Lovely. Well, we’re always pleased to have new members. Come and join us at the beginners’ table –”

  I follow her pointing finger with dismay. The beginners’ table contains a couple of goggled-eyed twelve-year-olds, a girl stuck smack in the middle of her teenage goth years, and a boy trying to stick his protractor up his left nostril. On the opposite side of the room from Chance. I swallow nervously. How committed am I to this mad scheme? I do not want Chance to think this is my idea of a good time…

  “Miss Harper?”

  His voice is like warm honey. It pours over the awkward moment and soothes me instantly. But she’s onto him in an instant, an eyebrow raised suspiciously.

  “Chance, this isn’t a social club. You’re here as part of your truancy pact with the school.”

  “Zara isn’t here to socialise, Miss Harper,” he says reasonably. My stomach flip-flops. How does he know my name? I have to remember to shut my mouth to stop myself gaping. He glances at me and sends another lightning bolt of heat shivering through me. “She’s here to learn chess. I just thought peer-to-peer education might be more appropriate in this situation.”

  Miss Harper runs her narrow eyes over Chance’s innocent expression, and over me, while I do my best impression of not being crazily in love with a boy I’ve never even had a conversation with before. She rolls her eyes.

  “I’ll be quizzing you in twenty minutes, Zara. You’d better at least know the names of the pieces on the board. Otherwise, you’re out of here. I won’t have you distracting the best assistant I’ve ever had under false pretences.”

  “Thanks, Miss.” Chance grabs a chessboard from the pile and beckons me into a quiet corner. The eyes of the children slowly fall away from us, back to their games. He pulls out a chair for me, angling it so that I’m facing the wall. It feels…private. Even though we’re in the middle of a school and there’s the hum of activity all around us.

  “How do you know my name?” I ask him, as he sets up the board between us. He gives me a funny look, something unnameable sparking up inside those gorgeous dark eyes.

  “Do you know mine?”

  “Chance,” I say, without thinking. I bite my lip after. It’s probably deeply weird to know a guy’s name when he almost never even shows up to school. Chance holds my gaze in his and we smile at each other.

  “There you go,’ he says. “Mayhew’s a small place. Your sister’s in my year, isn’t she? Maria? Marion?”

  “Mariam,” I correct him. “It’s Malaysian.”

  I kick myself immediately. There’s nothing I want to talk about less than Malaysia right now, considering all the crap that Dad’s putting us through. Chance nods slowly, catching the angst on my face. He doesn’t ask any of the stupid questions, like when did you move here or how do you speak such good English?

  “This is the chess board,” he says. His hands have moved over it while we were talking – he didn’t need to think about it, the pieces fell into place of their own accord. “You line up your pieces at either end at the start of the game. Let me know if I make this too simple for you.”

  “I like it simple,” I say. I could listen to him talk for hours. And now that I’m sitting opposite him, I’m glad I don’t have to come up with a topic of conversation myself. My brain is sparking off in random directions. All I can think about is how good he looks with his shirt sleeves pushed up his arms – so much stronger-looking than most other boys his age.

  “Each player has sixteen pieces. Eight pawns, two knights, bishops, and rooks. One King, and one Queen.” I do my best to pay attention while he explains how each piece moves. It’s not as difficult as it looks. He nods at me. “So – you make the first move.”

  My fingers hover over one of the small pieces at the front – the pawns.

  “One square, diagonally,” Chance reminds me.

  “I was listening!”

  “I know.” He’s grinning. Again, there’s that faint tug that makes me unsure whether he’s mocking me or inviting me to laugh along. I have no idea which direction to move the pawn. I choose left and put it in its square. Chance nods as if I’ve done something clever.

  “When your hand leaves the piece, you’ve made your move.” He knocks his first piece into play without a moment’s thought.

  “How long have you been playing chess?” I ask him, squinting at the board. I can tell I’m taking way too long to think this over, but he’s patient with me.

  “Since I can remember.
It’s always made a lot of sense to me. When you understand the game, you can predict the outcome of almost any move. You can calculate what will happen ten or fifteen moves in advance. It means you never have to take a risk. Everything’s already in place.”

  I hesitate, my fingers toying with the knight. “So you already know who’s going to win or lose?”

  He bites his perfect bottom lip to stop himself smiling. “Would you like me to let you win, Zara?”

  I move the knight. He reaches out just before I let it go and presses my fingers onto it. “Not quite,” he says quietly. “Two steps forwards, one sideways. Do you want to go left, or right?”

  I let him guide my hand to the right place on the board. “I didn’t realise this would be so complicated,” I say. I need to speak, to do something, to distract myself from the tingling sensation still in my fingers where he touched my hand.

  “Don’t worry,” says Chance. “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. I could do with a chess partner my own age for once.”

  Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Chance Madison – famously not someone who bothers much with other people – is he saying he wants to hang out?

  All my Christmases have just come at once. I would trade any moment in my life to date for this one. Except…

  Except, with my big mouth, I have to go and ruin it.

  “I hope soon enough comes quickly. I don’t have a lot of time left here. My Dad’s got a big interview coming up for a job over in Malaysia, and chances are I’ll be moving over there before the end of the year.”

  The smile leaves Chance’s face. For the first time in my life, I get a glimpse of the wheels turning in his mind – the complex calculations he makes whenever he’s faced with a problem, whether that problem’s on the chess board, in a computer program, or in the person sitting in front of him.

  I don’t know it yet, but I’m the only one who can read him openly enough to see the inner workings written on his face. Chance Madison is an open book to me. There’ll come a time soon enough when I’ll wish he never was.