Page 2 of Save Me (Maxton Hall #1)

James

Someone’s pounding a jackhammer into my skull.

That’s the first thing I notice as I slowly wake up. The second is the warm naked body lying half on and half off mine.

I glance to one side, but all I can make out is a mane of honey-blond hair.

I don’t remember leaving Wren’s party with anyone.

To be honest, I don’t even remember leaving the party at all.

I shut my eyes again and try to summon up images of last night, but all that comes to mind are a few disjointed scraps: Me, drunk on a table.

Wren’s loud laughter as I fall off and land on the floor at his feet.

Alistair’s warning gaze as I dance right up close with his big sister, pressing hard into her arse.

Oh, fuck.

Cautiously, I lift my hand and stroke the hair off the girl’s face.

Double fuck.

Alistair’s going to kill me.

I sit bolt upright. A stabbing pain shoots through my head, and for a moment everything goes black.

Beside me, Elaine mumbles something incomprehensible and rolls onto her other side.

At the same time, I realize that the jackhammer is actually my phone, buzzing on the bedside table.

I ignore it and hunt for my clothes off the floor.

I find one shoe close to the bed and the other right next to the door, beneath my black trousers and belt.

My shirt is on the brown leather chair. I pull it on, but when I go to do it up, I discover that a couple of the buttons are missing.

I groan, seriously hoping that Alistair isn’t still around.

I don’t need him seeing either the wrecked shirt or the red scratches that Elaine’s bright pink fingernails left on my chest.

My phone starts to buzz again. I glance at the screen and see my dad’s name. Great. It’s almost two on a school day, my head feels like it’s about to explode, and I’ve almost certainly had sex with Elaine Ellington. The last thing I need right now is my dad’s voice in my ear. I reject the call.

What I do need is a shower. And clean clothes.

I slip out of Wren’s guest bedroom and shut the door behind me as quietly as possible.

On my way downstairs, I encounter the wreckage of last night—a bra and various other items of clothing are hanging over the banisters, and the hallway is scattered with cups, glasses, and plates of uneaten food.

The stench of booze and smoke hangs in the air.

Nobody could miss the fact that a party was going on here until just a couple of hours ago.

I find Cyril and Keshav in the sitting room.

Cyril’s dozing on Wren’s parents’ expensive white sofa and Kesh is sitting in an armchair by the fireplace.

A girl is cuddled in his lap; her hands are buried in his long, black hair; and she’s kissing him passionately.

When Kesh breaks away from her for a moment and spots me, he throws his head back and laughs. I flick him the finger in passing.

The huge French windows are wide-open into the Fitzgeralds’ garden. I step out and wince. The sunlight isn’t particularly bright, but it feels like a stab in the temples all the same. I glance around cautiously. Out here looks no better than in the house. Worse, if anything.

I find Wren and Alistair on pool loungers. Each of them has his hands linked behind his head, and their eyes are hidden behind shades. I hesitate for a second, then stroll over to them.

“Beaufort,” says Wren cheerfully, pushing his sunglasses up into his curly black hair. He’s grinning, but I can see how pale his skin looks despite the tan. He must be about as hungover as me. “Have a good night?”

“Can’t quite remember,” I answer, venturing a look in Alistair’s direction.

“Fuck you, Beaufort,” he says, not looking at me. His hair shines golden in the afternoon sun. “I told you to keep your hands off my sister.”

I’d been expecting that. Unimpressed, I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t force her into bed. Don’t act like she can’t make her own decisions about who she wants to shag.”

Alistair pulls a face and mumbles incomprehensibly.

I hope he’s going to cool it and not hold this against me forever, because it’s not like I can turn back time. And I’m not in the mood to justify myself to my mates. I spend enough time doing that at home.

“Just don’t break her heart,” Alistair says after a while, looking at me through the mirrored lenses of his aviator glasses. I can’t see his eyes, but I know they’re more resigned than angry.

“Elaine has known James since she was five,” Wren points out. “She knows exactly what he’s like.”

Wren’s right. Elaine and I both knew what we were getting into last night. However little I can remember, I can still hear her breathless voice in my ear: This is only happening once, James. Only once.

Alistair doesn’t want to admit it, but his sister is out for just as much fun in life as I am.

“If your parents find out, they’ll be announcing your engagement any moment,” Wren adds wryly, after a while.

I scowl. My parents have wanted to marry me off to Elaine Ellington for years—or any other daughter of a rich family with a huge inheritance. But I’m eighteen, and I’ve got far better things to do than waste time worrying about who or what will come along after my A levels.

Alistair snorts equally disdainfully. He doesn’t seem too keen on the idea of me as the newest member of his family either. I press a hand to my chest with mock sorrow. “That almost sounds like you don’t want me for a brother-in-law.”

Now he pushes the shades up into his curly hair and glares at me through dark eyes. He pushes himself up from the lounger as slowly as a big cat. He might be slim, but he’s strong and quick, and I know it. I’ve experienced it often enough in training.

The way he looks at me, I know what he has in mind.

“Watch it, Alistair,” I growl, taking a step back.

It happens faster than I can blink. Suddenly we’re face-to-face. “I told you to watch it too,” he retorts. “Not that you took any notice.”

The next moment, he shoves me hard in the chest. I stumble back, straight into the pool. The landing smacks the air out of my lungs, and for a moment, I’m totally disoriented. The water rushes in my ears, and underwater, the pounding headache is all the worse.

But I don’t swim up right away. I let my body go limp and hold myself still, face down.

I stare at the tiles on the bottom of the pool, which I can only vaguely make out from here, and count the seconds in my head.

For a moment, I shut my eyes. It’s almost peaceful.

After thirty seconds, I’m starting to run out of air, and the pressure on my chest is increasing.

I let one last, dramatic bubble of air rise to the surface, wait some more, and then…

Alistair jumps into the pool and grabs me. He drags me to the surface, and as I open my eyes and look into his shocked face, I have to laugh out loud, even as I’m gasping for air.

“Beaufort!” he yells in disbelief, lunging for me.

His fist connects with my side—bloody hell, he packs a punch—and he tries to get me in a headlock.

Seeing that he’s smaller than me, that doesn’t turn out the way he planned.

We wrestle for a moment in the water, then I get a grip on him.

I pick him up easily and throw him as far as I can.

Wren’s laughter sounds in my ear as Alistair sinks with a loud splash.

As he resurfaces, he stares at me for a moment, so angrily that I burst out laughing again.

Like all the Ellingtons, Alistair has the face of an angel.

However hard he tries to look menacing, his hazel eyes, blond curls, and fucking perfect features make it impossible.

“You are such a wanker,” he says, spraying water at me.

I wipe my hand over my face. “Sorry, mate.”

“OK,” he replies, but splashes me again. I spread my arms out and let him. Eventually he stops, and as I look at him, he shakes his head.

Now I know we’re cool again.

“James?” says a familiar voice.

I whirl around. My twin sister is standing on the edge of the pool, blocking out the sun.

She wasn’t at the party yesterday, and for a moment, I think she’s here to make my life hell for skipping school with the lads.

But then I look properly and shiver: Her shoulders are slumped, and her arms hang listlessly at her sides.

She won’t meet my eyes, just stares at her feet.

I swim over to her as fast as I can and clamber out of the pool. Regardless of how wet I am, I take her forearms and force her to lift her head and look at me. My stomach flips. Lydia’s face is red and swollen. She’s been crying.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, holding her a bit tighter. She goes to turn away, but I won’t let her. I grip her chin so she can’t avoid my eyes.

Hers are swimming with tears. My throat goes dry.

“James,” she whispers hoarsely. “I’m in deep shit.”