For the first time since she’d arrived, Michelle wore a skirt, and a short one at that. Her legs were slightly tanned, but far from golden. They were also toned, so all those self-defence classes she taught obviously kept her in shape.

With such a short skirt, it was all too easy to imagine me burying my head between her legs and tasting the sweet goodness of her sex. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, trying to calm down and stop the blood rushing to my cock, but that just made the mental image clearer.

I grabbed a glass of cold water and necked it back before stepping outside to greet them. Don’t stare at her legs. Don’t stare at her legs.

“I’m so glad you came,” I said, as we met halfway and I ushered them through security. Now that I was deliberately not looking at Michelle’s legs, I noticed she was wearing a cardigan again, despite it being a hot day. She seemed rather attached to those things, but fortunately she had it open to reveal her chest. Damn it. Don’t stare at her chest. Don’t stare at her chest.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Maisie said, still looking up in awe at the stadium.

“It’s a little old,” I explained. “But I like it.”

“Do we get a tour?” Maisie asked.

“We don’t want to be any trouble,” Michelle said apologetically.

“It’s no trouble at all,” I said. “But first, we need to get you into a rugby shirt. Can’t have you wandering around looking like tourists. Plus, you might get to meet some players and they’ll be happy to sign it.”

I couldn’t deny having an ulterior motive. There was little in life sexier than seeing a hot woman in a rugby shirt. The tight fit would show off Michelle’s body, but there was also something primal and raw about rugby shirts on a woman that drove me wild.

Michelle insisted on getting a long sleeved shirt, but damn, she still looked good in it. I couldn’t see her breasts any more, but the sacrifice was worth it. The curves of the shirt around her chest were almost more appealing than actually seeing her chest, if that was at all possible. The not-so-subtle hint at what lay underneath was enough to prove distracting during the game if I wasn’t careful.

We swung by the changing rooms first because they were empty at the moment, much to Maisie’s disappointment. My teammates were all tall and muscular like me, and I had no intention of inadvertently creating any competition for myself by letting Michelle walk in on them half-naked.

We did come across a few players hanging out in the halls, so I introduced them to Maisie and encouraged her to get a few signatures.

“You can sign right here,” she said, pointing to her left breast. “And you can sign here,” she said to the other player, pointing to her right breast this time.

“Uh, how old are you?” my teammate Nigel asked. He was six foot four and weighed over one hundred kilos, but right now he looked terrified by a fourteen-year-old girl. That tended to be the appropriate reaction where Maisie was concerned.

“Probably best to just sign her sleeves,” I said, as Maisie rolled her eyes at me. Now I knew how Michelle felt. Maisie had a way of making you feel like the bad guy all the time for spoiling her fun.

“Thanks lads,” I said when they’d finished signing her shirt.

Just before we walked away, two young boys about Maisie’s age ran up to Nigel, one of them holding a rugby ball, and asked him to sign it.

“You want a signature from Olly as well?” Nigel asked. Nigel looked a little surprised to see that he had been asked for the signature first because most people gravitated towards me.

For good or bad, I was one of the most famous rugby players in the country, even though I hadn’t played for England since the World Cup Final in 2007. Anyone who liked rugby had an opinion on me, and that meant I was a popular choice to sign merchandise.

“God no,” the kid said, and grabbed the ball from Nigel’s hand. “He might drop it.” The two kids ran off, laughing at how funny they were.

“Little shits,” Nigel said.

“I can’t believe they said that,” Maisie exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, it happens,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t care.”

I really didn’t. I had done for a couple of years, but not any more. If the worst thing that stuck with me from that day was “dropping” the ball, then I was fortunate. If they knew the truth, well, that would be far worse.

I took Maisie and Michelle upstairs to an executive suite that I had claimed for the day, and introduced them to the waiter who would be looking after them while I played.

“He’ll get you whatever you want to eat or drink,” I said. “Just name it.”

“The view is incredible,” Maisie said, as she stared through the glass towards the pitch.

“Yes,” I replied, looking at Michelle from behind. “It is. You can go sit in the stands as well if you want.”

Maisie found the door and took a seat out in the ground. The executive suites were awesome, but you couldn’t beat the atmosphere of being out amongst the crowd where you could feel the tension through your body as the game ebbed and flowed.

“Are you okay?” Michelle asked me, once Maisie was outside. “About what happened back there with those boys.”

“Of course,” I said, with a big, forced smile. “It happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not fair,” she said. “Anyone could have… you know…”

“Dropped the ball and completely shanked the kick that could have won my country the World Cup?”

“Yeah. It’s just one of those things.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

Michelle smiled at me; for one beautiful moment our eyes met and then she looked away again, back at Maisie. Michelle insisted she didn’t blame me for what happened to Maisie, but she should. It was my fault. Not because I didn’t walk them home that evening. I was guilty of far more than just not being a gentleman.

Michelle took hold of her rugby shirt and tugged it a few times to let some air underneath. The suite was a bit warm and she had a long sleeve shirt on with her normal top underneath.

“You should have bought the short sleeve shirt,” I said. “It’s too hot for the long sleeve one. Why don’t you take it off?”

Michelle looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Is that how you usually get women out of their clothes?’

“Usually they’re peeling their clothes off long before I get the chance to open my mouth.”

“Well, I think I’ll just break with tradition and keep it on.”

“Suit yourself.” Probably for the best. The image of Michelle peeling off a layer of clothing might be too much for me right now.

Maisie came back in from outside and asked the waiter for a beer. The waiter looked straight to me with a questioning glance, and I then turned to Michelle.

Michelle sighed. “You can have one beer and that’s it.”

I laughed when I saw the look of pleasant surprise on Maisie’s face. She hadn’t been expecting to get away with that one.

“And I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” Michelle added as the waiter was on his way out.

“I’d better go and show my face before the coach wonders where I am.”

“Olly?” Maisie asked before I left. “I never got your signature.”

“That’s sweet, Maisie, but you don’t need to try and make me feel better.”

“I want it,” she said. She handed me the pen she’d kept from before and asked me to sign on her back by the upper right shoulder. “You get one too, Michelle. That shirt will be worth a fortune once he’s signed it.”

“Oliver needs to get a move on,” Michelle said.

“Nonsense,” I replied. I resisted the temptation to ask if Michelle wanted me to sign on a breast and went to write my name on her shoulder in the same place I’d done it for Maisie. I rested my hand on her back and felt the heat from her body. She was burning up under that shirt, but was too stubborn to take it off.

I could smell a hint of citrus in her hair, and desperately wanted to run my fingers through it. As the pen touched her shoulder, I noticed a slight, almost imperceptible, shiver run up her spine. Was that a reaction to my touch? I’d wanted to get a reaction from her, but a cold shiver wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for.