Scored (13 page)

I opened my eyes and was almost surprised to find myself in a hotel room. For a moment I’d been in a completely different dimension, thoroughly enjoying my fantasy of Lewis fucking me until I could barely remember my own name.

Slowly I pulled Big Ben out. His shaft was slick and shiny and the blueness of it struck me as bizarre. Why hadn’t I chosen a flesh-colored one? I couldn’t remember, it was ages since I’d bought Big Ben and even longer since I’d been bowled over with passion and longing the way I’d been earlier this evening.

Lewis coming back to ensure the results he wanted were gained, couldn’t come soon enough.

The next day once again dawned bright and sunny in Donetsk. With no match and the team at a training session—I’d seen the bus collect them from the front of the hotel—I decided to do some shopping. It had been a while since I’d flexed the plastic, plus I hadn’t brought anything other than plain practical underwear, and if I was going to be ready for Lewis to come back and finish what he’d started something pretty and lacy would be in order.

I hit the main precinct and soon discovered bartering was the name of the game. It was fun and I had quite a knack despite not speaking Ukrainian. Money talked and that was our common language.

Before long I had several new sets of undies, a black satin negligee and a new lipstick called Seduction Red. I wondered about splashing out on a dress but decided against it. I couldn’t really see myself getting the chance to wear one, and besides, Lewis had seemed to enjoy taking my little black dress off.

Eventually I headed back to the hotel laden with bags and also several photographs on my iPhone. I’d decided to write an article on shopping in Donetsk and see if I could sell it to a travel website I sometimes submitted to. That would mean my day had been doubly productive if I could class it as research as well as shopping.

Again I flashed my identification to security then headed up to my room. I was joined in the elevator by a German couple. They had their arms linked and as the doors slid shut she touched his hair and spoke softly into his ear. I stared straight ahead and heard him reply in words that made no sense to me. In the smoky reflection of the doors I noticed he’d slid his hands to her bum and was squeezing her close.

She giggled and I had to suppress a pang of envy. I wished Lewis was in the elevator with me, kissing me, holding me. This couple didn’t know how lucky they were that nothing was preventing them being together. They could touch and kiss without repercussion, without the threat of a whole nation turning on them.

Level three arrived and I stepped out. They followed, the trundle of their suitcases echoing along the long stretch of carpeted corridor.

I paused at my door and sought out my keycard. They too halted, right next to me.

“
Schneller
,” the woman said. “
Ich will dich jetzt
.”

The tone of her voice told me what she wanted, even if I didn’t understand the words. Because it was what I wanted too, but had been denied the evening before.

The man chuckled and I turned just in time to see them disappear into Lewis’ room with a flourish. The door banged shut, I heard another clunk, like something banging against a wall, and then silence.

Staring at the door, I realized it was no longer Lewis’ room. He’d moved. He was back with his team in a suite that was fitting of his position. Of course, I knew it would happen, having him opposite had been like a miraculous twist in destiny or fate or luck, one of the three or perhaps all of them. It had been wonderful while it lasted but reality had returned.

But now how would he finish what he’d started? My heart sank, and a hollowness grew in my belly. I had to face the truth. He wouldn’t be back to finish what he’d started. How could he? I would only see him on the pitch or at press conferences. Other than that I was confident Fellows would ensure our paths didn’t cross in the hotel. Lewis would be kept occupied at all times and kept away from the terrible influences of the female reporter who dared stay at the Donbass.

With my mood dragging on the floor, I ordered room service and picked at a salad. I had to force myself to write my report on shopping in Donetsk. But when I read it back I really hadn’t done the city justice. My somber mood leaked out in every adjective and I was sure potential tourists would steer clear by miles. It would need more attention when I was feeling brighter.

A knock on the door startled me. Gathering my wits, I jumped up. Checked my teeth for stray lettuce and prayed I’d see Lewis looking nervously around when I peered through the spy hole.

But it wasn’t him. It was a waiter in a neat white suit and a trimmed black mustache.

I opened the door.

“I’ve come to collect your room service trolley, madam.”

“Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile.

He stepped in, reached the trolley and walked back toward me. When level he paused, reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope as white as the gloves he wore. “You are Miss Nicky Thomas?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have this for you.” He offered the envelope forward.

“Oh, thanks.” I looked at it. There was no name on the front.

“Who’s it from?”

“He said you would know.”

He.

Oh, my goodness. Was it from Lewis? As soon as the waiter had gone, I leaned against the wall and ripped at the seal. Pulled out a sheet of paper that held the hotel logo at the top and stared at the words written in blue biro.

Cathedral. 9 a.m.

The knowledge that Lewis had gone out of his way to contact me, and not only that he wanted to see me, had my mood sky-rocketing. However, the switch from the doldrums to euphoria had given rise to insomnia and I hardly slept all night. But I wasn’t complaining. I was more than happy to set my alarm, get up, shower and curl my hair. Because getting ready to meet the man my obsessive brain had fixated on was hardly a chore. It was a pleasure, an excitement, and I had to force myself to nibble on a biscuit as I dressed, knowing if I didn’t eat I would feel nauseous by midmorning.

A quick cab ride took me to the cathedral, delivering me a few minutes before nine. I paid the driver, alighted and stood at the base of the steps leading up to the grand entrance. I rolled my lips in on themselves. The color of my new lipstick wasn’t exactly suitable for a place of worship but then neither was my underwear—a sexy pink and black lace-trimmed set with tiny bows on the cups and thonged panties.

But it didn’t matter because praying wasn’t on my mind today, neither was looking at the magnificent architecture. This morning my hedonistic thoughts were going to be directed at a certain captain I hoped would already be waiting for me inside this holy building.

Did I feel sinful? Hell yeah. I would have to make up for it later and be sure to do some extra good deeds.

The entrance was quiet and still. Through the second set of heavy doors it was even more so. The atmosphere heavy, cool and silent. At first I thought the pews were deserted, but as I walked down the aisle, my soft shoes silent, I spotted a figure partially obscured by a thick pillar.

Lewis?

He wore a hoody again, the dark material pulled up and over his head so his face wasn’t visible. He was looking downward, as though studying his clasped hands and deep in prayer.

It had to be Lewis.

I sidled along the pew toward him. Hyper aware of every noise in the silence—my breathing, my hands on the wood, the beat of my heart.

He didn’t look up.

I edged closer.

Suddenly my confidence started to slip. What if it wasn’t him? Perhaps it was some hobo who used the cathedral for shelter. He might have a knife, want to rob me, rape me, kill me, and here was I offering myself up to him like a sacrificial lamb.

No. I was being silly. Lewis had worn a hoody like that when he’d come to the cathedral before. It had to be him. I tried to flush macabre images from my mind and hold onto a thread of sensibility. I had arranged to meet him here, at nine. He was here, that was all, nothing to fear.

A sudden loud clanging vibrated through my head and I froze. My body tensed and my legs trembled—fight or flight? Panic rolled up from my feet to the top of my head and for a second my focus fuzzed.

I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. It was the bells in the high-domed steeple clanging out that it was nine o’clock. I waited, I don’t know why, until the ninth ring, then continued toward what I hoped was Lewis.

I stopped just two meters from the man, pretty sure it was him. But I didn’t dare speak. I just stood, waiting for him to acknowledge me.

Eventually he turned and the hood covering his face shifted. He had on black shades and sported a good growth of light brown stubble that sat heavier in the dink in his chin.

“Oh, it
is
you,” I said on a sigh and sat down.

He removed his glasses. “Well if you had to get this close to realize then my crude attempt at disguise is obviously working.” His voice was low and hushed.

“I thought you might be a tramp or something, having a snooze.” I spoke equally quietly.

“I’m sure Gucci would love to know that about their new range of casual sportswear.” He smiled and his face softened. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

“Not bad.” He glanced at the gap between us. “Better if you would sit closer.”

I slid my bum along the wood until my shoulder brushed his. He reached for my hand, held it, palm up, and traced a circle at the center.

Renewed longing sped through me as I was treated to a flashback of him holding my breast. How he’d touched me with just the right amount of pressure, tweaked my nipple with just the right degree of tension. How we’d been so rudely interrupted…

I tried and failed to suppress a small sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. How did you get on with Fellows? Did he buy your story about you being in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I think so, but he’s keeping a pretty tight rein on everyone at the moment. He’s a goddamn control freak.”

“He’s just doing his job.”

“That’s very understanding of you, considering.”

“Considering what? The way he spoke to me in the bar or the way he made you leave just when things were getting hot between us.”

He raised one brow. “Things were getting pretty hot, weren’t they? I left feeling like a man in the desert who’d just had his water bottle taken away.”

“I know what you mean.” I looked at his legs, his thick strong thighs resting over the seat of the pew, his jeans a little faded in all the right places. “When are you going to Kiev?”

“Later today. We’re flying up. You?”

“I’m catching the evening train. I’ve got some cheap place booked once I get there. Should be okay just for two nights. I’m there to see you thrash Sweden not wallow in luxury.”

“I wish I could get you into our hotel.”

I rested my other hand on his forearm, felt hard tendons and heat beneath the super-soft material of the hoody. “I think we were lucky to get what we had. I knew it wouldn’t take long for them to move you back into your suite.”

“It’s nice, the new room. Perhaps you’d like to see it when we get back to Donetsk.”

“And how would I be able to do that?” I couldn’t keep the incredulousness from my tone.

He paused for a second. Cocked his head. “You forget, Nicky, I am a man who gets what he wants.”