Scored (28 page)

On the day of the match, I applied the expensive facemask and painted my nails in the morning. Spent the afternoon watching The English Patient on DVD and nibbling M&Ms then finally, just after my room service dinner had arrived, settled to watch the game.

I sipped a glass of wine and experienced a bubble of delight in my chest when Lewis ran onto the pitch. The camera caught a shot of his face. He was so breathtakingly handsome and looked so damn determined. I loved that expression of his, it was the same one that had flashed across his face when he’d come back from training and tipped me over the chaise. My pussy clenched and I was glad my period had ended. I might have to play with Big Ben later.

He broke into a run, jogged up to the ref and shook his hand. The camera flashed to Bryers who was kicking his heels into his butt, warming up his quads. I squirmed on the bed. I was so excited, to see Lewis, to see the match, but I was also nervous. Germany was going to be hard to beat and I was scared of seeing Lewis get hurt again. I knocked back another mouthful of Chardonnay and watched my balloons floating in the breeze flitting through my window. Soon it would be over. Too soon if England were knocked out by Germany, but even if the team got to the finals, it was only a matter of days until the end of the tournament.

The whistle blew and the game began. Lewis got first touch of the ball. The German players were in green and swarmed around him. But he was too fast, ducked and dodged and within seconds was going for goal. He hit the post and the ball was captured by a German defender who took off up the wing. The England fans groaned then cheered when Bryers stole it back.

“And the England team have come out fighting,” the TV commentator was saying. “They’re not messing around today. A goal attempt in the first thirty seconds must surely have got Germany rattled.”

“Absolutely,” I said, leaning forward to see who had the ball now. Number eight, Taylor.

Fellows’ face filled the screen. He was chewing wildly on his gum, his fillings winking at a whole nation. I couldn’t help the intense dislike for him that prodded me. While I could understand him needing a few rules to keep his players on the straight and narrow, he didn’t have to be so dogmatic or downright rude about it.

A wild cheer pulled the camera back to the action. Taylor still had the ball, he took a shot, he scored.

“Yes!”

The roar from the TV was deafening. One nil up in the first few minutes and the England fans were already chanting about their trip to the finals on Sunday.

Unfortunately, the rest of the match wasn’t as exciting, the score still one-nil at halftime.

I tucked into cheesecake and listened to the commentator’s mid-match discussion. Their opinion was the same as mine. Germany were trying to keep hold of the ball and slow the game down, but when England least expected it they’d battle forward and go for goal.

Luckily this didn’t happen. And I had to give credit to Fellows. He’d clearly given the team a good half-time pep talk and told them to keep the pressure on, which they did, brilliantly.

The final result was one-nil and England had their passport to the finals.

Phil emailed and then called just before midnight. He was beyond excited as he filled me in on all the details from the press conference. I was surprised when he said Lewis wasn’t there. It was just Clare and Hatton with Fellows.

Lewis didn’t call, which was understandable, I told myself. It was late and he’d just played one of the hardest matches of his career. He was bound to be exhausted and had no doubt crashed out back in his hotel room.

But even so I couldn’t help the fizz of disappointment burning in my belly as I hobbled to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I’d become used to him being the last person I spoke to each day.

It was hot; the Ukrainian sun had scorched from the sky all day, heating the air to an oven-like temperature that hadn’t faded as night took hold. I slipped into bed, naked, glad of the soft sheets the maids changed each day for me, and drifted to sleep.

My dreams were of players in green chasing me down, trying to stop me from getting a goal. But my aim wasn’t kicking the ball into the net, it was getting to Lewis. He stood, like Hatton did, in the mouth of the goal. He was dressed in jeans and the dark hoody he’d worn to the cathedral. No one in the crowd could see his face except for me. Only I knew it was him. I was trying to run but my legs wouldn’t move, and when they did Germans tripped me over, tackled me, wrapped their arms around my waist and pushed me in the opposite direction.

Lewis’ name was spilling from my lips and my heart was thumping. I had to get to him. It was vital. He needed me and I needed him. Suddenly I saw a break in the German defense. I plowed all my effort into running, steamed ahead, desperation urging me on.

Lewis smiled, opened his arms and caught me. He held me close and joy seared through my veins. He was naked now, so was I, and I could smell his addictive scent, feel the heat of his skin against my cheek.

“Lewis,” I mumbled, clinging to him. “Lewis.”

“Shh, its okay, I’m here.” He smoothed his hand over my head and down my back, tugged me closer still.

I twined my legs around his and the hairs on his shins tickled. The chants of the crowd faded into the distance as did the German players. It was just us. Lying together, holding one another. I sighed and reveled in contentment. This was home. Lewis’ arms had become my place in the world.

He kissed my head, my temple, tilted my chin and nuzzled across my cheek until he found my lips. His kiss was deep and delicious. I gripped his shoulders and pressed the length of my body to his, adoring the way the patch of hair on his chest scratched against my breast.

“Ah, honey, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Mmm,” I said. “I’ve missed you too.”

My words were clear, so were his. A sense of waking dawned. The dream blurred with reality. I tightened my hold on his shoulders. Taut tendons and firm muscles registered in my brain.

I flicked open my eyes. “Lewis?”

He smiled at me.

Screwing my eyes tight shut, I dragged in a deep breath. Re-opened them. He was still there with his head on the pillow. Not only that his arms were around me, his legs tangled with mine. His body heat and faded cologne really did fill the air.

“You’re here,” I gasped, touching his cheek. Was he real?

“I had to see you.”

“But, what about—?”

“Shh, don’t worry about anything. It’s just us in our tower again.”

“But how did you get here so quickly?”

“I had a private jet on standby. I left straight after the match. It was killing me thinking of you lying here on your own, in a strange country and hurt. I knew if I didn’t see you before the finals I would be too damn distracted to even kick the ball let alone score.”

“You took a private jet, to see me?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “But that must have cost a fortune.”

“A day’s wages, don’t worry about it.”

I was quiet for a moment. “My room. How did you get in?”

“A helpful porter who happens to be a fan.”

“But will he keep quiet?”

“I’ve paid for him to keep his mouth shut with a promise of tickets to the final. They’re like gold dust.”

“But it’s such a risk—”

He silenced me with a kiss, chasing for my tongue with his.

My whole body tingled. Lewis had come to me. He’d needed to see me. Happiness floated me high and I slotted my fingers into his hair and tugged him closer.

“Hey,” he said, pulling away slightly. “Go easy, tiger. You’ll have me ravishing you.”

“Ravish me,” I whispered hotly.

“But haven’t you got your…?”

“No, it’s finished.”

A slow smile tugged his mouth. “Well that just makes the private jet doubly worth it.”

“Oh, it was definitely worth it.” I pressed my lips to his, suddenly ravenous for him. My whole body quivered as I molded myself to the perfect contours of his abdomen and chest. I wanted to crawl into him, become part of him. Make it so we could never be separated again.

He groaned, wrapped his hands around my waist and hoisted me on top of him.

I settled my knees either side of his hips; his cock stroked the folds of my labia. I positioned my hands into the pillow on either side of his head and adjusted my foot so it was comfortable.

“Ride me,” he said, pushing my hair back from where it had fallen around my face like curtains. “Ride me so I don’t hurt your ankle by mistake.”

“I won’t break.”

“I know, but indulge me just for one night. I’ve been so worried about you.”

I sat upright and he filled his palms with my breasts. Pressed the flesh inward, flattening it and then squeezing me gently. My nipples beaded and hot darts of pleasure spread from my ribs to my clit. He watched his movements carefully, his mouth slightly parted and a streak of silvery moonlight catching the top of his head.

Encouraging him on, I rested my hand over his. “That’s nice,” I said.

“You’re so damn soft,” he murmured. “I’ll never get enough of touching you.”

“I think the feeling is mutual.” Reaching down, I gripped his cock.

“Ah, fuck, careful,” he said. “Let’s take this slow so I don’t get tempted to throw you to your hands and knees and take you like an animal from behind.”

How was it just his sexy words had my pussy pulsating? “So long as you promise to take me like that another time.”

“You can bet your life on it.” He hissed in a breath. “Ah, yes, like that. Fuck, your little hands on me are so cute.”

There was nothing cute about his cock. It was big and hard, angry almost it was so hot and swollen. I rose up, positioned the head at my entrance and took the first inch inside me.

He arched his spine and clamped his fingers around my thighs. I got the impression he was using all of his willpower to stay on his back and let me take control.

“Oh, yes, Lewis. You feel amazing.”

“Better than Big Ben?” His voice was strained. He’d spoken through gritted teeth.

“There’s no comparison.” I rested my hands on the hard planes of his chest and tipped forward. Gasped when he slipped further into my moist channel. It was wonderful at this angle, my clit pressed into his wiry pubic hair and the dome of his glans jabbed into my G-spot.

“Oh, fuck, please, take all of me,” he begged, gripping my upper arms.

Slowly, I sat completely down on him, taking every inch of his cock into my body. The filling was so intense I half collapsed. He tightened his hold on my arms. Kept me hovering over him.

“Ah,” I managed. “Ah, I just, oh it’s so…”

“Fucking good?” he said onto my lips.

“Yes, so fucking good.” I kept very still, adjusting to his size and adoring the way my flesh had to stretch to the point of painful pleasure to accommodate him.

“Move,” he said after a few minutes. “Fuck me, Nicky, please. Take what you want. I’m at your mercy.”

“Really.” I stared down at him.

“More than you will ever know.”

I shifted and he released my arms. Quickly, I harnessed his wrists and pressed them into the pillow on either side of his head. So he was pinned down—by me.

“So that’s how you want to play it, huh?” His brows twitched.