Scored (5 page)

His footsteps paused for a heartbeat then continued. Heat rose on my chest and spread up to my cheeks. A flashing memory of the elevator stormed into my mind and I forced it away. Lewis Tate reduced me to a bundle of lusty hormones and quivering desire whenever I saw him, and why was this the second time I’d seen him when Big Ben was with me?

Another thirty seconds and his footsteps melted into the distance. I left it a whole minute before turning around.

He’d gone. In fact, I was now completely alone in the enormous building.

I reached for my holdall and stood. Nodded at the altar then headed back up the aisle and into the sunshine.

I needed to get myself safely ensconced in my hotel room. Put my professional reporter’s head on and stop running into Lewis Tate at odd moments and when I least expected it.

He was seriously messing with my mind at a time in my career when I needed my wits about me.

The Donbass was a huge modern hotel that boasted acres of marble flooring, magnificent pillars and a lavish reception area.

I checked in, was given my room key by an efficient and polite young lady wearing the reddest lipstick I’d ever seen. Then, pulling my holdall behind me, I walked past a white grand piano with a man in a tuxedo playing a beautiful melancholy tune. I paused for a moment to listen and admire a decadent flower display set on a round oak table.

This hotel was definitely going to suit me. My nerves were feeling less tattered already.

After alighting the elevator at level three, I headed down a long, lean corridor. It had a startling bottle-green carpet and portraits of kings and queens hanging between every door. I found room three-sixty and slotted in the keycard.

Nothing.

The little red light stayed red.

I tried it again.

Still nothing.

“Bugger,” I muttered, setting my holdall to one side so I could concentrate on the job at hand. I eased the keycard in slower, making sure it was the right way round and had time to be read by whatever obstinate scanner lurked inside the lock.

Still nothing.

My nerves were stretching thin again. All I wanted to do was get in my room, have a shower and flop.

Repeating the whole process with painstaking precision, I glared at the small rectangle light, willing it to turn green. It didn’t. Damn, I’d have to traipse all the way back down to reception and have a member of staff come and fiddle with it.

I heard a sound behind me. A door opening. Good, perhaps it was someone who’d be able to help. I spun around. “Excuse me, do you think you could…” My next words grounded to a halt in my throat, cut off by my startled intake of breath.

Standing just an arm’s length from me was Lewis Tate. He’d removed his hoody and now wore a plain white T-shirt with his jeans. He had a blue and white pair of what looked like swim trunks in his left hand and black goggles in the right.

Once again, I struggled to contain myself at having his devastating good looks dropped on me without warning. I clutched the keycard and pressed down a wave of shock that threatened to weaken my knees and flip my heart into some weird and probably fatal rhythm.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s just this damn keycard won’t work.” I swallowed a lump the size of a football down the tight channel of my throat and prayed my cheeks weren’t flaring to some unflattering, crushed-strawberry shade.

He switched his goggles into the same hand as his trunks, stepped forward and plucked the little bit of plastic from my hand. “Let me try. Mine was stubborn too.”

I smoothed my hair, wondering how crazy my chestnut curls looked at this moment. It had been a while since I’d dragged a brush through my mop. “Is that your room?” I asked, nodding toward the door that had just shut behind him with a resounding bang.

“Yeah.”

“I thought players had a level all to themselves.”

“They do.” He rubbed the back of the keycard on his T-shirt, smoothing it up and down the material covering his perfectly flat abdomen.

Lucky keycard.

“So why aren’t you—?”

“Flood. My room had a burst pipe. Whole place is sodden. I’m down here until it dries out or they sort me out another suite.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Bad luck.”

“Bad luck. Nah, this room is great. It’s kinda nice to be away from everyone.”

I raised my brows. “Really.”

“Yeah, you know, a bit of time out.”

“Tell me about it.”

He raised
his
brows. “Is that why you’re here and not staying with the rest of the official press gang?”

“What do you mean?”

“Time out. Escaping all those burly, pushy guys.” He reached past me, toward my door.

“I’m the victim of a hotel room mix-up.” I caught a whiff of his delicious cologne again and just when I thought my heart might survive this encounter it went into overdrive, tripping and trapping against my ribs. “Though of course I’m not complaining about the mix-up, not now,” I managed.

He paused and looked at me with narrowed eyes, studied me with a sharp intensity that made me feel like I was laid wide open for his scrutiny.

Damn, he thought I’d meant because of him. Because
he
was here. Might be true, but not what I was going to say. Far too uncool.

“What I mean is the Donbass, it’s stunning. Much nicer than where I was supposed to be staying. I don’t mind the mix-up at all, because of the lovely hotel.”

He paused then nodded. “Mmm, yeah. Now the trick with these things is to do it fast and snappy. Give it just enough time to read the code and then pluck it out. If you do it too slowly it seems to confuse the system.” He jabbed the keycard in and out of the slot with a quick flick of his wrist.

The light switched to green.

“You’re in,” he said, pressing down the handle and revealing the first inch of my room.

“Great, thanks.” I reached for my holdall and placed my hand on the door near to his.

“You’re welcome.” He curled his mouth at either end and smiled down at me.

His smiles were rare and it was just as well, because if I’d felt bamboozled by his presence before, now I was totally blown away. His whole face softened, his eyes lit, and small creases formed at their edges.

A knot tightened in my belly and I couldn’t help but grin back. For a moment time stood still. I just lost myself in his smile, in the blue depths of his eyes and the closeness of his big body looming over mine in the quiet corridor.

Then I shook myself back to reality. What the hell was I doing? As if Lewis Tate needed another fan. Another smitten girl ogling him. He was here to do a job. A damn important job. He didn’t need hangers-on or admirers while he was trying to get his head into the zone and preparing to be the best of the best on the pitch.

I tore my gaze from his, shoved the door open and stepped past him with a sudden efficiency to my movements. “Thanks again,” I said, allowing the heavy door to begin falling shut behind me.

“Wait.” He rammed his shoe into the base of the door and stopped it connecting with the frame.

I gasped and grabbed the handle, opening it fully again. “Bloody hell, are you crazy? Be careful with that foot, an entire nation is depending on it.”

He looked shocked for a moment at my outburst but then pulled his foot away. “You really are a footy fan as well as reporter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, it’s all about the game. That’s why I’m here.”

He cocked his head. “You ever worked for a tabloid?”

“No, and I don’t intend to, thank you very much.”

“Mmm, I thought that must be the case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, any other journalist that I’ve ever met in an elevator has quizzed me about my personal life. But you didn’t.”

Oh, damn, that flush was returning. “Well, no. The press conference was over. That was your free time, why should you have that intruded upon? You’d answered my formation question.”

“It was a good question and certainly one I’d asked myself.” He paused. “Plus, in the elevator there was that problem with your toothbrush.”

I was still looking for that black hole. Damn its inherent invisibility. “The toothbrush is fixed,” I said, tightening my mouth into a pursed pucker.

“Glad to hear it.” He smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that soul-achingly sexy way.

Damn it, my heart was thumping so hard I could hear the blood whooshing in my ears. “I really have to go. I need to shower, get changed. It’s been a long journey.”

“Of course.” He stepped out of the entrance, back into the corridor. “But before you disappear, I just want to say thanks for earlier, at the cathedral.”

“What do you mean?”

“I appreciated you not identifying me. I’d gone to sit quietly for a while. The last thing I needed was to be recognized, hassled or photographed.”

“Absolutely, I was there for the same thing, a few minutes of peace and tranquility, and I certainly wouldn’t be bad mannered enough to disturb someone praying.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No, of course not.” I placed my hand on my hip. “Some things are sacred. Alone time with God is definitely one of them.”

He nodded. “Like I said, thanks, I appreciated it.” He lifted his trunks and goggles. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Yes, probably, now we’re neighbors.” I pointed at his door and laughed.

He dropped his gaze down my body, swept his tongue over his bottom lip and frowned. “Yeah, that does seem to be the case.”

He turned and disappeared.

Quickly, I shut up my door. Oh, dear Lord. Had I really just said something stupid and girly to Lewis Tate about being his neighbor? Poor guy was probably heading to reception right now to demand to be moved into another room. Not to mention what a fucking state I must look. Like some mad Fatal Attraction stalker, no doubt.

I spun around and scrutinized myself in a full-length mirror. My hair wasn’t as bad as I’d thought, which was a relief. My trousers were a little creased, but they were a nice pair that fitted well. My pale blue T-shirt was thankfully clean despite the airplane breakfast eaten during a sudden swirl of turbulence, and my brown leather boots were un-scuffed even if a little wintery for the Ukrainian sunshine.

I stepped closer, examining my face and make-up. All was in order, no smudges of mascara, no bulging zits straining toward the surface. A coat of gloss on my lips wouldn’t have gone amiss, neither would a flick of powder on my nose, but it was what it was. Me.

Had I planned on seeing Lewis Tate at such close proximity, preparations would have started several days before. Exfoliating, hydrating, a good night’s sleep. But that hadn’t been the case. It had just happened. Some weird twist of fate had landed him outside my hotel room door just when I needed him. This was how I looked and he would just have to cope. Not everyone could look like Naomi George. Some of us were mere mortals.

My room was lovely. Spacious and opulent with a great big bed, flamboyant furniture and decorated in rich creams, golds and a splash of purple