Striker (11 page)

‘Oh, I think this ice-queen can take on the arrogant prick any time.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so.’

She felt herself burning up, the heat from his body making her head spin. He was so close now she could feel the electricity practically fizzing between them. One glass of wine couldn’t be having
that
much effect, surely, could it?

And then, before she had a chance to draw another breath, his hand was in the small of her back, pushing her against him, his mouth covering hers in a hard, fast kiss that took her completely by surprise, for some reason. Considering it had obviously been building up to that for the past few seconds. But it didn’t take long for her to lose what few inhibitions she had left, falling against him as the kiss got deeper and harder, the taste of him overwhelming her with feelings she’d kept repressed for so long that even sleeping with Ronnie last night hadn’t managed to quell them.

It was like the release she’d been waiting for ever since she’d set eyes on him just a couple of days ago. The sexual tension that had been building ever since that initial interview was now being allowed to come to the forefront, cut itself loose, and as Ryan pushed her down onto the sofa, his fingers pushing her dress up over her thighs, hurriedly pulling down her underwear and discarding them like unwanted rubbish, she felt unusually liberated. Maybe she
had
been uptight for too long. Nobody could accuse her of that now, though, could they?

Stretching her arms up above her, she closed her eyes as he slid her dress up over her head, removing her bra in one swift movement, his mouth immediately lowering down to cover one of her breasts. It was a strangely warm and comforting feeling, and Amber arched her back, her arms still up above her head, almost pushing herself at him, but hey, she was in this too deep now, wasn’t she? It was a bit late to hit the reverse button. But, oh, it felt so good, so fucking good as his fingers stroked her naked skin, running over her thighs, up to her breasts, every touch sending a million tiny tingles coursing through her entire body.

And that feeling ended only briefly whilst he discarded his own clothes, and Amber watched as that young, toned, incredibly fit body became visible in front of her, in all its naked glory. No wonder the women fell at his feet. He wasn’t even her usual type – she never had gone for the six-pack and bicep brigade before – but there was something about this man that was making her confused and excited, all at the same time. She couldn’t just ignore that, could she? She was only human after all.

Ryan was trying desperately not to let the hard-on he’d found difficult to hold off on from exploding way sooner than he wanted it to, but it was killing him. It was almost painful, so desperate was the need to get inside her. But he didn’t want to come across as some stereotypical fuck-‘em-and-run footballer, which he’d been more than guilty of in the past. So why was this any different? Trying to answer that question was enough to keep that ultimate release at bay for just a little while longer as he continued to thaw the ice-queen. And it hadn’t taken long. He wouldn’t call her a pushover – not to her face, anyway – but she hadn’t exactly put up much of a fight. And he wasn’t complaining. Just because she’d been a slightly easier conquest than he’d first anticipated didn’t make this any less enjoyable. So far he was having the ride of his life, enjoying taking his time to explore a body the like of which he hadn’t seen in a long time. He was used to fake tans, false tits, and more make-up than was absolutely necessary, but Amber Sullivan was in a different league. She was curvy in the true sense of the word with wide hips, a perfect, small waist and the most amazing breasts he’d ever set eyes on. And they were all her own. Her thighs were hard and toned, and she had a body you could actually get hold of rather than the skin and bone bodies of girls who thought that being thin was the be-all and end-all of looking good. It wasn’t. He’d never really liked that look of being able to see a girl’s ribs whilst two ridiculous-sized false “footballs” were stuck to her chest, making her look entirely out-of-proportion. Amber Sullivan was a real woman. Amber Sullivan was sexy and beautiful – and real.

He ran his fingers gently over her stomach, down to her inner thighs, watching as she slowly opened her legs wider, giving him a perfect view of heaven. Shit! He was sure he was breaking out in a sweat – Ryan Fisher, stressing out over sex with a woman. But no ordinary woman. Not this one.

He knelt up, sliding his arms around her waist, gently pulling her up so she was sitting astride him, her legs automatically wrapping themselves around him as he gave in to what he’d been wanting to do ever since he’d got there – he was about to show her that Ryan Fisher could be just as talented off the pitch as he was on it.

Amber held onto him tightly as she finally felt him enter her, pushing herself down onto him as he pushed in deeper. It was a feeling she couldn’t even begin to describe, that warm and beautiful tingle she was so familiar with now intensified ten-fold as their bodies became one, moving in almost perfect rhythm together. She’d never meant to take it this far, yet from the second she’d seen him sitting there in the Press Lounge in the Tynebridge Stadium the day of their first meeting, she’d always known something was going to happen between them. She just hadn’t been sure what. But this was fine, this was okay. This was better than okay.

She held onto him tighter as that rhythm they’d created became faster, harder, building up to a crescendo of a climax that surprised even Ryan, her body shuddering in his arms as he finally felt his own release sweep through every inch of him. Jesus, that felt good! He couldn’t speak, so hard was his breathing, but as he looked at her, into those pale blue eyes of hers, he had a feeling that, although he’d finally been the one to conquer this ice-queen, the one to make her break her own “no footballers” rule, he didn’t care about that anymore. All thoughts of running back to the lads tomorrow morning at training to give them every tiny detail of how he’d turned her from cold and uptight into hot and horny, all those thoughts had disappeared. He had no intention of doing that now, even though he’d had every intention of doing it before.
 

‘You can’t stay the night,’ Amber said, suddenly feeling as though she’d just sobered up from one hell of a heavy night out.

It took Ryan a few seconds to get his head together before he realised she was already pulling her clothes back on, running her fingers through that sexy, dark red hair of hers. He’d never been one for those post-sex cuddles that women always seemed to like, yet he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she was up and off him in what had to be record quick time. That was usually
his
trick.

‘Yeah. Yeah, okay,’ Ryan said, slightly confused by what was happening now.

‘So?’

He looked at her as he hurriedly pulled on his own clothes, still unable to shake that disappointed feeling. ‘So, what? You… you want me to go
now
?’

She nodded, standing by the fireplace, her arms folded,
her
eyes unable to meet his.

‘Jesus…’

‘Please, Ryan.’

He stood up and walked over to her, reaching out to gently touch her cheek and even though he’d half expected her to flinch away from him, she didn’t. She stayed right where she was, but she still couldn’t look at him.

‘You’re something else, Amber. Do you know that?’ Ryan said, stepping away from her and making his way to the door.
 

She finally looked at him as he walked out of the living room, closing her eyes as she heard the front door close behind him. But even then she knew it was too late. Amber Sullivan had let her guard down. Worst case scenario.

Chapter Six

Ryan could feel the atmosphere from the stadium outside before he even reached the tunnel; the noise and the music and the excited cheers from the thousands of fans who’d turned up to see how the returning local hero was going to fit into this beloved club of theirs. He could hear it all the second they’d stepped out of the dressing room, the decibel level rising with each step of that short walk to the tunnel. He had a lot to prove, and he knew the pitfalls that would be waiting for him if he managed to stuff up his debut appearance.

He could feel his heart racing, his stomach turning in a mixture of excited and nervous somersaults, the noise of the crowd reaching a crescendo as both teams finally approached the tunnel, standing still for a few seconds side-by-side, hands behind their backs as they took in the sheer wall of sound that seemed to reverberate around the stadium outside.
 

Ryan smiled as a couple of his new team-mates patted him on the shoulder and wished him good luck, whilst a player on the opposing team whom he’d never got along with threw him an altogether different expression that conveyed the hope that he’d break a leg or smash a shin bone. Ryan ignored him. Nothing like that was going to get to him today. Today he was focused, totally on his game, ready to prove that he was going to deliver everything he’d promised.

He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, opening them quickly as more music blared out from the stadium tannoy system signalling the players’ cue to run out and get this match underway. And as Ryan jogged out of that tunnel, out onto a perfect pitch, the roar of the crowd was almost deafening. But it was exactly that which gave him the will to play this game to the best of his ability. It was that feeling only a stadium-full of football fans could give a player like him – a feeling of absolute determination not to let them down. He’d do it for them, and show them he was worth every single penny of those multi-million pounds this club had forked out for him. Ryan Fisher was home.
 

*

‘There’s no doubt about it, the guy can play football,’ Ronnie said, leaning against the small corner bar in the Players Lounge as the post-match crowd started to drift in. Everybody from journalists and sports reporters to pundits, players’ wives, friends and girlfriends would congregate in the Players Lounge to dissect the match, catch up with people they hadn’t seen in a while or, in the case of some of those aforementioned wives and girlfriends, bitch about somebody’s ill-advised choice of shoes, hairdo, or personalised number plate on their brand new, salmon-pink Range Rover.

‘Are you expecting somebody?’ Ronnie asked, taking a much-looked-forward-to sip of cold beer. He’d just spent the best part of two hours stuck in a commentary box and he was parched. The cups of tea he’d been given during the game just weren’t going to cut it anymore.

‘Hmm? Sorry?’ Amber said, turning to face him. ‘Did you say something?’

‘You keep looking at that door as if you’re expecting somebody to come through it.’

‘No I don’t,’ Amber frowned, her voice a touch more defensive than she’d wanted it to be.

‘Yeah. You do,’ Ronnie went on, taking another sip of beer. ‘So, when did you sleep with him, then?’

Amber almost choked on her lager. ‘Jesus Christ, Ronnie! How the hell do you know I’ve slept with Ryan Fisher?’

‘I didn’t,’ Ronnie said, leaning back against the bar again. ‘But you’ve just admitted it now.’

‘Shit! I hate you, do you know that?’ She took a long drink of lager. ‘Thursday night, if you must know.’

‘And you haven’t spoken to him since?’

‘Only when I grabbed a few words with him seconds after the match for News North East. Professional capacity only. In front of the camera wasn’t really the right time to discuss our sex life.’

‘So, you’ve got one, then?’

‘Got what?’ Amber asked, still somewhat distracted.

‘A sex life. Me on Wednesday night, Ryan Fisher on Thursday…’

‘You’re making me sound like some kind of slapper. It wasn’t like that.’

‘Well,’ Ronnie sighed. ‘I don’t want to say I told you so, kiddo…’

‘Then don’t. Because it was
me
who sent
him
packing, if you must know.’

Ronnie looked at her, frowning slightly. ‘Huh?’

‘He came to see me at work, I invited him round to my place, he looked hot – he looked
really
hot, actually – we had sex, then I told him to go. Simple as that.’

‘Why?’ Ronnie asked, wanting to ask so many questions but thinking better of it. She didn’t look as though she was in the mood for the Spanish Inquisition.

Amber looked over towards the door again, not caring that she was making it obvious now. ‘I got scared. I let my guard down and I let it down in front of Ryan fucking Fisher, of all people.’ She took another drink of lager and slammed her glass down on the bar, putting her head in her hands. ‘Jesus, Ronnie. What have I done? I slept with one of the most notoriously arrogant, self-centred footballers there’s ever been, he’s probably told God knows how many people, and now my “no footballers” rule is tarnished forever.’

‘Wasn’t it tarnished the second you slept with
me
?’

‘You don’t count, Ronnie.’

‘Gee, thanks, Amber,’ Ronnie replied, a touch sarcastically.

‘You know what I mean,’ Amber sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. If the truth be told she hadn’t really wanted to come to the match today, but she’d had to work and she was nothing if not professional. Any personal feelings towards Ryan Fisher that she may be experiencing right now had to be pushed aside. She was just having a bit of trouble managing that.