Authors: Charlotte Phillips
‘Wow,’ she said, impressed. Her own mother, for whom work was an irritation to be avoided whenever possible, had dropped out of school before managing any qualifications.
‘I know,’ he said, clearly picking up on the awe in her voice. ‘I’m not sure they knew what to make of a kid who couldn’t master basic grammar and had no aptitude for math. I wanted to spend every waking moment outside. Then I discovered tennis and there was no going back. Suddenly there was something I was good at after all.’
The bitter edge to his voice was hard to miss.
‘They can’t be disappointed by your achievements, surely. You just chose a different path to them, that’s all.’
He shrugged.
‘My brother and sister are a lot more intellectual than me. Emma is a teacher and Will is a research scientist, high up in his field. My parents can probably relate to that kind of achievement a bit more. I was adopted so growing up that was a bit of a thing for me, I wanted to be the same, fit in with the rest of my family. I wanted to be the academic kid who could do the math. ’
He was concentrating on refilling her glass, not looking at her. She felt a pang of unexpected sympathy for him. She knew a lot about trying to make an impression on your family, she’d spent her childhood not knowing where she was going wrong with that.
‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ he said. ‘They’re pleased I’ve done well. They just have no passion for tennis themselves. There’s none of this father-as-coach stuff.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘What was your thing at school then, if it wasn’t sport?’
‘Nothing was particularly my thing.’
‘There must be something. Everyone is good at something.’
‘I had a bit of a talent for playing guitar,’ she said dismissively.
Oh the hideous irony of it.
‘Had?’
‘My father taught me when I was very young.’ She took an ill-judged big sip of her champagne and tried not to cough. ‘One of the only positive inputs he’s had on my life actually. I don’t really play anymore though, haven’t picked up a guitar in years.’
Her father’s interest had petered out after he left. She hadn’t seen the point of playing after that, without a hope of his approval to encourage her. Certainly not as a way of following his example and chasing fame. She couldn’t think of anything worse.
She felt an odd sense of affinity with Matt Stanton, of all bloody people, which was totally ridiculous of course because their lives couldn’t be more different as it stood right now. Yet were their backgrounds really that far apart? He’d struggled to find a way of being good enough for his family’s approval. And she wasn’t sure she would ever find one.
****
A fire sparked and crackled in the hearth. Dinner over with, she stood and crossed to the fireplace to add another log, then took the lighter gadget from the mantelpiece and moved around the room touching candles alight, straightening the brocade cushions.
Working
, he realised.
‘Leave that,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down.’
She hesitated before picking her half full glass from the table and following him across the room. He noticed that she waited for him to sit down before she followed suit, and then she took the opposite sofa. On her guard. Yet he’d felt a fleeting touch of something closer when they were talking over dinner. He couldn’t remember being so intrigued by someone, and her reticence only served to interest him even further. She was such a welcome foil to the one-sided conversations and endless bubbling enthusiasm of the usual girls he mixed with.
Her skin was honeyed porcelain in the flickering firelight, her hair gleaming. The baby pink softness of her upper lip made him itch to take it between his own lips and suck, just to see if it still felt as delectable as it had yesterday. Low burning began to course through his body just from looking at her.
Layla could feel his eyes on her and when she looked up from her glass the way he caught and held her gaze in his said it all. Her pulse rate made a break for it and her stomach melted to soft heat. An anticipatory tingle rose in her breasts and between her thighs at the thought of his hands on her, the memory of what had happened between them not twenty four hours ago in this suite crashing through her barriers straight back into her mind. The evening was theirs for the taking and he made his move by standing up, rounding the low coffee table and sitting beside her to take her hand in his.
She looked down at it.
‘I told you before, I’m not some fangirl. I know that sounds ludicrous after what happened yesterday, but that was
so
not what it was about for me.’
‘What was it about then?’
She considered the question, not sure she really knew the answer.
‘I don’t know. Proving a point maybe? Perhaps I’d just had a gutful of playing by the rules for once. Working, savings accounts, behaving responsibly…really it’s got me nowhere in life. My mother running out was the last straw.’ She shrugged. ‘I just wanted some fun.’
‘You regret it?’
The deliciousness of the previous evening danced through her mind.
‘Yes,’ she said, meaning no.
She was a crap liar. She saw it in his smile.
‘You’re like a palate cleanser,’ he said. ‘A reality check in the middle of all the madness.’
A single word or move from her would be enough to revert this whole situation to platonic. She simply needed to make herself and her position clear once again.
She didn’t withdraw her hand. Somewhere in the depths of her mind lurked the dark and delicious urge to take this further, this crazy situation she’d got herself into. Not just take it further but run with it, as far as she could. Maybe there was some kind of inevitability about her attraction to him that made it undeniable. Could this be an opportunity to explore her mother’s crazy lifestyle, to somehow get a tiny bit closer to understanding her parents and her own dysfunctional upbringing? Why not experiment with that world a bit herself? It didn’t mean she was going to fall for him, she had her head screwed on far too tightly for that.
That was the difference here,
that
was what set her apart from run-of-the-mill groupie. She had an agenda of her own that wasn’t about fan worship.
Or was she actually just clutching at straws to justify this to herself when it went against everything she’d always believed? Was she really considering continuing with this madness?
The thought made her stand up quickly, and she moved back towards the table, began stacking dishes on the silver trolley to be taken downstairs.
‘Thank you for dinner,’ she said over one shoulder. ‘But it’s getting late, I should think about finishing up here.’
She forced her mouth to say the words and when she had finished up here she would force her feet to walk out of the door.
And then he was behind her, one arm curling softly around her waist and the other sweeping her hair to one side so he could kiss her neck. Sparks fizzed down her spine as he turned her to face him and she looked into those melting dark eyes and felt rationality dissolve. She slid her palms slowly up his taut chest, feeling the hard muscle again beneath the fabric of his shirt, before sinking her fingers into his hair.
His hands slipped to the nape of her neck, his thumbs grazing her jawline softly as he tilted her face to the perfect angle and caught her lips with his, the softest most featherlight kiss.
And then he stopped, put a little space between them. Her heart raced in her chest. Acquiescence – that was what he was looking for. Some sign after her attempt to back off that really she wanted this too. All this talk about his childhood and the way he seemed to court the attention of the press – there was an inherent need for validation in everything he did, why would this be any different?
Her heart was pounding, desire racing through her veins at his touch, her mind insisting it meant nothing even as she moved powerlessly to close the gap between them. Rationalisation would have to come later now, she was beyond that presence of mind. She stood on tiptoe, leaned in and touched his lips lightly with her own. That one tiny movement was enough. He swept her against him, his mouth groping for hers, forcing it open, caressing her with his tongue. Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, his slid down her body, lifting her skirt, rucking it up to waist height.
The urgency was intoxicating. His mouth hard against her neck, he tugged at her panties and she wriggled free of them and kicked them away. And then he was lifting her, his hands sliding beneath her bottom, her legs locking behind his back, her shoes still on her feet. He grabbed the half-full champagne bottle from the table as he passed and carried her across the suite and into the bedroom, kissing her as he went. Then she was lowered onto the bed, the softness of the sheet beneath her back and shoulders as he slipped each garment off her, kissing her skin as he exposed it. Naked now, she watched him strip off his own clothes, her breath coming in short bursts, sweet anticipation fluttering in her stomach.
He tugged her legs to pull her close against him at the edge of the bed, and she could feel the hard press of his arousal against her. An eagerness to explore him, to explore every delicious sensation to its full overtook her, and she reached down to stroke him, to caress the velvet softness of his skin with her fingertips. He moaned against her neck as she found a rhythm and the sound thrilled her, that she could invoke that kind of response in him.
He caught her hands in his and held them at her sides, kissing her softly on the mouth, his breathing harried against her lips. Desire fizzed in her stomach as he deepened his kiss and eased her backwards until her shoulders sank into the bed. Looming above her, he trailed kisses from her mouth, soft against her jaw, and down until he closed his lips over a nipple. He sucked gently, teasing her nipples with his tongue, cupping her breasts in his palms and holding them close together so he could easily access first one and then the other, his tongue slipping softly across the erect tips.
As he slid two fingers inside her, she let out a helpless moan of pleasure, and eyes closed, she felt him smile against her neck. . She opened her eyes as he pulled away a little, in time to see him drink from the bottle of champagne and hold the golden liquid in his mouth, and then he was leaning down and parting her thighs to expose her completely. A momentary bolt of shyness at his sigh of satisfaction and then she drew breath sharply as he leaned forward and closed his mouth over her swollen core. Icy champagne fizzed against her oversensitised skin, his tongue cold against her, and the sudden hard deliciousness as he sucked her dry made her throw her head back to gasp at the ceiling. He held her against his mouth as her body writhed, eking out every final second of her satisfaction.
A brief moment to lie spent on the softness of the bed as he reached for a condom, and then he was easing her legs apart with his own. She felt his length, big and hard as he rubbed it slowly between her legs, teasing her until she so ached to feel him inside her that she resorted to begging for it. And when she thought she could stand to wait no more, he finally acquiesced, thrusting forward smoothly in one hard, fluid movement, right to the hilt, stretching and filling her completely. Lifting her feet, one heel in each hand, he pulled them to his shoulders as he moved, the resulting deep hard thrust of him making her gasp and clutch the sheet. She spiralled toward dizzying heights of pleasure as he took her with hard, full strokes, his hands reaching forward now to cup her breasts, the nipples teased tight between his fingers, pulling her into his arms in the final moments to crush his mouth to hers and moan his own sated pleasure against her neck as he took them both over the edge.
****
Somewhere during the last two hours her legs had turned to jelly. And how she thought she could go back downstairs and carry on with work as per usual, she had no idea. She sat up and glanced at her reflection in the gilt edged mirror on the opposite wall. Her hair was one big tangle, and her makeup – what was left of it – was smudged beneath her eyes. She looked –and felt - like sin. And what shocked her the most was that there was a part of her that absolutely revelled in it.
She tried, with the rational part of her mind that hadn’t been completely seduced by the most unbelievable sexual experience, to think clearly. Her body was toast. She’d never known intimacy like it. But then of course he’d had a ton of practice, knew exactly what buttons to press to please a woman. He only had to brush against her to start the heat fizzing again right to her toes. She would have to rely on her head to get her out of this. Easing herself inch by careful inch, so as not to wake him, she edged towards the side of the bed and still lying down, put one foot out of it onto the floor. She moved a little more until she was hanging on the bed by one elbow and one bum cheek, poised to swing herself up and out. From there she’d thought no further than tracking down her clothes. Maybe once she’d got them on and tidied herself up she could figure out what to do. The corner of the sheet held in one hand ready to throw back, she gathered momentum, and then he suddenly sat up next to her in the bed.
He was looking down at her, torso on the bed, head still on the pillow, but hips over the side and feet touching the floor, eyebrows raised, an amused expression on his face, and she knew from the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks that she now had a bright red face to add to the birds nest hair and slutty make up. Just bloody perfect. She couldn’t even pull off a swift exit without stuffing it up. Then again, maybe she took after her mother, for whom swift exits weren’t an option when it came to men. Outstaying your welcome was more her thing.
‘I need a shower,’ she said stiffly. ‘And then I need to act like I’ve done nothing this evening except work.’
She sat up quickly and crossed the room to the ensuite bathroom, the crumpled sheet clamped against her body to hide her modesty, not caring that he’d explored every inch of her in the last few hours. The sheet unwound itself from him and the bed as she tugged it after her and when she glanced back he was lying back on the pillows watching her, that little half-smile on his lips that made her stomach melt like toffee, arms behind his head, his tanned and toned body completely naked in all its strong gorgeousness. Her heart leapt into full gallop and heat bloomed in her cheeks as she rounded the corner into the bathroom at full speed.
She could no longer write this off as a mad moment. There was no heated phone call with her mother to blame this time for her impulsiveness. In fact, could something even
be
impulsive if you did it more than once?
She leaned her boiling cheek against the cool tile wall. She was NOT about to fall for him. She absolutely wasn’t. What this was – if it was actually anything at all – was an inconsequential fling. If what Lucy had said was anything to go by, she’d just joined the ranks of normality, nothing more. And could it really do that much harm? Couldn’t she even see it as a way of gaining some much-needed insight into the world her mother populated? She’d never understood her mother’s behaviour, had never managed an easy relationship with her. Maybe this could be a way of slaying some demons.
Her mind was halfway to being convinced, her body was already there. It would be so easy to just talk herself into carrying on with this because the beauty of it was that she already
knew
how it would end. That fact in itself made the risk so much more palatable. She could be certain that she was in control of this situation because she knew
exactly
what she was getting into here, both in terms of intimacy and time frame. It would be done with by the end of the week. She knew how he operated – she’d read it a hundred times in different gossip magazines or newspapers. Read about one of his flings and you read about them all – once you made it into his bed, it wouldn’t be long before you made it back out of it. If you were savvy and had no personal scruples, you might get a one off cash bonus for your trouble if you sold your soul to one of the tabloids. You wouldn’t be the first. Women meant nothing to him. He was the epitome of bachelor playboy.
And if she told herself that over and over, she might erase the lingering doubt that churned in her stomach that, actually, she was in serious danger of losing her heart here.
****
She left the room and his mood plummeted. And then dropped a notch further again in dismay that he was actually bothered. When had there last been someone in his bed – or his life – who’d made that kind of impact? For Chrissake the hardest part usually was
getting
them to leave, sometimes even strong hints weren’t enough and he had to resort to bringing in security. None of that with her.
Sex with her was unbelievable, an exploration, the way she slowly yielded to him, the way she delighted in new sensation, her eagerness to throw herself one hundred per cent into every moment. But there was something alluring about her that didn’t just show up in the sack. Top of the list was her indifference to his fame and his success that at times seemed to border on contempt, coupled with the fact that she was attracted to him in spite of it. His celebrity had no pull for her, if anything it was a turn-off. If she slept with him, she did it because she couldn’t help herself, because she liked
him
, not the trappings associated with him. That kind of validation was so fresh and different, it seduced him. She was addictive.
And now she was apparently leaving. Again.
****
She glanced around the bathroom. How many times had she been in here to check everything was perfect? Always thinking wistfully that she would never get the chance to use anything this nice herself. There was a huge open plan rainforest shower, underfloor heating and fluffy towels. The hot tub nestled in the opposite corner. She deliberately avoided looking in the huge mirror over the his-n-hers sinks, knowing her hair would belie exactly what she’d been doing for half the night. Instead she turned the shower on and stepped under it, letting the cascade of water soak her hair and run over her skin. She pawed through the array of complimentary toiletries on the shower shelf, of which she intended to use the entire collection. Deciding on orange and bergamot shampoo, she tipped a generous puddle of it into her palm and began to lather her hair, rinsing off the bubbles, closing her eyes against the warm water.
And then from nowhere he slid into the shower beside her, and any tentative resolve she was kidding herself was still in place melted like the soap on her skin.
Matt slid his hands around her, over smooth skin slick with bubbles and warm water, the fresh citrus scent of the shampoo filling the steamy air. The glide of her hands up and over his chest had a sensuousness to it that staggered him. Hot desire flooded his veins as she smoothed her hands slowly over his skin. He found her mouth with his and moulded her wet body tightly against his as the kiss deepened. She tasted faintly of toothpaste and she felt like heaven.
He found her nipples with his fingers, cupping her breasts softly in his palms and rolling the hard tips between his thumb and forefinger, applying pressure softly, then with increasing firmness. He felt the response in her body, in the way she gasped and clutched at his soaking shoulders. That he could thrill her like that caused a surge of desire so hot and intense that he wanted her immediately, and he slipped his hands to her waist with no thought beyond possessing her completely.
And then she was covering his hands with hers and pushing him gently until his back hit the cold tile of the wall. Taking control away, making his senses reel. The shower spray missed his face now, poured instead in a flowing torrent over his lower body, and the scented steam misted the air as she sank to her knees, her fingertips trailing down his torso, the very light touch of them making muscles and nerves jump and flutter in his groin. Her touch was slow, deliberately so, her fingers sliding firmly around his hard length, her other hand moving lower to cup his balls. And then her mouth slipped sweetly over the head of his rigid shaft and he heard a deep moan of pleasure escape his own throat.
She touched him on a deep visceral level that he hadn’t known existed. The water sluiced over his lower body, soaking her hair and hands. Heedless of it, he was able only to think of that delectable contact, all other thoughts crushed from his brain by the sweet delicious friction. She sucked gently, her tongue caressing him lightly, driving him maddeningly fast to that edge of pleasure, yet as if she had the ability to read his mind she adjusted her movements to keep him hovering at that pinnacle until a surge of animalistic base desire rushed his mind. Before he could lose the final threads of self-control he pulled her roughly to her feet, knowing nothing except that he had to have her right now, no more diversions.
He carried her from the shower room, water trailing in puddles across the tiles and then soaking into the deep carpet behind them, the shower thundering on in the empty bathroom. In a couple of swift movements he had her on the bed, water soaking slowly into the sheet beneath her from dripping skin and hair. Groping for her mouth with his, he kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue, the better to taste and caress her. Her nipples were hard points against his chest, her legs like silk wrapped around him as he pressed between her legs, pushing straight inside her, hard and urgent, wanting to possess her completely, unable to wait. Her gasping moan of pleasure spiked his arousal even further and then he screwed her slow and deep, both his hands tangled in her hair, holding back his own satisfaction until he could push her to that plane of delight. As he felt her tense beneath him, he let go of his own restraint to spiral over into that delicious pleasure as she cried her ecstasy into his mouth.
****
Once was a blip.
Twice was a slip.
Three times was to gain some insight or understanding of her parents, specifically her mother.
Four times was just for the hell of it – she’d done it now, the damage was done, once more wouldn’t make things any worse. Plus she needed his good reference when he finally checked out, it was her fastpass to promotion, no point in pissing him off by stopping now when she’d already slept with him anyway.
How many times would she need to have sex with him before all other possible justifications were used up and she had to admit this was really about wanting him and nothing else?
The week had been punctuated by days of throwing herself into her work while Matt focused on his training sessions and physio meetings and whatever else he got up to. Afternoons and early evenings together, always in his suite, sometimes sharing dinner, sometimes talking, always ending up in bed before she left him for the night and made her way back to her grotty shared accommodation.
And now just a couple of days left before he checked out and she was lying in bed with him in the middle of the afternoon, knowing she had no ulterior motive left for being there. Somewhere in the course of the week it had simply become about being with him. Each day a step closer to all of this ending, something she’d always known was inevitable.
For the first time ever she’d had a glimpse of what the intoxicating pull was for her mother in the unreality of this current situation. Why wouldn’t she want to live on the fringes of some fantasy when reality was so mind-numbingly dull? There was something addictive about that, wasn’t there?
Yet it shouldn’t count for much in the face of your family or your kids. And Layla had always had that perspective that her mother lacked. Give it a few days and it would be over, he would be gone, back to the States and the tennis circuit and his fabulous celebrity life. And
that
was where Layla would prove herself as better. There would be no following Matt Stanton around the world to gurn at him from the stands at this tournament or that match, no hanging on the meagre crumbs of interaction he might throw her way when his exciting life got back to normal.
Making that point clear to him might be the best way of cementing it in her mind, of maybe putting a stop to the growing churn of sadness in her stomach that she was trying to ignore.
‘Only a couple of days and you’ll be heading on back to the States,’ she began, sitting up and hugging her knees with her arms.
‘Yup.’ He was watching her, eyes slightly narrowed. Guarded. What was he expecting, her best fangirl don’t-say-it’s-over speech? He must be expecting that at some point, right? She took a deep breath.
‘You don’t need to worry,’ she said. ‘I’m not about to cast myself at your feet when you check out and beg you to keep seeing me.’
Matt lay back against the pillows, arms above his head and smiled at the determined tilt to her chin, the steady holding of his gaze with her own. He hadn’t let himself contemplate the end of the week. Why would he? He’d had many, many flings before, all of them live-in-the-moment. When it was over he simply walked away without looking back, why would he see this situation as any different?
‘You’re not?’
She shook her head.
‘No. I’m sure you’ve had your share of women doing that but it isn’t going to happen this time. We’ve always known this wasn’t going to last beyond the week so I’m hardly going to be expecting you to invite me to the players’ box at your next match or dedicate your next big win to me.’
He sat up straighter. She was really pressing the point here and her lack of interest really should be an advantage, right? The last thing he needed was a messy ending to all this when he checked out. So why did his stomach suddenly feel like she’d kicked him in it?
‘What makes you so sure I won’t do exactly that?’ he said.
She gave him an incredulous grin.
‘Matt, your record speaks for itself. You date a different girl every week. Nobody lasts. You and I have ended up like this because for one week only, I’ve been your only option. It was me or pay-per-view, right? We both know this is just a quick fling. It doesn’t mean anything. Outside this suite there’s a whole different world. Our paths would never have crossed and if they had neither of us would have looked twice at the other.’
Her indifference felt like a knockback, despite the fact he hadn’t been serious about the tickets and the Grand Slam dedication. She leaned over and kissed him briefly on the mouth, just that one contact firing him right back up again, before sitting back up again. The natural reaction would be to tug her back down into bed with him and see where the rest of the afternoon might take them.
Instead he took a long look at her, the smile in her blue eyes, her messy blonde hair, that delectable top lip that he just wanted to kiss and kiss.
His mood had taken an inexplicable nosedive and on impulse he threw the covers back, making a snap decision that would be dismissed as crazy if he let his mind think it over for longer than a second. Why risk it? Why bother when he had sex on tap in this suite with no risk of trouble from his management?
Because suddenly her opinion seemed to count more than any of that. He wanted to be more to her than some throwaway fling for the week.
He stood up and turned on the main light. She looked up at him from the bed, the sheet pooled around her waist, long legs drawn up and a questioning expression on her face.