Authors: Charlotte Phillips
‘What are you doing?’
He held his hand out to her.
‘Taking you out. Come on.’
She stared at him.
‘You don’t need to do that just to prove a point.’
‘I’m not. I’m going stir crazy in here. Get dressed. Do you have a coat?’
He tugged her by the hand until she swung out of the bed and stood up.
‘Yes…but where are we going? What if you get recognised? I thought you were meant to be keeping a low profile.’
He held up a hand.
‘The thing about being recognised is not to hang out where you might be expected to.’
Matt Stanton’s attempt at incognito apparently amounted to a dark blue hooded jacket. Then again, he didn’t really
do
incognito that often from what she’d seen in the press, so it made sense that he didn’t really have a clue when it came to disguise. He was obviously planning to keep his head down and hope for the best.
She trailed after him as he slammed the door behind them and strode ahead down the corridor, the unreality of being out of the suite with him adding to the madness, shrugging her jacket and scarf on over her uniform as she walked. She came to a standstill as he reached the foot of the staircase and turned towards the lobby and the glass revolving front door, complete with nosey concierge to one side of it.
‘I can’t be seen leaving the hotel on some jaunt with you,’ she called after him in a stage-whisper. ‘I’ll get the sack.’
He glanced back at her.
‘Why does it have to be a jaunt – as you call it? Why can’t it be work related? You’re meant to be working for me after all. Leave it with me.’
Before she could stop him he’d marched up to the reception desk and informed the duty manager that she would be providing admin support off the premises at an afternoon meeting, and then before she knew it they were outside on the cold pavement.
The weather was winter crisp and the air was icy clear in her throat as she breathed in, puffing out in a soft cloud as she exhaled. There might be an hour or so of proper light left before the last faint shards of winter sunshine disappeared and dusk took a hold. She was conscious of his hand holding her cold fingers tightly as they walked along the pavement. His zip up jacket couldn’t conceal his broad muscular frame although its hood partially hid his face. But surely all it would take was a second glance from a passer-by to blow his cover. He seemed completely unfazed by the prospect and her heart gave a tentative skip. Was this some sign that he wanted more from her than a week of fun? Surely he wouldn’t be this laid back about being seen with her if she really was as dispensable as that, especially with the press intrusion he’d had recently. The whole world was waiting for him to slip up again.
‘Where are we going?’
Her stomach was a knot of tension. She knew perfectly well the kind of place he liked to frequent. It would be some buzzing bar or other, some celebrity haunt where tourists went to spot famous faces.
‘Not far. Just far enough to escape and get some fresh air. And some space.’ He dodged people and traffic like a pro and eventually tugged her into Hyde Park.
He tucked Layla’s hand into his own as they walked, stopping off at a food stand to buy them a steaming coffee each. The air had a fresh clarity to it and the open space was a welcome change. As he looked around them at the frosty grass and the trees, bare of leaves now, golden sunlight slanting through their branches, he realised for the first time that he’d spent most of the last week indoors. Even when he was training much of it had been gym based. No wonder he’d felt hemmed in – this normality was the kind of thing he really missed out on, the freedom to do what you choose and go where you pleased had a value all of its own.
Who knew that this kind of simplicity could be so intoxicating? Hot coffee, open space and her company. As they reached a circular fountain, she let go of his hand and climbed onto the stone lip of it, arms outstretched, coffee cup in one hand.
‘I wasn’t expecting the park,’ she called down to him and the smile on her face made his heart flip softly over.
His eyes were drawn to her as she put one foot in front of the other in her sensible court shoes, clearly intent on completing a circuit, and he bit back a smile as he followed her lead, hopping up and beginning to walk the fountain himself in the opposite direction. The water below looked deep green and very cold.
‘What
were
you expecting?’ he called across to her.
She paused in her journey, arms outstretched but not a hint of wobble, nose crinkled in a very cute thoughtful expression.
‘Some bar I suppose,’ she said. ‘Whenever I see you in the papers you’re always falling out of some swanky celebrity nightspot or other.’
‘And are you disappointed then? With the choice of venue?’
She started walking again. Coming towards him now, a full circle nearly completed. He stood still and waited for her to reach him, then stepped down onto the frosty ground and lifted her gently down and against him, his arms finding her waist and sliding around her.
‘Nope,’ she said, her cheeks pink with the cold. ‘It’s perfect. I haven’t been to the park for ages. I work all hours, it’s lovely to get some fresh air.’
He kept an arm around her and headed for a bench at the side of the path. She sat down next to him and took a sip of her coffee.
‘Most girls I meet are falling over themselves to go to a club or a restaurant with me,’ he said. ’And you’re happy with coffee and jumping around a fountain.’
She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkly and the tip of her nose pink in the cold. He wanted to kiss it.
‘You’re too used to women swooning over you,’ she said. ‘I guess some people really are that shallow, that they’re so impressed by the image or stories they see in the press they have no regard for what the actual person is like behind the headlines. Because you look amazing when you take your shirt off on court and you’re rich and you have these impetuous arguments with umpires and bed models and starlets, people don’t look any deeper than that.’
‘Except for you.’
‘That kind of thing doesn’t impress me,’ she said, taking the lid off her cup. Steam curled from it as she took a sip, watching him over the rim of the cup. ‘I guess I’m just not like most girls.’
‘No,’ he said, holding her blue gaze with his own. ‘You’re certainly not.’
The way he looked at her made her stomach melt. Her heart give a joyful little skip in her chest and she immediately checked it. Somehow that seemed so much harder to do with him alone out here in the cold air, with none of his rich-and-famous trappings buoying him up. He was bucking stereotype by bringing her here. And she’d been relying on that concrete stereotype as justification for keeping her emotions in check. Suddenly it felt a little as if she were standing on uncertain ground.
When he took her coffee cup from her and set it on the ground next to his own she didn’t stop him. He tugged her onto his lap and she couldn’t help herself snuggling into him. He smelled faintly of aftershave, deep woody notes, and the jersey of his hoodie was soft against her cheek. He tilted his head down and found her mouth with his, holding her tightly against him, his arms curled around her back, one hand finding and stroking her hair. The kiss was slow, lingering and deep and she could taste the faint twist of strong coffee on his tongue. There was something gentle in the way he held her, the way he stroked a stray tendril of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear, the way he caressed her cheek. This felt somehow more intimate than even the hottest moments they’d spent back in the hotel room.
He’d risked going outside to prove some kind of point and now he was cuddling up to her in public, not that there were many people about, a few joggers, but still. Heat flowed slowly through her veins to pool in her stomach and she swallowed hard. But there was a part of her desperately wanting to make all this significant. Surely if all he wanted was a quick and easy lay he would never have suggested leaving the hotel?
With dusk on the brink they began walking back. Sparks began to simmer deep inside her, a want to get him back to the hotel suite, to have him all to herself in private again, the physical desire for him so strong it shocked her. He caught her hand in his as they walked and she looked down at that physical connection, biting her lip hard enough to hurt. This should not mean anything to her. It certainly shouldn’t be reducing her insides to melted chocolate. But it had been a hell of a lot easier to dismiss this as just an experimental take-it-or-leave-it fling before he had to bring touchy-feely
affection
to the bloody table.
They were out of the park now and back onto the cold pavement. Early evening London traffic pushed its way past them, the street lights beginning to kick in. A light mist began to fall around them, softening headlights and clinging to her hair. And then a group of three young women approached them, giggling and chatting, and Layla saw rather than felt the sudden double-take as one of them clocked just who it was they were walking past.
‘Matt
Stanton
?’ Narrowed eyes and swooning beatific smile kicked in instantly on the woman’s face.
Matt stopped and dropped her hand like a stone. The intimate connection broken in an instant, without so much as a thought. And her eyes, tuned in to pick up every detail in magnified sharp clarity, noticed him put a couple of paces between them. He was withdrawing his contact with her. She was dismissed. That’s how it felt. That’s what it was. And for Pete’s sake, had she
really
imagined he would behave any differently?
She added another pace backwards herself as he turned to the women, instant smile lighting up his face, ready and willing to meet his adoring public.
‘Omigod I’m such a fan, you have no idea,’ one of them was babbling. ‘I sleep on the pavement every year at Wimbledon. I’m first in the queue to watch you play.’
‘That’s really very sweet.’
She heard the smile in his voice. Her stomach churned hideously. Not one of them acknowledged that she was there. Why would they? Matt hadn’t acknowledged her, if anything he’d made it clear she meant nothing to him in the face of their adulation.
Really, what did she expect? To be introduced to them as his girlfriend?
Furious with herself, she watched the second girl, slim and attractive with blonde hair piled messily up on her head, tugging her jacket off and undoing the top buttons of her blouse with one hand. With the other she fumbled a pen from her bag and pressed it into Matt’s hand.
‘Can I have your autograph?’ she said, tugging her blouse apart and thrusting a pink-bra-clad breast at him.
Matt took the pen from her with a flourish as much giggling ensued.
An unexpected wave of nausea rose in Layla’s throat and she pressed a hand to her mouth and blinked hard to clear her watering eyes. There was no way she was staying to take in another second of this and she turned away to head back to the hotel on her own. Unfortunately not before she picked up the breathy cry of gratitude, ‘I’m never going to wash again!’
Classy.
****
She retouched her make up in the staff toilets, removing all trace of kissed-off lippy, and kneeled underneath the hand drier briefly to blast away the damp from the misty rain. As if by restoring herself to work mode she could somehow undo her epic unprofessional behaviour this week. She should never have let any of this happen, it had been utter madness. She’d let herself be sucked into seeing him as a real person with proper scruples and genuine emotions, when in truth his image was always going to come first. Every aspect of his behaviour was influenced by it, she saw that now.
A wake-up call. And not before time. What the hell had she been thinking, letting herself get involved with someone like him?
Lurking beneath the hideous disappointment was fury with herself because she was even bothered. That was somehow worst of all. She’d thought herself so above all this, had believed she was immune to the charm of someone like him. Turned out, she was no different to every other female with a pulse.
Still, better late than never. All she needed to do now was avoid him. Make some excuse, maybe get one of the butlers to cover for her. He was scheduled to check out in forty eight hours, how hard could that be?
****
‘Kerry Suite’s just called down,’ the manager said as she emerged from the toilets directly into his path. Layla’s hands instantly crept to smooth her shirt into place, as if he might still somehow guess that work for her this week had had little or nothing to do with, well, actual
work
.
‘Apparently you’re meant to be there?’ He frowned. ‘Some kind of admin task, ring a bell?’
Admin task?
Oh just bloody perfect.
‘I’m really tied up here,’ she gabbled, taking a step away from him in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Maybe one of the concierge team could step in?’
The frown morphed into raised eyebrows. ‘I thought you were able to handle this,’ he said. ‘Can’t just chop and change the point of contact for the guest. We committed to letting him use you as staff for the week. That comes first. Whatever you’re tied up with here, get someone else to do it. Unless you’re not up to the job of course. Which,’ he added pointedly, ‘would be a shame with the departmental changes in the pipeline. You’re hardly recommending yourself for the post here are you? If you can’t pull out all stops for one guest, we’re hardly going to believe you can do it for a hotel full of them.’
She changed direction and headed for the lift.
****
She took a deep breath outside the door before giving it her standard work double-tap. Her heart might be thundering like a train but she rearranged her face into what she hoped was a detached professional expression.
He opened the door. She could see beyond him that the fire had been lit. Its mellow glow lit the sitting room area cosily. The mist of their walk had turned into full on rain now, she could hear it pattering at the windows. His smile of welcome made her stomach churn. So he was back in his suite with the rest of the world shut out and now she had a place. In his bed, to be precise. She’d had a glimpse now of what it would be like when he checked out of the hotel. No place for her in any of that. The disappointment twisting in her stomach told her that somewhere deep down she had hoped that wouldn’t be the case, that there could somehow be more for them after this week, however hard she might have denied it to herself.
‘Where did you go?’ he said.
‘Was there something I could help you with?’ she said, talking over him loudly. ‘I got your message.’ Oh yes. She’d well and truly got
that
. ‘Some kind of admin task was it? Because I’m not sure now that I’m the best person to meet your needs for the rest of your stay.’