Authors: Charlotte Phillips
He opened his mouth to speak and she held up a hand to stop him.
‘I’m not going to leave you in the lurch, you needn’t worry. I can make sure one of the concierge team is available for you twenty four hours. Or possibly a butler, if that’s more the service you’re looking for.’
He stared at her as if she were an alien.
‘I don’t want some concierge or butler. Why would I? I’m perfectly happy with the present arrangement.’
Something inside her snapped.
‘That’s exactly what this is, isn’t it? An arrangement. I should never have let it get this far.’
‘What are you talking about?’
She gestured madly between them.
‘This. Us. You and me. I should never have let things get personal. I should have just gone with my first instincts and kept things between us professional. And I definitely should never have gone out with you.’
A sudden flash of clear understanding burst into Matt’s mind as she cut her gaze away from his. So that was what this was about. The fans they’d come across. Seriously, it wasn’t as if he’d been mobbed. It was three women.
‘You were jealous.’ he said in surprise. For some reason the prospect of that gave him a spike of happiness. For all her maddening indifference she
liked
him. This proved it. Her furious denial proved it even further.
‘I am NOT jealous!’ she snapped. ‘I am NOT some sad groupie. What I
am
is disappointed that there actually
isn’t
more to you than lucrative sponsorship, crazy publicity and screaming fans.’ She lowered her voice then, as if she was reigning herself in.
‘Of course there’s more to me than that, but that’s what people want from me, Layla. My sponsorship deals, my fan base, all that has come from raising my public profile, and that comes from interacting with the public, being seen in the press. Do you really think I’d have the kudos and success that I do if I kept my head down and never put myself into the limelight? This is the way things are. All I did was sign a couple of autographs and pose for a picture, you’re talking like we were mobbed. I just don’t understand what the big deal is.’
He cast exasperated eyes at the ceiling. Just the fact he was arguing this point was new territory for him. In his usual remit, he’d be letting her walk out the door, possibly with a flash of gratitude that he’d had a lucky escape from such high maintenance grief. ‘This is my life, Layla. This is what it’s like. None of it’s
real
, none of it
counts
. Not on any level that matters at least.’
He took her elbow gently and turned her back to face him, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She looked down at his hand on her arm, her lips pressed together so hard that they were white.
‘We were talking, Matt,’ she said. ‘Mucking about in the park, getting to know each other. Those things are real, normal. Those things are worth spending time on. And then a gaggle of women clock who you are and the moment’s over. I might as well have not even been there. You were swept up in their adulation before I had a chance to draw breath. Well I have absolutely no desire to be anyone’s second best, left shuffling from one foot to the other in the background, waiting until you get bored with the praise being heaped on you and remember that I’m actually there.’
Exasperation began to rise in his chest as he held her frowning, angry gaze with his own.
‘I like the real you,’ she said quietly. ‘The one who was at the park, the one who talks about normal things, who told me a bit about his childhood.’
Her refusal to listen to him made his temper break free, not least because he felt her regard for him slipping away and he had no idea how to regain it when the one thing that he’d always relied on to impress people happened to be the one thing she really wasn’t impressed by.
‘Being with you these last few days hasn’t only been about sex, you know.’ He shrugged and conceded, ‘OK well, it might have started out that way but as I’ve got to know you it’s turned into something else.’
‘You would say that of course,’ the coldness didn’t waver. ‘Say the right things, whatever works to get me into bed, isn’t that right?’
He couldn’t stop an incredulous laugh. Did she really think he would be bothered with her insane high maintenance if the only thing he liked about her was sex?
‘Has it not occurred to you that the reason I like being with you is because you DON’T ask me to autograph your tits?’ he snapped. ‘If sex was all I wanted I’d say
Layla, you’re not needed anymore
and I’d call up one of a dozen or so women I know in London who’d be happy to provide just that. Or I would have invited autograph girl back here for the evening.’ He flung exasperated hands up. ‘Do you think I don’t wish it could be that straightforward? Like I need this grief! Nothing about you is easy, you’re impossible to impress, you change your mind every five minutes and you think the worst of me by default. But for some crazy reason the only person I want to be with right now is you.’
He paused for breath as she stared at him, roused out of her coldness by his raised voice and exasperated tone. He made a monumental effort to calm down.
‘You’re the first person I’ve met who isn’t impressed by who I am and that’s new territory for me.’ He ran his hands distractedly through his hair. ‘I’ve spent my life trying to impress and that’s what got me where I am. I
can’t
just dispense with that side of my life. It’s who I am, Layla. It’s made me what I am.’
And without it he really wasn’t sure who he was. Or whether he would be good enough for her or for anyone.
Her heart turned softly over at the anguish in his face. Not to mention the fact that he’d just compared her to the celebrity fishbowl and she’d come out on top. OK so he’d also said she was difficult but she could overlook that in the light of the overall sentiment.
Could she really let herself believe there might be something more to this than a throwaway week? How that could possibly play out going forward, she had no idea, but for now just knowing he thought she was different was enough.
She raised her hand and for a split second he thought she was about to slap his face. Nothing would surprise him coming from her, wasn’t that what the whole appeal was? Instead she touched his cheek softly with her palm, her blue eyes softening. He covered her hand immediately with his own, lacing his fingers through hers, holding her gaze in his. And then he pulled her close and kissed her.
Lingering kisses this time, a chance to taste, feel, caress. As she melted against him she slid her arms up to curl around his neck and then he was lifting her, carrying her, kissing his way across the suite to the bedroom where he lowered her onto the softness of the bed. Removing her clothes was a delight to be lingered over, every inch of her skin his to kiss until she was squirming deliciously under his hands.
He savoured the silk of her skin against his and her gasp of pleasure as he slid inside her thrilled him. With each long smooth stroke into her he breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, savoured the delectable softness of her lips against his. The caress of her fingertips on his skin and the satin of her legs as she curled them around his back, pressing him deeper into her as her breathing rose, her soft cries of pleasure against his shoulder, these things thrilled him on a deep level he’d never known before. The want, the
need
for her was so strong, so all-encompassing that it shocked him to the core as he pushed them both towards the point of ecstasy. Sex had never been about this for him. It was about self-gratification, appreciation, emotions need not apply. He didn’t
do
sex with emotional strings.
Breathing began to level. He looked into the china blue eyes below his as she held his gaze steadily with her own, pupils dilated, and felt a connection to her that seemed to fill his every sense, something that forced rationalism out of the room.
This was no take it or leave it fuck, and he’d been kidding himself that he could somehow pass it off as such. When he bedded a girl it was fast, fun, a means to a very pleasurable end. He considered their enjoyment of course, made sure he gave as good as he got, but it had never given him such pleasure to please someone before. Her every sigh of delight spiked him with a surge of happiness. He’d never felt this desire to get to know someone before, beyond the physical, her hopes and dreams, her past. All the things that made her tick. It was new territory and it filled him with tentative hope and happiness.
She fitted into the crook of his arm as if he were made just for her. As their breathing evened, the caress of his hand against her back became slower, languorous, loving even, and she tried to memorise exactly how the moment felt so she could revisit it in her mind later when she was alone.
‘Why is it such a big deal for you?’ she said idly, holding his hand in hers, examining his palm. ‘The worship I mean. The media hype. Isn’t the sporting success on its own enough? Lots of celebrities moan about press intrusion but you seem to lap up the attention.’
She thought she felt him tense a little against her.
‘Everyone has an angle, don’t they?’ he said. ‘It’s just happened that way for me. It helps with sponsorship having a high media profile.’
His voice sounded guarded and she pulled away enough so she could see his face and raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. They both knew he was fobbing her off with that answer. He sighed.
‘The honest answer, I guess, is that I’ve liked it. I didn’t impress like that when I was growing up. With my brother and sister wiping the floor with me grade-wise I felt more and more like an outsider.’ He paused briefly, as if considering whether to keep talking. ‘And the adoption, Layla. My family have been great, I’ve always felt loved by them and I’ve never wanted for anything, but still at the back of my mind there’s always been this knowledge that someone rejected me once. For someone, I wasn’t good enough. And the tennis success, the interest that came with it, that felt like the answer to everything. Finally I was good at something and the fan stuff, well that continued to prove it. And for a young red-blooded guy with a full on academic upbringing that he could never quite pull off, the female interest was like a gift. You can’t blame me for taking advantage of it.’ He squeezed her shoulders. ‘I haven’t told anyone this stuff before. I’m not even sure I’ve thought it through myself.’
‘Why are you telling me this now?’
Her heart was thundering in her chest. His singling her out, the personal talk, all of it made her spirits soar and her guard lower.
‘Because this week with you, it’s the first time I’ve haven’t had someone’s admiration off pat. Your approval has nothing to do with my tennis or my image and it feels good.’ There was surprise in his voice. ‘It feels different.’ He paused long enough for her to think he was done, and then from nowhere, ‘And I don’t want that feeling to end.’
****
This was no disposable fling, it had somehow crept into being a whole lot more. The hotel stay was the reason, he saw that now. He’d never have had the chance to spend so much time with her in the whirlwind that was his real life. Yet the wave of happiness that rose up now had an undertow of fear. He could feel it there, lurking, ready to tug him under. Right on the heels of the euphoria came something else – self-doubt and fear, because when time had been added into the equation and novelty value had gone, what was left had never been enough to impress anyone else. And Layla hated all things celebrity – just look at her reaction today over a couple of fans. How long would this last before she realised it was all hype? That underneath he wasn’t all that?
He wasn’t sure he could face finding that out.
****
Their last day together. And after yesterday was she so wrong for hoping there could be more to them now than just this week or two? Exactly what, she had no idea. But they could figure it out. Hope fluttered in her stomach no matter how hard she tried to squash it and she was all fingers and thumbs as she dressed in her uniform and took the Tube across London, arriving early for her shift, eager to see him.
The manager swooped in like an overweight vulture as she crossed the lobby.
‘Ah, Layla. Change of plan today. If you could start by checking the Kerry Suite over, making sure Housekeeping have done a good job. We’ve got a last minute booking coming in, couple of nights only, arriving later today.’
‘But the Kerry Suite’s occupied,’ she said. ‘The current guest doesn’t check out until tomorrow morning.’ She avoided saying Matt’s name. She couldn’t trust herself not to smile at the sound of it.
‘He’s checked out,’ the manager said, a congratulatory grin on his face as the bottom fell out of her stomach. Her face must have given her away because he reached across the counter and gave her upper arm a comforting squeeze. ‘No need to look so worried, it isn’t a problem. Something about preparing for his next tournament, he had to leave a little earlier than expected.’ He leaned in conspiratorially and winked at her. ‘Not before he left you a glowing reference though. Should stand you in brilliant stead for the managerial vacancy. Nice job.’
Nice job? Despite all her good intentions she’d dared to think he might feel the same, and the measure of the week they’d spent was ‘
nice job’?
She backed away from him as he turned to speak to a passing guest and left the lobby before the sudden ache in her heart could become anything more obvious.
In a dream she made her way up to the top floor, half wondering if there might be some mistake and that he would be there with his lopsided smile waiting for her, knowing in the wrenching depths of her stomach that he wouldn’t be.
On autopilot she walked through the empty suite, straightening cushions, checking the final touches, the same way she had just over a week ago when Matt had checked in. The room was back to its perfect self. Not one trace remained, not a single hint that the past week had ever happened. Which was clearly how Matt wanted it. It might never have happened at all but for the desperate sensation of sinking in the pit of her stomach that bravado alone just wasn’t enough to suppress.