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‘You’re giving me the chance?’ Amber asked, half laughing at his never-ending arrogance. ‘You’ll be telling me it’s a one-time-only offer next.’
Ryan sat back, shrugging, and Amber laughed again, throwing her head back, yet knowing full well that she was going to grab this chance with both hands in an act of total recklessness that was so beyond anything she’d ever done before – well, maybe not in a long time, anyway.
‘There are two reasons why I shouldn’t go anywhere near you,’ she said, sliding down from the desk, leaning over to write something down on a post-it note. As she wrote, she deliberately stuck out her bum, arching her back downwards, completely aware that she was flirting outrageously now, but not because Kevin had told her to. It was because she wanted to. Probably just to see if she still could.
Standing up straight, she smiled at Ryan, quite flattered by the flustered look he sported, even though it was obvious he was trying to look cool. Okay. So she could still do it. ‘Reason number one – you’re a lot younger than me, and two – you’re a footballer.’ She handed him the piece of paper, his fingers quickly brushing against hers as he took it from her, an action which sent a wave of something almost electric shooting right through her. ‘Anytime after seven-thirty. Now get out of my chair. I’ve got work to do.’
Chapter Five (#uaf1d58cd-6deb-57a0-bc2a-5e27f52ff15a)
Ryan felt like he’d just scored the winning goal in a cup final. Sticking the yellow post-it note to the dashboard of his black Jaguar XK coupé, he entered the postcode into his satnav, waiting a few seconds until it finally plotted the route to what he hoped was going to be a very successful night. He knew he should really be taking it easy; he should be leaving the fun until after Saturday’s match, that would be the sensible thing to do. But Amber Sullivan was something else. She was also the kind of woman that was almost guaranteed to change her mind if you left her hanging on for too long, so he wasn’t going to play games. She wasn’t one of those ten-a-penny pretty girls; she was different, a distraction he hadn’t banked on, but one he couldn’t ignore.
Switching the radio to a rock station, he turned up the volume and headed out onto the motorway, barely able to keep the smile off his face. Was he going to be the one that made this ice-cold sports reporter break her own rules? That in itself was enough to turn him on, but the thought of what lay beneath the surface of a woman who was quite fascinating, to say the least, made everything just that little bit more exciting. And the one thing Ryan Fisher couldn’t live without was excitement. It was something that had got him into a lot of trouble in the past, and maybe he should be listening to the warning shots that were ringing out now, telling him to back off and lay low, play it cool, settle down. But he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t do it. That would be like rolling over and admitting defeat, and anyway, who’s to say that what had happened in London would happen here? He knew the pitfalls now. He’d promised Max he’d left all that behind, and he had. But that didn’t mean to say he had to stop having fun altogether. Jesus, he was only human.
Shaking those thoughts from his head, he knocked the radio’s volume up another notch and began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as The Killers’ Somebody Told Me blasted out. Max had assured him that moving back home had been the right thing to do, and Ryan believed him. It was time for a fresh start, a new beginning, but none of that meant he had to start living like a monk. He just had to be careful, that was all. He was still hot property in the football world, and nobody could take that away from him. Nobody.
Amber wondered if she’d done the right thing. Or had she just made the biggest mistake of her life, inviting Ryan Fisher into her home? Had she just taken the first step towards losing her so-carefully-kept-intact dignity just because she’d developed some silly little crush on a handsome footballer? Had she really allowed her head to be turned by Ryan Fisher and his hardworking charm offensive? After all, how many good-looking footballers had she been around in all her years as a sports reporter? Loads of them. And yet, she’d never allowed herself to feel this way about any of them, despite a fair few of them trying to gain her attention, without much success. And surely, after what had happened all those years ago, she should know better.
She shook thoughts of the past out of her head and let her hand hover over the phone as she contemplated ringing Ronnie. Maybe he could talk her out of what she was about to do. Jesus! She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake! She didn’t need somebody else to tell her whether what she was doing was right or wrong.
Pulling her hand away from the phone, she went over to the cupboard and pulled out a large wineglass, filling it with the last of the bottle of Rioja that was sitting next to the microwave and taking a long drink. It went to her head almost immediately, which was what she’d hoped it would do. Just a small dose of Dutch courage.
Checking the large clock on her kitchen wall, she watched the second hand tick round, as if it was in slow motion. She needed some music or something, anything to take away the silence and her mind off what she’d done. Not that she’d done anything yet. She could just be asking him round for a drink, couldn’t she? A harmless drink, that was all. Oh, bollocks, Amber, she thought as she walked into the living room. She could try and convince herself otherwise, but it would be a complete waste of time. Ryan Fisher was coming here for one reason and one reason only, but it was still up to her how far she let things go. She had to remember that.
Scrolling down the playlists on her iPod, she settled on a classic Janet Jackson album before walking over to the living room window, peering through the wooden blinds and watching the street outside as everything and everybody carried on with their usual daily routine. And then she saw it – the flash Jaguar sports coupé that certainly didn’t belong to anyone on her street, that was for sure. So it could only belong to one other person, couldn’t it?
She felt her stomach give a large and nausea-inducing flip as she watched him pull up outside her house, climb out of the car and run a hand through his dark hair before walking up the driveway to her front door with the kind of swagger only a man so young, famous and full of attitude could get away with.
Amber quickly backed away from the window and leaned back against the wall, the sound of the doorbell causing her heart to beat so fast she thought it might burst out of her chest at any second. Oh, Jesus, this was ridiculous! What the hell was she thinking? She was eleven years older than him, this young and volatile footballer with a reputation for excess but a talent that meant he was popular for all the right reasons, as well as all the wrong ones. She shouldn’t be going anywhere near him; it was crazy and stupid, and probably a touch unprofessional, too.
She closed her eyes as the doorbell rang out again. She’d let him in, and she’d tell him. Decision made. This wasn’t going to happen. She’d let him in, he could stay for a drink, but then he had to go because this wasn’t going to happen. No matter what Ronnie had said or thought, and even if he was right, even if she did fancy him, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. Not after everything she’d been through in the past – she’d be really stupid to go there again, wouldn’t she?
Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath and walked out into the hall, exhaling quietly one last time before slowly opening the door.
‘About time,’ Ryan smiled. ‘You gonna let me in, then?’
Amber just looked at him for a few seconds, aware only of how incredible he looked in a simple yet undoubtedly obscenely expensive outfit of jeans, white t-shirt and black boots; and with that sexy dark hair and those deep-blue eyes shining out of that handsome face of his, he looked hot. There was no two ways about it. He looked hot, and Amber felt a warm flush spread right through her as she stood aside to let him in, her head spinning again as her heart began overruling her head. Something she hadn’t wanted to happen.
‘Go… go through to the living room,’ she managed to say, acutely aware that her voice may have sounded slightly strange there. More high-pitched than it normally did.
‘Champagne,’ Ryan grinned, handing her a bottle of something Amber recognised as certainly not the cheap stuff. A bit predictable, maybe, but at least he’d brought something. It proved he had manners, anyhow, even if he probably wasn’t going to be around long enough to actually drink much of it. ‘Predictable, I know, but I didn’t want to turn up empty-handed.’
Amber looked at him, and suddenly the pair of them just burst out laughing. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Amber said. ‘But, yeah. Footballers and flash bottles of champagne are a touch on the stereotypical side, I suppose.’
Ryan shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets, and for the briefest of seconds Amber was certain she saw a slight flash of vulnerability cross his face. But that only made him seem all the more attractive, unfortunately.
‘You look great, by the way,’ Ryan said quietly, his dark blue eyes locking onto hers. ‘I forgot to tell you that, when you opened the door.’
Amber felt an uncharacteristic blush heat her cheeks and she looked down at her feet for a second or two, feeling like a shy teenager on a first date instead of the strong, independent woman she was. Or thought she was. It was all a bit confusing, but before she could even begin to get her head around just what was supposed to be happening here, she felt him prise the bottle of champagne out of her hand, place it on the table beside them and gently touch her face with his fingertips. She looked up at him as she asked probably the most obvious question ever. ‘What are you doing?’
He pulled away slightly, taking a small step back, and she couldn’t stop the stab of disappointment from happening. ‘Amber, I…’
‘You couldn’t stand me a couple of days ago,’ she said, aware of the tension building and the fight she was now going to have, to stop the excitement rising up in her.
‘You couldn’t stand me, either,’ he replied, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth and Amber couldn’t help but smile back. This wasn’t going quite to plan, although, that all depended on which plan she was talking about – the original plan, or the change of plan. And she wasn’t entirely sure herself.
‘No. I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I thought you were the most arrogant, self-centred, egotistical prick I’d ever set eyes on.’
He moved a little closer, his hands back in his pockets but his eyes locked onto hers. ‘And I thought you were a cold, uptight bitch.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yeah. Really.’
He moved closer still, and Amber felt her resolve fading fast, but she was ceasing to care. That glass of red wine she’d had just minutes ago was starting to have an effect, and it felt good. She felt good. So she really didn’t care anymore. He was hot, she felt like having some fun, what was the problem? Well, there was probably a list longer than a ten-mile tailback on the central motorway as far as problems were concerned, but she’d deal with those in the morning. Right now, she wasn’t going to think about them.
‘So, I’m cold, am I?’
‘A regular fucking ice-queen. But you’re no match for this arrogant prick, sweetheart.’
Amber couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this excited about anything. Sure, she’d had sex with Ronnie only last night, but that was different. That had been nothing but an act carried out only to, temporarily at least, stop her thinking about this man standing here in front of her. No other reason. Compared to what she was feeling now that had been almost mechanical in comparison. A paint-by-numbers act of sexual release. This was something else.
‘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 it 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 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 tenfold 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 the 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 realised 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 (#uaf1d58cd-6deb-57a0-bc2a-5e27f52ff15a)
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 the 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 teammates 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 the 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.
‘Look, Amber, sweetheart. This ridiculous “no footballers” rule that you gave yourself was pointless anyway.’
‘Was it?’ Amber asked, looking up at him sharply. ‘How’s that, then?’
‘Because you’re around them all the time. The law of averages says you’re probably going to end up becoming involved with one at some point in your life.’
‘Well, thank you, Gypsy Rose Ronnie.’
Ronnie pulled a face and Amber poked her tongue out at him, her head turning to check out the door once more in a reaction that was almost reflex-driven by some kind of sixth sense, because just as she turned her head, he walked in. Tall, tanned, handsome and hot. Ryan Fisher. And practically every female in the room stopped what they were doing to stare at him. He had that kind of aura about him. But his eyes had locked straight onto hers, staring at her, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. A mouth that had been covering her breasts and sending her to heaven only a couple of nights ago. And just the thought of that made her shiver, made her want to turn away and try and forget what she was feeling, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do it.
‘I’d better go grab a few words with him,’ Amber swallowed, keeping her eyes on Ryan in case he disappeared into a crowd that was quite obviously very pleased to see him. Despite it being called the Players’ Lounge, it wasn’t all that often that any players actually came in there, so when they did they always attracted attention. And Ryan Fisher was hot property today. Hotter than usual, if that was actually possible. ‘On a professional level, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Ronnie said, arching an eyebrow before turning his attention to a fellow pundit who’d just arrived in the lounge.
Amber quickly weaved her way through the growing crowd of people now amassing in the small but comfortable Players’ Lounge, over towards Ryan, who was talking to his new boss. Her heart raced as she tried to adopt her professional stance and forget all about Thursday evening, after all, he probably had. There was no doubt that he’d be moving onto the next conquest at some point tonight when he did the usual footballer’s thing of celebrating a home win with a stupidly expensive night out. And the women, of course, would be queuing up. Shit! Why did that actually bother her?
As she approached Ryan, she accidentally caught the eye of Red Star’s new manager, Jim Allen. He’d come over to the UK from Washington DC over twenty years ago, a young and extremely talented soccer player who’d been lucky enough to play for some of the biggest clubs in the world in his time – including Newcastle Red Star, where he’d spent the final few years of his professional playing career. But he hadn’t just played in England; he’d also spent time in Spain and Germany, not to mention numerous international appearances for his country. He loved the game, and he’d been a great player in his day, but now he was making a name for himself as a pretty successful manager. And to say the Red Star fans had been over the moon when he’d been appointed as the new man in charge of their club was an understatement. Not only had they acquired Ryan Fisher, one of the greatest players around right now, they’d also managed to steal Jim Allen away from one of the biggest, most successful London clubs.
Jim Allen had come into management fairly young – at the age of thirty-five – but he’d already confirmed he was a force to be reckoned with over his thirteen or so years as a manager. Football was in his blood. He’d been a great player, and now he was proving to be an accomplished and well-respected manager; a natural people person, a savvy businessman. And it also didn’t hurt that Red Star had recently been bought out by a large, New York-based consortium who were more than happy to have a fellow American at the helm.
