Did Someone Order Room Service?:

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What was she doing? Was this the kind of thought that travelled around her mother’s brain on a loop? She was under no illusions about how exciting and interesting she was when put up against the draw of fame and fortune, her mother had spent her whole life illustrating that very point. She had no truck with fame or celebrities and was she really about to be seduced by the very thing she’d spent her whole life abhorring?

She grimly ignored the delicious flip flops going on in her stomach as he smiled at her and forced herself to put her glass down on the table. She stood up, put a few paces between them and swallowed hard to channel calm and squash the surge of you’re-not-turning-him-down-are-you disappointment that had begun to rise in her stomach to replace the butterflies. He didn’t get up, simply lounged back on the sofa looking up at her in amusement, a smile still playing about his lips. He was utterly, breathtakingly gorgeous. But the fact that she owned a calendar depicting him in a different bare-torsoed pose for each month of the year had no place whatsoever in this debate.

‘I need to check on a few things downstairs,’ she said, leaning in to grab her clipboard from the table and backing away at speed. ‘If you need anything, call the number for Guest Services. It’s attached to the phone.’

She heard his relaxed laugh as she headed for the door.

‘I’ll do that,’ he called after her.

****

‘I’ve just been hit on by Matt Stanton,’ Layla said, scratching her head. ‘At least I think I have.’

Now she was out of the gorgeous luxury of the Kerry Suite and back down here in the reality check that was the sparse staff quarters of the hotel, she began to question her own perception. Why the hell would Matt Stanton hit on her? He could have anyone he chose.

Her friend Lucy’s eyebrows met in a frown and she quit making coffee to give Layla her full attention.

‘You’ve what?’

Layla glanced quickly around her and lowered her voice to an uncertain whisper.

‘I think I’ve just been hit on by Matt Stanton,’ she repeated.

Lucy squealed mad laughter.

‘You kill me! Course you have! And I’m marrying George Clooney this weekend. He’s popping over to pick me up in his private jet.’

There was a brief stab of indignant offense because she was clearly so undesirable that the idea of Matt Stanton giving her a second glance was a joke.

‘He’s staying in the Kerry Suite on the top floor,’ Layla said. ‘It’s all been hushed up because he’s having trouble with the press and he needed a last-minute bolthole to get away from all the fuss.’

Layla waited patiently until the laughter petered out and an expression of incredulity replaced it.

‘The Matt Stanton? The tennis playboy with the abs to die for? He’s staying here? Omigod I’m such a fan.’ She stared into space, her mind obviously working overtime. ‘I wonder if I can get a transfer from waiting tables into room service for the week. You know, in case he orders some food in, or champagne. Some of those celebs are like that you know, don’t like slumming it in the public restaurant with the rest of us.’

Oh for Pete’s sake.

‘He said he doesn’t usually drink champagne,’ Layla said. ‘He had mineral water and I had orange juice.’

‘You had a drink with him?’

Did she have to sound so amazed by that fact?

‘Yes. And he was going on about personal requests.’

Lucy rolled her eyes enviously at the ceiling.

‘I am soooo jealous! So when are you going to follow it up? You know…’ she winked at Layla ‘…make your next move?’

She spoke as if it was perfectly natural to throw yourself at a celebrity if he happened to wander into your path.

‘I’m not. Of course I’m not. It’s more than my job’s worth.’

Although actually her job wasn’t worth an awful lot right now, was it? She was busting a gut all hours and stuck in dismal rental accommodation for the foreseeable future. Disappointment suddenly seemed to be mixing with something else in her churning stomach. Something that felt an awful lot like regret.

‘It’s not more than mine’s worth,’ Lucy said, grinning.

‘So you wouldn’t have any scruples about having a fling with Matt Stanton then, even though he has the worst reputation ever for womanising. It would never lead to anything. He’s on the front of the tabloids with a different girl every week. Wouldn’t that bother you?’

Lucy shrugged and stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee mug.

‘Why would it? It would just be a quickie and it would actually be one to remember for once. Why make it such a big deal? Imagine having a fling with Matt Stanton.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘He’s absolutely gorgeous. And anyway everyone has ill-conceived flings in their past. One-night-stands that you wish you’d never done. Holiday romances that you shag on the beach and then never see again.’

‘I don’t,’ Layla said.

‘Yeah well, you’re not like the rest of us are you?’ She pointed at Layla with her teaspoon. ‘You’re…you know…sensible.’

She apparently tried to put a positive spin on that statement by adding a consoling smile, but it had no effect whatsoever.

When you got right down to it that was just another way of calling her boring. And she’d heard that once too often today.

‘Anyway,’ Lucy picked up her coffee mug and headed off towards the kitchens. ‘He was probably only messing about anyway. I mean, come on, he could have anyone he wanted, right?’

Tact was certainly not Lucy’s strong point. For some reason that parting comment grated hideously, the clear implication being that she had to be mistaken. Sensible, boring and now deluded that he could even have been interested in her at all. An inner defiance surfaced that might have been there all along, but more likely came from that final straw of a dismissive comment on the back of the crappy day from hell she’d had so far.

Five minutes later and she was stalking back down the top floor passageway at top speed, heart thundering loud enough in her ears to drown out the tired old voice in her head that had kept her on the straight and narrow all these years.

He opened the door of the suite on her first knock and she burst into the room, riding the wave of defiant impulsiveness and crappy-day-from-hellness. The feeling it gave her turned out to be surprisingly liberating. Suddenly, unfettered by her endless drive for respect and normality, anything felt possible. She caught the briefest glimpse of his eyes widening in surprise as before she could change her mind, she stood on her tiptoes, curled one arm around his neck and planted a kiss squarely on his mouth.

CHAPTER THREE (#u4533b528-1a62-5f83-9a94-ab3bfa81edcf)

Too stunned to do anything but stand there, he froze until she pulled away, breathing hard. The look in her wide eyes was a mixture of shock and exhilaration.

It wasn’t often that women surprised him. He’d been faintly amused by her determination to give him the brush-off. It all added to the fun, right? He certainly hadn’t expected Miss Straight-Down-The-Line to do a u-turn all by herself, and had in fact been idling away the half hour since she’d left the suite considering his own next move. Yet apparently his charm had a presence of its own, continuing to work even when he wasn’t present. And now that she had made that u-turn, it would be rude not to respond, right?

Initially caught off-guard, he quickly reclaimed control of the situation. He looked down into the china blue eyes and took in her short, quick breaths and the expression on her face of nervous excitement. Really, she was so cute. He took his time to savour the triumph as he slid his hands into her far-too-tidy hair and angled her jaw perfectly with a stroke of his thumbs. Slowly now, his pace not hers, he kissed her.

The touch of his lips and the slide of his hand around her waist sent delicious sparks of heat flying down her spine. Rationality almost made a last-minute comeback. One little move and she could still undo this madness, she could have the status of the girl who’d knocked back Matt Stanton, maybe that could have its own special kudos. She could go right on back to the daily grind, the work-hard-and-get-nowhere treadmill that she’d been on for years.

Maybe on a normal day rationality might have stood a chance. But today second thoughts didn’t seem to have an awful lot going for them. After the day she’d had the thought of behaving badly and tasting life seemed like the best idea she’d had in years. Why not find out exactly what it was she was supposed to be missing out on. At least then she could argue her point with her nutty mother from a position of knowledge. And let’s face it, behaving well for the last twenty four years hadn’t really yielded any results, had it?

She shoved away the voice of reason and let herself melt against him. There was no grabbing, no fast moves, he was making it clear that every step of this was something to relish, not a crazy rush. Just one single connection, his lips against hers, slowly intensified by his hand as he slipped it into her hair to cradle the nape of her neck. Tingling heat spiralled through her body to pool in an intense flutter between her legs.

And all the while the neon sign flashed in her mind.

Matt Stanton is KISSING YOU! You have his calendar hanging downstairs in your locker!

He took her lower lip between his own and sucked gently, caressing her lips apart with his tongue. Her hands crept around his neck, wanting more of that delicious connection, and excitement rose inside her like a crowd of butterflies, masking reality, buffering out the inhibiting real world of choices and consequences.

Losing herself.

She let her hands slide up his chest and knitted fingers behind his neck. His shoulders were gorgeous. The breadth of them. The solidity. And the strength in his arms and hands, the latent power beneath his lightness of touch. You could feel protected from anything wrapped in arms like those.

This was the ultimate in shallow encounters and that in itself felt suddenly exciting. Work was forgotten. Responsibility was forgotten. This was about proving a point – to her mother, damn right, but more importantly to herself. Payback time and damn the consequences. This moment was hers, she could take what pleasure she wanted from it. No complications. That thought was somehow freeing and intoxicating and she tugged at his polo shirt, pulled it free from his jeans, wanting to explore. He slid a hand around her waist and tugged her further into the room kissing her as he went, stopping briefly to pull the shirt over his head and throw it to the floor. Free now to touch him, she slid curious hands slowly up his tanned chest to his huge shoulders. Not a scrap of fat laced his body. Desire burned hotly through her at the feel of taut skin sheathing hard muscle.