Scored (26 page)

With a flick of a switch Big Ben’s ears came to life, and I slotted them around my clit. A groan escaped my lips and I curled forward and pressed my hand over the jiggling strips of silicone and let the vibrations travel deep into my needy flesh. “Ah, yes, fuck, it’s so much, every time,” I said on a gasp.

“Shit, I can hear it buzzing.” Lewis groaned. “I can just imagine it rubbing against your shiny, swollen pussy. Fuck, I wish I could smell you, taste you and, and—”

“I’m coming.” My clit was preparing to burst. To release the pleasure that had built so quickly. I was trembling, beads of sweat sat in my cleavage and prickled my forehead.

“Me too. Me too. Ah, yes…Nicky…”

“Lewis,” I cried and bucked wildly against Big Ben. “Oh, oh, yes, yes.”

“You sound fucking amazing. Ah, Jesus…” He groaned, long, loud and abandoned.

I shut my eyes and imagined pearly shots of cum streaming from the end of his cock. Slapping onto his six-pack in hot, wet spurts.

“Oh, that was intense,” I managed, turning Big Ben off, pulling him out and tossing him to the end of the bed.

Lewis was panting and I dropped onto the pillows to listen to him catching his breath.

“That was fun,” he said. “But hang on a second.”

I waited until he came back on the line. Stared at a picture of a flowery meadow that hung on the wall opposite and let my focus to return to normal.

“You still there?” he asked.

“Yes.” My breathing had come under control again.

“I had to clean up.”

“Did you come on your belly?”

“Yes, quite a mess.”

“If I was there I would lick it off you.”

He laughed. “Jesus, Nicky. You’re so damn bad. I really do think we’re a match made in Heaven.”

A bubble of delight flooded my chest. I knew I’d fallen for him in a big way, but right at this moment it felt like I was getting sucked into a black hole where only Lewis Tate existed. I was in love. Head over heels obsessive, infatuated, run-to-the-end-of-the -earth-for-him love. “You really think so?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

I spent the next day exploring Kiev on my own. In the evening, I wrote another article for the travel magazine I’d contracted my last one to. Then I caught a segment on the late news that showed the England team training in Kiev. There was talk about Bryers having a groin strain and the nation was holding its breath. Would he be able to play in the semis against Germany?

Phil called me the next morning and invited me to the old district for lunch and a few beers. He was going with Ted and James so I said yes. I didn’t want to encourage him by spending the day alone with him. Plus, I didn’t fancy telling Lewis that nugget of information at the end of the day when he called.

We found a great old bar down by the fishing marina that specialized in local beer. After a plate of sardines, fries and several pints I felt decidedly squiffy. But for some reason I didn’t care. Ted had me laughing every few minutes with tales from his youth and traveling around Asia with a camera crew and I just kept on drinking.

By early evening, I realized that keeping up with three big men on a mission to drink for the day had been a mistake.

“I think I’d better head back,” I said to Phil then burped loudly.

They all stared at me for one shocked moment then dissolved into hilarity. I joined in and was rewarded with a bout of hiccups that ravaged my diaphragm.

“I really should go,” I said again, trying to be serious.

“Sure, come on, we’ll catch a cab,” Phil said.

“Yeah, because I think…” I stood and reached for my bag, stumbled and had to grab the back of a chair. “I might have trouble walking that far.”

Phil was up and at my side, his arm around me. “Whoops-a-daisy, steady on, Nicky.”

I rested my hand on his forearm. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you two go and have fun,” Ted said, then gave Phil an exaggerated wink.

“Oh no,” I slurred, flicking my fingers between Phil and I. “We’re not, you know.” I lowered my voice. “Having sex.”

Ted raised his brows.

James glanced at Phil.

“Cause I’m seeing someone,” I said and quickly pressed my fingers over my lips to hold in another hiccup.

“That’s right,” Phil said. “And no doubt Peter Piper won’t thank me for letting you get so drunk with us this afternoon. Come on, it’s time to switch to coffee.”

“You’re so nice to me, Phil,” I said, leaning into him when he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me to the exit. “And I know Peter would thank you for looking after me.”

He pushed through the slim double doors. “You must think I’m dumb.”

“Why?” I was offended. “Of course I don’t think you’re dumb.”

“Something is going on with you. I know it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Too much doesn’t add up.” He stuck out his hand and hailed a passing cab. Helped me in.

“What do you mean add up?” I asked once I’d fumbled with my seatbelt.

He shrugged. “I dunno, just staying at the Donbass in the Presidential Suite. That homeless guy at the cathedral who was wearing this season’s Gucci sportswear.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I clamped my lips together and folded my arms. I was drunk, yes, but not so far gone that I was about to confess all to Phil. Perhaps that was what he planned. Maybe he wanted me steaming so my tongue would loosen.

No, surely not. He wasn’t like that.

“And you were so upset the other day when Tate got hurt,” he went on.

“Maybe I was just feeling hormonal, Phil. Happens to girls, we cry for no reason certain times of the month. Our emotions run away with us. Can you even begin to imagine what that is like? It’s not fun, you know.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked out of the window. “I guess not.”

He didn’t speak again the rest of the way. I was glad. I’d pulled the women’s-things card. It had worked.

“Here you go,” he said after helping me with my key and opening the door to my hotel room. “Do you want me to come in and make you coffee?”

“No, really I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, I don’t mind?”

“I can manage. I think I’ll take a shower too. But thanks for the offer.” I reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He smelled of beer and sunshine and a hint of the cigar smoke that had trickled through the bar throughout the afternoon.

“Nicky.” He slipped his fingers into my hair and held my head. “I know you say you’re not available but…” He hesitated. “I want you to know that to me you’re perfect, and if you were mine I wouldn’t leave you alone like he does. I’d be by your side. With you, taking care of you. Even if it meant me coming out to the Ukraine every weekend while you were working here.” He dipped his head.

I froze. Was he going to try and kiss me? I hoped not.

“I just wanted to let you know,” he said quietly, then released me and stepped away. “So if you ever, you know, want someone who adores you, gets you and would walk on hot coals for you, I’m right here.” He pointed at his chest.

I smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “I’ll remember that.”

He nodded and turned.

“Phil.”

“Yes?” He stopped and faced me.

“He does adore me, you know.”

Phil twisted his mouth and shrugged. “He has a damn funny way of showing it.”

I sat on the end of the bed, watched the news and drank three cups of coffee and a bottle of water. By the time I knew the top stories word for word I felt halfway sober.

The shower in my en-suite was the opposite end of the spectrum to the one Lewis and I had shared in the Donbass. It was a head over the tap end of the bath and an orange plastic curtain that stuck to my legs. Even so I figured a shower then sleep would set me right for the morning. I just hoped Lewis didn’t ring whilst I was washing.

I lifted my face to the water and thought of what Phil had said in the cab. He really was sharp. He’d picked up on all of the things I’d tried to hide from him. Well, except for the fact that Lewis Tate and I were having a secret affair.

Phil’s face hovered in my mind’s eye. When he’d said he thought I was perfect he’d looked so unmasked. It was crazy. I’d been on my own for over a year and suddenly here were two great guys both seeking my affections. Though, of course, there was no contest, not for me. Not when Lewis had me hooked like he was my own personal brand of heroin.

The base of the bath was slippery, the shower gel the hotel had provided oil based. I stepped out gingerly, but with one foot in the air I slipped. Crashed down so fast that I didn’t even recall falling. The curtain landed on me, slimy, cold and ripped, but I barely registered that. My ankle was twisted beneath my buttocks on the tiled floor. Pain shot up my leg. Hot, thumping agony that burned and stabbed.

“Ah, shit.” I shifted the curtain and grabbed my ankle. Held it tight hoping to dull the evil sensation. It didn’t help.

Tears sprang in my eyes. I dashed them away and saw blood on the floor. Fuck. I was bleeding too. I scanned my body, searching frantically for a gash, probably one with bones and tendons sticking from it. Nothing. I realized what it was. My period.

After hauling myself up, gripping the sink for support, I rummaged in my wash-bag, sorted myself out then hopped to the bed. I pulled on knickers and a T-shirt and gingerly lifted my ankle onto a pillow. It was swelling already. Mottled red stained the already puffy skin. Gingerly, I traced the disappearing knobbles of bone on the outside edge. The swelling was going to engulf it completely, I could tell.

A dull pain ballooned in my abdomen and I flopped back with a sigh. Great, now I had menstrual pain to add to the twisted ankle. I reached for my bag, which was luckily on the bedside table, and downed a couple of painkillers. How much fun had my day turned out to be?

I lay for an hour, let the analgesia take the edge off the sharpness, then attempted to put some weight through my ankle. I hissed in a breath. “Shit.” It hurt like hell. I could just about stand, which was good because I figured that meant it wasn’t broken, but walking was out of the question.

I’d just sat back down when my phone rang. It was Reg.

“Hey, Nicky, all set for the semis in three day’s time? Have you got your transport to Warsaw sorted?”

“Hi, Reg. Er, no, not yet.”

“Why not? The train tickets will be sold out if you don’t get your ass into gear.”

“I’ve, er, had a bit of an accident.”

“You have? Shit, are you in hospital? Are you okay?”

“No, I mean yes. I’m not in hospital but I’ve twisted my ankle.”

“How did you do that?”

“I fell out of the bath”

“You fell out of the bath. Jesus, only you could do something so stupid.”

“I know.” I groaned.

“So ice it up, take a ton of painkillers and get yourself to Warsaw either tomorrow or the next day.”