Amber swung round in her chair, fixing her producer with a look. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘He fancies the arse off you, Amber. That’s what that’s supposed to mean. He’s been talking a lot about you, apparently. And because of that he’s quite happy to talk to you.’
‘Not sexist in the least, huh, Kevin?’
‘I couldn’t give a fuck, Amber. Just get used to hanging around him, okay?’
‘Yeah, thanks for that,’ Amber muttered, turning back around to face her laptop, her train of thought now completely lost. She didn’t know whether that comment from Kevin had angered or flattered her. The idea that somebody more than ten years younger than her fancied the arse off her, as Kevin had so eloquently put it; of course it was going to be a bit of an ego-boost. But Ryan Fisher was a footballer, and Amber didn’t do footballers. Especially those so much younger than she was, which accounted for a fair chunk of them. So why was he still on her mind? It was ridiculous. It was just an ego-trip, nothing else. He’d shown some interest in her last night, flirted with her, even, and she couldn’t help but be flattered by that. After all, she was within spitting distance of turning forty, so who wouldn’t be flattered by the attentions of a younger man? Especially one as good-looking as Ryan Fisher.
Aware that she could quite possibly have some kind of uncharacteristically ridiculous expression on her face, Amber grabbed a pile of papers that needed to be taken down to the main reception and took the opportunity to escape the confines of the Sports Desk for a while.
‘Hey, Amber.’ Tracy, News North East’s receptionist, smiled at her as she arrived at her desk in the main lobby of the building. ‘You taking a break? Do you want a coffee?’
‘The answer to both those questions is yes, thank you, Tracy. And these are for you.’
‘Oh, thanks. I was just about to send someone up to get those.’
‘Saved you a trip, then,’ Amber smiled, leaning against the reception desk as Tracy disappeared into a back room to get her coffee. ‘Anything or anyone interesting pass through those doors today?’
‘Not really,’ Tracy replied, reappearing with a steaming mug of coffee for Amber. ‘Ooh, except Ryan Fisher, that is.’
‘Ryan Fisher?’ Amber frowned, taking the coffee Tracy held out and blowing on it to cool it down. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Tracy shrugged, sitting herself back down behind the huge oval reception desk. ‘He didn’t say. Just gave me that gorgeous smile of his and said he was popping up to the Sports Desk. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him on your way down. He only arrived a few seconds before you came down here.’
Amber said nothing, just blew on her coffee again, more as a distraction than anything else. ‘No. I didn’t see him.’ For some reason she just couldn’t explain – or maybe she could, but she was too scared to admit it – she began to feel a touch unsettled. Her mind wandered back to yesterday; what Ronnie had said to her at the training ground, seeing Ryan in the bar last night. Ever since Ryan Fisher had arrived on the scene she’d felt slightly preoccupied, and it would be a lie if she tried to tell herself that she had no idea why. She had every idea why. She just didn’t want to admit it. Or tell Ronnie he was right. Well, sort of right, anyway.
‘Are you okay?’ Tracy asked, breaking into Amber’s thoughts.
Amber looked up, immediately shaking herself back to reality. ‘Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. I’ve just remembered, there’s something I need to do, that’s all. I’d better get back up to the Sports Desk. Thanks for the coffee.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ Tracy smiled, but Amber was already at the lift, half running half walking as she tried to get back to her desk before – before, what? Before Ryan Fisher left? Was she really thinking that way? When had she turned from sensible, grown-up sports reporter to simpering fan-girl? But she really needed to see him, if only to get something straight in her own mind. Which was why she picked up the pace once the lift reached the Sports Desk on the third floor, although she was doing her best to look calm and not bothered in the slightest that one of the country’s most famous and fanciable footballers was in the building. Why should she care, anyway?
Walking purposefully towards her desk in the corner of the room, Amber couldn’t stop her heart from beating hard against her ribs as she noticed somebody sitting in her chair, leaning back with his feet up on her desk. Feet that were covered by trainers that he’d doubtless not paid a penny for but had been given gratis purely because the publicity he could generate just from wearing them was priceless.
‘Someone to see you, Amber,’ Kevin said as he walked past, flinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘And be nice, okay? He’s come here especially to see you. I think he’s taken a bit of a shine to you, kiddo, so you might want to try a bit of flirting, y’know, see if you can get something out of him that nobody else is getting.’
‘Can we please stop going down the overtly sexist route, Kevin? It’s so offensive it’s making me feel quite queasy. And what do you mean, he’s taken a bit of a shine to me? You make me sound like a second-hand car.’
‘I couldn’t give a flying fuck what I’m making you sound like, Amber. All I’m saying is, if you get close to Ryan Fisher then we – as the North East’s leading local news programme – could have access to breaking news on the football front before anyone else. Do you see what I mean?’
‘Have you always been this prehistoric in your views of women reporters and I’ve just had blinkers on for the past heaven knows how many years?’ Amber couldn’t help throwing a glance over towards the corner of the room, where Ryan was still sitting in her chair, his feet still on her desk as he concentrated on his mobile phone. She was almost shocked at her own reaction; the way her heart missed that stupid and clichéd beat, her stomach flipping over, and that was just from looking at the back of his head. She had a real fear of her knees giving way the second he turned around. Was this really happening to her? Thirty-seven-years-old and acting like a teenager. Two days ago she would have thought this behaviour hilarious, and something she would never have indulged in. But then, two days ago Ryan Fisher hadn’t been on the scene. ‘What’s he want to see me for, anyway?’ Amber asked, trying not to sound bothered.
Kevin shrugged, looking at his watch. ‘No idea.’ He looked straight at her, smiling a wide smile and throwing her a wink. ‘Just be nice to him. Alright?’
Amber sighed as she tried not to smile back at her pain-in-the-arse producer. ‘Like I’d be anything else.’
‘You’re a true professional, Amber. Right, I’m off to meet Ronnie for a drink, seeing as you hijacked him last night.’
‘Jealous?’ Amber smirked, now itching to get away and see what Ryan wanted.
Kevin just pulled a face and walked off in the direction of the lift.
Amber waited a few seconds, just so she could compose herself, really. Something else she wasn’t used to doing – composing herself. Amber Sullivan was usually ready for anything, except this.
Taking a deep breath, she quickly ran a hand through her long, dark red hair and strode over to her desk by the window, kicking the seat of her swivel chair so it spun round to face her, knocking his feet off her desk in the process.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, that hard exterior making a comeback, belying everything she was really feeling inside. Because, inside, she was feeling all mushy and mixed-up like some star-struck wannabe WAG, but she didn’t want him to see that. She wanted him to be on the receiving end of the full-on, couldn’t-care-less attitude.
Ryan grinned at her. Yeah, he was right. Last night she might have been that sexy sports reporter that wet dreams were made of, but today she was right back to her uptight self. ‘Where’d you get off to last night, then?’ he asked, still leaning back in her chair like he owned the place. And he could probably afford to.
‘Not altogether sure that’s any of your business,’ Amber replied, his arrogant attitude still one she couldn’t quite get her head arou
nd. But, oh God, he looked so hot sitting there with that sexy, messed-up hair, his tattooed arms hard and toned in a white t-shirt that showed off his tanned skin to perfection. Shit! Her heart was going ten-to-the-dozen here, what the hell was wrong with her? She fancied him; that‘s what was wrong with her. Ronnie was right – the bastard! She wished he wasn’t, and she’d spent the past day or so trying to deny it and pretend he was so far from the truth it was laughable, but she’d only been kidding herself. There was something about Ryan Fisher that was gradually knocking down all her well-built defences, and there was nothing she could do about it. But he really didn’t need to know that. Despite everything she’d told herself, she was finding his arrogance and bare-faced cheek one hell of a turn-on. ‘I’ll ask you again – what are you doing here?’ But she still had to keep up the cold-bitch act. For now.
‘I came to see you,’ Ryan said, fixing her with a stare that may just have ever-so-slightly dented her steely exterior. ‘You busy tonight?’
Amber sat down on the edge of her desk, looking briefly out of the window at the view of the city centre, the traffic down below streaming past the building, letting her know that rush-hour was almost upon them. ‘I’ve got work to do,’ Amber lied. She had absolutely nothing to do; she was finished for the day but, once again, he didn’t need to know that.
He sat forward, clasping his hands between his open knees, his eyes still boring into hers. ‘Can we cut the crap, Amber?’
She stared back at him, those deep-blue eyes of his making her feel quite dizzy. ‘I… What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. Don’t you?’
She swallowed hard, a tingling in her thighs that she should not be feeling at 4:15 in the afternoon sending warning signals to her brain that she really shouldn’t be thinking about doing what she was doubtless going to end up doing but, what the hell. Ronnie was right on another score – maybe she did need to let her hair down more often. So, yeah, she knew what he meant. And even though it went against everything she’d ever stood for, broke every self-enforced rule she’d ever set herself, she wanted to see what was going to happen next. If she let it. Because she could still stop it, if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. That was the problem.
Ryan smiled, a smile that sent a shiver right through Amber’s body, that tingle in her thighs only increasing with every second his eyes were on hers. ‘I’m giving you the chance to welcome me back to the North East in a way nobody else could ever do.’
‘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
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 coupe he entered the post code into his Sat Nav, 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 probably 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 hard-working 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 wine glass, filling it with the last of the bottle of Rioja that was sitting next to the microwave, 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 play lists on her iPod she settled on a classic Janet Jackson album
before walking over to the living room window, peering through the wooden blinds, watching the street outside as everything and everybody carried on with their usual daily routine. And then she saw it – the flash Jaguar sports coupe 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?
Striker (Book 1 in the 'Striker' Trilogy) Page 7
