“Which room are you in?”
About the Author
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Copyright
“Which room are you in?”
“Seven-thirteen.”
Louise gasped in surprise. “Why, that’s next door to me.”
Wyatt’s eyes opened slowly, something glittering in their depths that chilled her to the bone. “I know.”
How could he manage to make a simple statement sound like an accusation? And why should he want to?
Jennifer Taylor was born in Liverpool, England, and still lives in the northwest, several miles outside the city. Books have always been a passion of hers, so it seemed a natural choice to choose a career in librarianship—a wise decision, as the library is where she met her husband, Bill. Twenty years and two children later, they are still happily married, with the added bonus that she has discovered how challenging and enjoyable writing romantic fiction can be!
Playing at Love
Jennifer Taylor
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CHAPTER ONE
SHE’D noticed the man before, several times if she was honest. Only that morning she’d passed him on the terrace and smiled a greeting, but he’d cut her dead. His pale blue eyes had been cold as ice as they’d skimmed her face before he’d slipped on the mirrored sunglasses he habitually wore. Mortified by such a deliberate slight, Louise had hurried on her way, silently promising never to put herself in the position whereby he could do the same again, but as her gaze shifted back to him now it seemed she just might have to break that promise.
Despite the deep tan, his face was pale, his mouth beneath the heavy black moustache drawn into a thin line of white, beads of perspiration gleaming on his forehead. It was obvious to her practised eyes that he was in some kind of discomfort and, while she didn’t relish the thought of inviting another put-down, she couldn’t sit there and ignore the fact that he might be ill.
Reluctantly she got up and glanced round the hotel’s deserted foyer, wishing that Carol were there to lend her support, but her friend had left over half an hour before to meet Simon and spend the evening at one of Miami’s hot spots. There was only her left to offer help, it seemed.
‘Are you all right?’ She bent over the tall figure slumped in the chair, jumping nervously as his eyes opened and he glared up at her.
‘Does it look as though I am?’ he snarled through pain-stiffened lips. ‘I should have thought it was obvious how I feel. Now if you don’t mind, I don’t feel like making small talk right now.’
Louise took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand her ground when what she really felt like doing was turning tail and running from such open hostility. Pain did odd things to a person, as she knew only too well from her nursing experience. She would give him the benefit of the doubt...just once.
‘Would you like me to call someone—a doctor, perhaps?’
‘No! What I want is for you to leave me alone. Understand? Aghhh!’ He doubled over, his face going ashen, his eyes closing as a sudden violent spasm hit him, and Louise decided there and then that enough was enough. Sometimes one had to act against a person’s wishes for his own good.
Briskly she slipped a hand under his elbow, her voice cool yet commanding as she waited for the attack to pass then started to urge him to his feet ‘I understand that you are ill, and, frankly, that’s all I need to understand. Just tell me which room you’re in and I’ll help you back there; then we can decide if you need a doctor or not.’
‘We? When did this become a joint decision? Who asked you to poke your nose in where it’s not wanted, Miss...?’ He paused, although whether out of a desire to learn her name, which she rather doubted, or because a fresh bout of pain almost bent him double again, Louise had no real way of knowing. However, rather than labour the point with him in such a state, she volunteered the information anyway.
‘Carter. Louise Carter. Now do you think you can stand by yourself or shall I see if I can find a porter to help?’
He cursed volubly, perspiration trickling down his face to catch in the thick hair on his upper lip. ‘I don’t need a porter! I don’t need anyone. And I especially don’t need you here playing the Good Samaritan, if indeed that’s the role you’re playing now!’
There was just something about the way he said that, just the tiniest inflexion in his deep voice, that made Louise wonder exactly what he meant, before she pushed it to the back of her mind. He might not need her help, but by heavens he was going to get it. He’d annoyed her just enough to make certain of that!
She took her hand away from his arm, smiling sweetly as she watched him sink heavily back down on to the chair. ‘Please yourself, of course. If you would rather stay here, then obviously that’s up to you.’ She ran a hand over her short dark curls, her grey eyes reflecting a hint of distaste as she glanced around the lobby then let them drift back to his face. ‘I would hate the idea of being ill in such a public place as this, but if it doesn’t bother you then that’s fine.’ She shrugged lightly, then turned to pick up her bag from the table and head towards the lifts.
‘Wait a minute!’
There was a rasp of authority in the deep voice now that turned what might have been intended as a request into an order, and Louise took immediate and unreasonable exception to it. Her spine stiffened imperceptibly and she carried on walking, the heels of her cream leather sandals clicking angrily on the marble floor.
‘Miss...Carter, wait!’ There was a small but noticeable pause before he added quietly, ‘Please.’
Louise hesitated, one slender hand resting on the black button that would summon the lift. All she had to do was press it and take the lift up to her room, then she could put this whole unpleasant incident behind her. It wasn’t as though she was under any obligation to help him. It had been purely out of the goodness of her heart that she had offered to do so in the first place. No one would blame her for walking away, not after the way he had spoken to her. So why was she standing there hesitating? Why did she find it quite so hard to leave? Because he’d said please? Or because, despite the coldness of his blue eyes and the lines of pain contorting his face, he was possibly the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen?
The sheer irrationality of the thought brought her spinning round, her eyes wide, her creamy-tanned skin tinged with colour, and she was lost the very moment she saw him standing there, swaying perilously. She ran back across the room and looped his arm around her shoulders, steadying him with her far smaller frame when he almost fell. He was very tall, tall and well built, with powerful shoulders straining against the thin silk of his white shirt and a muscular chest that tapered down to a trim waist. It took all Louise’s strength to hold him up as she wrapped her arm around the back of his waist as he took an unsteady step forwards.
‘Slowly, now. Just take your time,’ she murmured softly, using the very tone she’d used a thousand times before to a thousand different patients, only this time, instead of having a soothing effect, it seemed to have just the opposite.
‘I am taking my time! I’m not in any fit state to do otherwise, am I? Perhaps you could control that irritating tendency you have to offer unnecessary advice, if it isn’t too much to ask.’
Louise stiffened at the unpleasant note in th
e man’s voice. Her fingers curled into the hard flesh at his waist, digging in deeper as her temper started to rise. ‘I shall be delighted to if you’ll agree to curb that foul temper of yours. Now come along. The sooner this is over with, obviously the happier we shall both be.’
She urged him forwards, closing her eyes to the rasping sound of his breathing, the burning heat of his body pressed against hers. He might be ill, but he wasn’t going to get much sympathy from her, not after such ingratitude!
‘If you could just get your fingers out of my ribs, then maybe I could breathe a bit better. And do you think you could slow down? It may have escaped your notice, but I’m not in any fit state to run the four-minute mile right now.’
He might be feeling ill, but obviously it hadn’t affected his tongue! He could still summon up enough sarcasm to make her want to do something totally unprofessional! Louise glared up at him, her angry gaze tangling with his for no longer than a heartbeat before she looked away, feeling...well, shaken. All he’d done was glare back at her, his dark brows drawn together, his lips set into a thin, uncompromising line of displeasure. So why did she suddenly feel breathless, the blood singing along her veins? She must be more upset by his rudeness than she’d realised.
Annoyance ran through her and she slid out from beneath his arm, watching dispassionately as he made a grab for a nearby chair and hung on grimly. ‘If you prefer to manage by yourself, then carry on. I can think of any number of more interesting ways to pass the evening than spending it helping an ungrateful, carping bore like you.’
His knuckles gleamed white from the effort of holding himself upright, but his eyes were deadly as they swept her angry face with icy contempt. ‘I’m quite sure you can.’ He smiled tightly, his lips drawing back from strong white teeth in an expression that held little sign of amusement ‘Far more interesting and far more lucrative, isn’t that right? But while I hate to curtail your night-time activities, Miss Carter, I am forced to point out that you started this by poking your pretty little nose in in the first place. So may I suggest that you finish it? Look on it as the ideal opportunity to perfect that caring little act of yours.’
What did he mean? What act? And how could her evenings be classified as lucrative? Unless he’d seen her in the hotel’s casino last night. She’d spent no more than ten dollars at the gaming tables, and that more to pass the time than out of any hope of winning. Perhaps he imagined that was how she usually passed her time. Either that or he was rambling from the fever he was running.
It was the thought of the fever that decided her. She caught his arm and draped it across her shoulders again as she started towards the lift. She might not like his attitude, but there was no way she could ignore six years of nursing experience and training. Until she could hand him over into someone else’s care he was her responsibility.
‘Which room are you in?’ She pressed the button to summon the lift, flexing her shoulders as he leant against the wall and closed his eyes as they waited for it to arrive.
‘Seven-thirteen.’
Louise gasped in surprise. ‘Why, that’s next door to me.’
His eyes opened slowly, something glittering in their depths that chilled her to the bone. ‘I know.’
How could he manage to make a simple statement sound like an accusation? And why should he want to? Just what did he have against her, apart from the fact that she’d made the mistake of smiling at him that morning and then offered to help him tonight?
Louise searched his face, but there was nothing there to supply an answer as he closed his eyes again and slumped against the wall. He groaned suddenly, one large hand pressed flat to his stomach, a flush of colour tingeing his angular cheekbones, and she studied him in consternation.
‘Look, I really do think you need a doctor. Let me see if I can find someone to call one out. You don’t know what could be wrong with you.’
He shook his head, running his hand over his forehead to wipe away the beads of perspiration. ‘No doctor. I don’t need one.’
‘Why? Because it might ruin the macho image to admit you’re ill?’ There was a sting to her words, and his eyes opened at once to centre disturbingly on her face.
‘I don’t need a doctor because I know exactly what is wrong with me. It has nothing whatsoever to do with image.’ His eyes travelled the length of her slender body, lingering meaningfully on the simple lines of her cream dress with its delicate white lace collar before lifting back to hers with mockery in their depths. ‘We don’t all put on an act, Miss Carter, as you obviously do.’
Perhaps it was her own fault for starting it, but she didn’t like the way he said that, nor the way he was looking at her! For a moment Louise battled with a desire to tell him exactly what she thought, before swallowing the heated words. It would achieve nothing to start an argument, only prolong this whole unpleasant episode, which was the last thing she wanted.
‘What is wrong with you, then?’ she asked quietly, ignoring the way one thick dark brow winged upwards with amusement when he realised she wasn’t going to retaliate.
‘Squid.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ She stared at him in astonishment.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair to push it back from his damp forehead. ‘I ate out tonight at a seafood restaurant. I specifically ordered that there should be no squid in the meal, but...’ He shrugged, then grimaced faintly as he clutched his stomach again. ‘I seem to be allergic to squid.’
‘Yet you still took a chance by opting for that kind of meal? How could you have been so foolhardy? Surely you could taste the squid so why did you eat it?’
‘No, I couldn’t taste it The fish was done in some kind of heavy sauce, and in fact I ended up leaving most of it, but obviously the damage had been done by then. I don’t expect this sort of mistake to be made when I have given specific instructions to guard against it. However, that is immaterial now. I shall deal with the restaurant tomorrow.’ He straightened with obvious effort as the lift arrived. ‘Now if you have quite finished with the lectures as to what I should and shouldn’t eat, is it too much to ask you to help me up to my room?’
A shiver ran through Louise as she took his arm, barely conscious of responding to the order. She wouldn’t like to be in that chef’s shoes tomorrow! Whoever he was, this man would be the wrong man to cross, so pity help the staff at that restaurant when he’d got through ‘dealing’ with them!
Within minutes they were outside his room. Louise steadied him against the wall, then took the key from his hand and unlocked the door, shooting a worried look at him when she felt the heat of his skin. Despite his temperature, she could see shivers racking his body, a sure sign that the allergic reaction had nowhere near run its course. Could she really in all conscience leave him alone with no one to help if he got worse?
She sighed as she opened the door and walked inside to switch on the lamps, casting a golden glow across the thick white carpet and white silken spread that covered the king-sized bed. His room was almost a duplicate of hers—huge, airy, the pale sea-green walls adding just the perfect hint of delicate colour. She would give anything just to say goodnight, go to her own room, and enjoy the quiet luxury but her infuriating conscience wouldn’t allow her to do that now that it was in full flight. The man was ill, and she couldn’t leave him; it went against everything she’d ever been taught. Decision made, she turned back to the door and took his arm to help him over to the bed, watching as he sank down on it with a sigh of weariness. He was obviously feeling rotten, and it had probably only been will-power that had kept him going this long—that and a generous measure of sheer bad temper. The very least she could do was try to make him comfortable.
‘Do you want me to help you into bed?’ she offered quietly.
‘No, I damned well don’t! Look, Miss Carter, perhaps you mean well. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I would appreciate it if you would just leave. Thank you for what you have done, and rest assur
ed that I shall see that you are suitably reimbursed for your time and effort.’
She drew back as though he had struck her, her eyes blazing at the insult. ‘I don’t want reimbursing! You can keep your money, Mr Ungrateful!’
‘And have you making some claim on me at a later date? I don’t think so. I know your type only too well, and I’m not fool enough to leave myself open like that.’ His eyes closed and he sank back against the pillows. ‘Now just get out of here, will you?’
There was a point when even the noisiest conscience should be silenced, and she had reached it. Without another word, Louise turned on her heel and strode towards the door, every nerve tingling with fury. How dared he speak to her like that? Just who did he think he—?
‘And don’t slam the door when you leave!’
She paused at the sound of that harsh, deep voice, her hand resting lightly on the door-handle, her brow puckering into a small frown. How had he guessed what she’d been only vaguely contemplating? She glanced round at where he was lying on the bed, trying hard to recall any previous, if fleeting, feelings of compassion for what he must be suffering, but funnily enough they all seemed to have disappeared.
A rather malicious smile curved her generous mouth and she took a slow, invigorating breath...then slammed the door behind her as hard as she could, listening to the muttered curse that echoed after it with a quite unworthy feeling of satisfaction.
It might have been petty, it was definitely childish, but by heaven it made her feel a whole lot better!
It was the crash that woke her, the sharp, nervestretching sound of glass shattering.
Louise reached for the small travel clock and peered at the illuminated dial for several seconds before her brain could make sense of it. Two a.m. What an unearthly hour to be woken up.
Playing at Love Page 1