Scored by Lily Harlem Page A

kit,” he said. “I bet the top would come down to your knees. You’re so little.”
    I grinned and nodded. “Yep, they do, I look, well, ridiculous.”
    His smile dropped and he tipped his head. “So what about you?”
    “What about me?”
    “You got a husband, boyfriend, hot journalist type waiting back home for you?”
    I thought of Big Ben singing his song in the elevator. Surely it was obvious I was alone. Though I suppose my rampant rabbit could have been a present from a lover who knew I’d be missing bedroom action for a few weeks. Sadly that wasn’t the case. Big Ben really was the one and only cock in my life. “No, I’m young, free and single. Concentrating on my career at the moment.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “That I am concentrating on my career or that I’m young, free and single?”
    “The single bit.”
    I held up my left hand and wriggled my empty ring finger. “I think the fact that I can be a bit accident prone and have a tendency to be mouthy puts guys off.”
    “Ah, the sexist pig comment.”
    I frowned and dropped my hand. “Mmm, I was wondering when that would come up.”
    “It was funny. Fellows’ face was a picture.”
    “But I shouldn’t have said it, it really wasn’t very professional.”
    “What wasn’t professional was the fact that every other reporter in the room had been given a chance to ask their question and you hadn’t. That was unprofessional.”
    “I suppose, but it’s no secret Fellows doesn’t like women around the beautiful game.”
    “Well he’s going to have to snap out of it. Because not only are a huge percentage of our fans female, the guys, as I think today at the pool proved, are very appreciative of the opposite sex.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “Is it absolutely necessary to keep bringing up that mortifying moment? Every time I manage to stop withering in shame it seems to get mentioned again. By you.”
    A flash of humor lit his eyes. “What can I say, I may have bought you a new non-see-through bikini, but that’s not to say I didn’t like you in the white one.”
    Dropping my head into my palms, I groaned. “Please, no more talk of it.”
    He chuckled and I heard him place his cup down on the table. “I’d best get going. I need to start on the required eight hours sleep insisted upon by Fellows.”
    I looked up. Lewis was standing, towering tall and wide over me. “Yes, you should, you have a big day tomorrow. I’d hate to be responsible for you not getting your rest and performing badly against France.”
    “They’ll be a piece of cake.”
    I stood, expecting him to move toward the door. But he didn’t—he stayed stock still, looking down at me.
    “You’re feeling confident then,” I asked, noticing my line of sight was only just level with the dip of his throat.
    “About France?”
    “Yes.”
    “France I have figured out. If only everything in life was so simple.”
    “As simple as a game? Sure if everything we did had rules and teams and winners and losers then perhaps the world would run more smoothly.”
    “Trouble is, everyone wants to be on the winning team, and that can’t be the case.”
    “I guess not.” I smiled and reached down for the two cups. His closeness was sending darts of heat to my nipples and the last thing I wanted was for him to spot them straining against my pajama top. “And talking of winning, you have a hell of a lot on your shoulders over the next few weeks.” I looked up at him, thought what fine shoulders he had to cope with the strain, but still, the eyes of England were on him. “How do you cope? I mean, if we win then you’ll be a hero, or rather, more of a hero than you already are. But if it all goes horribly wrong you’ll be named and shamed, criticized with no mercy. They’ll need someone to blame and to jab with voodoo needles.”
    He frowned. “It’s not the first time I’ve captained the country in a major tournament. Sometimes we win, sometimes we don’t get the