“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
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
