Playing with Fire

Book 0: The Scarlet Series

by Toria Lyons

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Shy homebody Sophie Edwards has had enough of being taken advantage of. It?s time she grew a backbone, starting with venturing on a singles holiday, one where she?s free to come out of her shell. Rugby player and rare gentleman Marcus Coetzee thinks it?s time he lived a little. Marcus knows he?s not being straight with Sophie, but as they spend more time together the sparks between them ignite into a firestorm of erotic sensations. Succumbing to the temptation of what they've kindled, they revel in the attraction between them. However, as the end of Sophie?s holiday draws near, do they continue the deception and douse the blaze, or do they come clean and let the flames become eternal?

Release date: November 16, 2015

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 242

Sample

Chapter One

Marcus didn’t think it was possible to continue breathing with his heart ripped out. But he still lived, and he could even pretend to smile and joke with the rest of the wedding party.

Why had he turned up to Clare’s wedding? Why hadn’t he made some kind of excuse to miss it? To avoid seeing the only woman he’d ever felt strongly for reconfirm her vows and take herself out of his reach, forever? Maybe he was a masochist. He was ultimately happy for her though – somehow she had tamed the wildest of them all.

Did Alex deserve her? In Marcus’ opinion, the jury was still out.

He was relieved that he’d never made a proper pass at her. That would have been really awkward. At least he would still see her next season at rugby training. Well, until she became pregnant like he suspected her friend Sarah would soon be. Just the thought of that made him down another drink.

Sophie was used to being invisible, but she had hoped that Marcus, as her “escort” for the day, would pay her a little more attention. She had spent hours ensuring she looked elegant – the stylish, pale pink halter-neck dress was a stark contrast to how she had dressed during those awkward first months at Harford. Sophie loved the pretty outfit, and the contrasting darker pink ribbon fascinator adorning her pixie haircut. Her natural, light brown shade might hardly have been unique, but it looked so much better than the long, horrible, matte black it had been previously.

Not that Marcus had registered it at all – his thoughts were elsewhere. He hid it well, but she picked up on the odd wistful glance towards Clare, and the forced laughter and smiles. It didn’t really matter, anyway: she found him attractive, but he wasn’t her type. Far too tall, too blond, too clean cut, too nice? No, that wasn’t right.

Sophie frowned and looked him up and down, trying to think what exactly it was about him that day. Apart from his lack of attention. She just couldn’t work it out. So she had another drink.

Marcus was relieved when the speeches finished. In a couple of hours, he could escape to his hotel room. Not all of the Harford Park players had been able to travel to Scotland for the ceremony – he was one of a handful “lucky” enough to be invited. A few photos of the Park contingent dressed up to the nines and he would slink off.

He wouldn’t even be part of the team for a while – after another season interrupted by injury, he was going on loan to a South African outfit for the summer, and was leaving Harford as soon as the final, end of season whistle had blown. Only a few days to go. Of wishing that he was in Alex’s place. He laughed cynically and lifted his refilled glass in time for the final cheer. ‘Here’s to heartbreak,’ he muttered under his breath, and downed the whole flute of champagne.

Sophie’s hearing wasn’t any better than average, however she could guess Marcus’ toast didn’t carry the same sentiments as the rest of the room felt. Her own glass had been topped up by the same waiting staff that had needed to return so quickly to Marcus’ glass. After that, they just left the bottle on the table. She took another gulp, grabbed the bottle, and refilled both of their flutes to the brims.

‘Ow. Ow. Ow.’

Sophie had never, ever had a blinding headache like the one she had at that moment, and a mouth as parched as the Sahara. Why had she had quite so much to drink?

‘Arrgh.’ She went to lift a hand to her head but something stopped her, pinching and tugging at the back of her hand. It felt like … wires? What the hell?

She was lying on her back, her head propped up by pillows. She never slept on her back. Ever. Something was beeping around her, and the soft shuffle of people moving. The smell of … antiseptic?

Her other hand was free and she patted it over to the first. It felt like there was a needle in the back of her hand. Her eyes flew open and she winced at the bright light before she was able to focus.

‘Heita bokkie, you are back with us.’ A rotund woman in a nurse’s uniform hovered over her, her brown face alight in a friendly smile.

‘Wh – where am I?’ Her voice sounded rusty as her throat was dry.

‘Here, some water,’ the nurse fed her a straw. ‘You’re at the Groote Schuur, you had an accident in the city yesterday. Just a few sips, please. I’m Thandiwe, but call me Tandy. I am your nurse.’

The nurse had a familiar, clipped accent Sophie just couldn’t place. ‘The Groot … groot … where’s that, please?’

‘Why, Cape Town, of course.’

‘Cape Town!’ shrieked Sophie, and shot upright. The movement made her head feel like it was going to explode, and the world swam around her. ‘Ow! Oh, help!’

Tandy grabbed a bowl just in time for Sophie to vomit up the little water she had drunk. ‘Sshhh, keep yourself as still as possible. You’ve had a nasty bang to your head and ribs.’

Once Sophie had returned her head to the pillows, the world steadied again. She took some cautious breaths as the nausea and pain receded. Tandy gave her a glass of water to swill her mouth out, and the horrible taste began to abate.

She warily eyeballed the room – it was clearly a hospital. ‘I don’t remember … I live in the UK, I don’t know how I got here.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s quite common for things to be fuzzy when you come around. It’ll return to you in the next few hours,’ reassured Tandy. ‘Do you remember your name?’

‘Of course, it’s Sophie. Sophie Edwards.’ She reeled off her London address and phone number, but Tandy wasn’t writing it down. ‘Don’t you need to know who I am?’

Tandy smiled comfortingly. ‘Relax now. We managed to find out from your belongings. Your husband will be here soon.’

‘Husband?’ squeaked Sophie in confusion, and went to move again, but warning pain and disorientation kept her in one place.

‘Ja, he is lekker, a lovely man. He has been sitting with you while you’ve been unconscious. Look, here he is now.’

Sophie stared at the familiar, well-built figure walking towards the bed. ‘Marcus? You’re my husband?’

He looked relieved to see her conscious and smiled. ‘Sophie, love, thank goodness you’re awake.’

‘But … you are my husband? I … I’m so confused.’

Tandy interjected, ‘Sophie has only just woken up, and she’s having some memory problems. This is all perfectly normal with knocks to the head, so don’t be worried.’ She whispered that she would be back later with some medicine, and melted into the background.

‘We’ve been so worried about you, you’ve been out for almost a day.’ Marcus went to kiss her and she shrank away, conscious of the trace of vomit still remaining on her breath. He looked hurt.

‘Marcus, please. I’m sorry, I’ve just been sick,’ she apologised.

He started panicking slightly. ‘Are you OK? Shall I call Tandy back?’

‘I’m fine, I’m just a little … confused. Please, give me a few moments.’ She took a deep breath and felt a twinge of pain. She looked down at her hands – the one without the needle was bruised purple. She rolled up her sleeve to see the discolouration continue. Her ribs were also tender; it hurt if she took a deep breath, but it was bearable.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a wall clock with a calendar. She squinted at it, trying to figure out the date. She blinked again. What? She was missing over four weeks!

Somehow, in just over a month, she’d travelled to South Africa, got married, and landed in hospital. Her thoughts were whirring around her tender brain but she sought to pacify him. ‘Marcus, my memory’s a little fuzzy at the moment. I remember the wedding. I wore pink, but that’s it.’

He tried smiling at her, the worry clear in his eyes. ‘That’s OK. As Tandy said, the doctors warned me you would be a little confused. It may take a while for your memories to come back.’

‘But why am I here?’

‘You were hit by a passing minibus in Cape Town. You were carrying a copy of the wedding photo and the hospital got in contact after one of the rugby-mad doctors recognised me. I’m afraid your handbag has disappeared, and we can’t find your purse, passport, or phone. You’re in a private room, my family’s insurance covers it.’

She figured out what was missing. ‘Did I not want a ring?’

‘A what?’

Her voice rose in panic, ‘Rings. I have no rings. I can’t be married to you, I have no wedding or engagement rings!’

Marcus patted her uninjured hand soothingly and started rummaging in a pocket. Sophie watched in awe as he brought out a couple of glittering rings and carefully slid them on to her ring finger. They fitted perfectly.

‘That better? They X-rayed you and didn’t find anything broken, but they didn’t want to leave the rings on when you were unconscious in case of swelling,’ he blathered.

The rings, however tasteful, felt alien on her hand. Sophie frowned, waiting for the jumble of memories in her head to right themselves. The wedding? She vaguely remembered a wedding. Maybe a plane journey? A sun-drenched city? She winced from the extra effort.

‘Don’t try to force things,’ instructed Marcus firmly. ‘I’ve had concussion before and it’ll just make your head hurt more. It probably thumps enough already.’

Sophie smiled weakly in agreement. ‘That’s true. So, what have you been up to?’

‘Just rugby training. I missed the session yesterday as I was here, but had to pop in briefly today.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I’ll be starting for the Cup match this weekend, it’s a massive opportunity to show what I can do. Hopefully you’ll be feeling fit enough to pop along as we planned.’

Marcus was talking as if she would know what he was on about. As she searched her fuzzy memories, her head began to thump again in warning.

Tandy hurried back just in time with a cup of tablets and a glass of water. ‘Here, it’s time for these.’

Sophie murmured her thanks and swallowed the tablets as Marcus continued, ‘I managed to contact your parents. They said they were glad to know you were OK …’ he trailed off, not seeming to know what to say.

‘It’s that obvious my parents aren’t really interested in me, isn’t it?’ She laughed harshly, ignoring the daggers of physical and mental pain it caused. ‘They have their interests, and their erstwhile daughter isn’t one of them.’

Surprise and sorrow flashed across his face, but before she could think more of it, Sophie suddenly felt rather sleepy with the medication kicking in. She yawned. ‘Marcus, Tandy, I need … sleep …’ Blackness descended fast and she drifted off.

When she came round, the setting sun was shining through the blinds on her window. No one else was in the room, so she had chance to think. The events leading up to her current predicament were blurred, but maybe she could start with remembering further back, perhaps to when she had moved to London? She dozed for a while, trying to sort through assorted memories. All was fine until autumn, soon after she had started following Harford Park RFC …

Sophie tripped over the kerb and cursed under her breath as pain shot through her big toe. She swore again as she looked down at her tender foot. Typical. She’d hardly had the coat of nail varnish on five minutes and she’d already ruined the pedicure. The girls would think she was useless again.

This is how they wanted her to dress, but Sophie could not understand why. Her open-toed sandals were too high for her, the skirt she wore was too short, and her cleavage? Well, she’d not inherited her mother’s biggest assets, that was for certain.

She looked like a child playing dress-up … in hooker clothes.

Moving more carefully, she wobbled to the bus stop, shivering as her whitened breath hung in the air. Even in sky-high heels, she was barely past five feet tall, and her slight build made her look even smaller. She was used to people bumping into her, not seeing her. Everything else about her was average.

After taking her shopping, Andrea had frogmarched her to the hairdressers for her nondescript brown hair to be dyed black and cut heavily around her face in one of the latest fashions, which Andrea had insisted suited her. Sophie wasn’t convinced, and was fed up of its straw-like texture. It was also a nightmare to style; the dye and constant straightening had dried it out even further, and she was sure the heavy, frizzy fringe wasn’t a good look for her. Plus, it was already time to colour the roots.

The bus drew up as she reached the stop. At least one thing was going her way – any longer and she would freeze to death. The bus’s route would take her straight to the nightclub where the girls were heading. She swiped her pass as she got on and the vehicle pulled away, seconds later crawling past the entrance to her house. Instead of going out, she wished that she could be curled up at home with one of the books she’d borrowed from the library several hours earlier – hours before she’d departed to shiver by the touchlines of the Harford Park pitch; hours before she’d gone home to change from too-tight jeans to scanty clubbing gear. She stifled a yawn while she found a safe-looking seat by an old lady, and tried to ignore the look of disgust directed at her skimpy outfit.

The bus trundled on its way, the seconds and minutes ticking away frighteningly fast. Andrea was going to kill her: she wasn’t immaculate, and added to that, she was going to be late – even though it wasn’t physically possible to travel home, change, and get to the club by bus in the time given. And taxis were too expensive while she was saving for her dream holiday.

Not for the first time, she wondered what her life would be like if she hadn’t known Andrea from school, if she hadn’t responded to a message on that social networking site. Probably a lot more peaceful.

She actually enjoyed the rugby games they went to, and was trying to learn the rules. Or was it laws? None of the other girls had the slightest interest in the game; they just liked to watch the men in their skin-tight kit and discuss which of them had the best body, the best face, the best technique in bed. And bitch about everything else.

Sometimes, she gazed enviously at the sensibly clad supporters who gathered every week, laughing and joking together. Although the vast majority of the group were male, there were a few women, not much older than she was, who joined them. A few of them were in relationships with the players. Andrea had been very annoyed about this, particularly as one of them was rich as Croesus and the other was an ex-bedpartner of hers who she was convinced found her irresistible. Some days, Sophie’s envy of the happier group became so bad she purposely blocked them from her mind and view.

Her phone beeped with a message and she cringed when she saw it was from Andrea.

Change of plan, we’re at Jester’s in Harford. Hurry up. A.

Great. Her bus was headed in completely the wrong direction.

An hour later, she was hidden behind the others in the crowded bar, watching the coats and drinks again, and wincing as, wobbling, she shifted her weight from one foot to another. Once she had defrosted, her feet had really started to hurt. Moving didn’t make the shoes any less painful, so she bent down to rub one foot.

Just as she lifted a strap away from her reddened skin, she was barged slightly. ‘Eek!’ she squeaked, tottering and desperately trying not to fall on her face.

‘Sorry.’ An arm steadied her. ‘I didn’t see you down there!’

Sophie carefully stood upright, to meet a broad, shirt-covered chest wearing a Harford tie. One of the players.

‘That’s OK, it’s my fault for wearing such stupid shoes,’ she acknowledged wryly, daring to take a peek up at him through her long fringe.

‘I wouldn’t call them stupid, but being comfortable in what you’re wearing is far more attractive. You look like you’re in pain,’ bluntly observed the blond player.

She vaguely recognised him in the dim light. Something beginning with “M”? Marcus! As she remembered, he smiled kindly at her to soften his remark, and carried on his way through the bustling crowd towards the bar.

Wow! He was lovely. Andrea would be spitting feathers if she saw them talking: she’d been after him for months. He was rather shy and very good at escaping.

A few minutes later, he passed by again with a tray of shots, smiled at her, and handed one over. ‘Here, you look like you need it.’

Sophie took the glass, nervously muttering her thanks. As he disappeared, she took a sip. And coughed. ‘Bloody hell!’ The tipple caught the back of her throat, but the burn was strangely enjoyable. She downed the rest, stifling further coughs.

A few minutes later, the girls returned and without a word of thanks, grabbed their drinks and bags. Sophie muttered about going to the loo and escaped their inane, tipsy or bitchy chatter.

The cubicle was blissfully quiet compared to the bar, and Sophie took her time, pulling out her phone and checking the updates on a rugby forum she’d just joined. Her handle and avatar didn’t identify her as female – she quite enjoyed the anonymity of asking questions about the rugby she’d watched and getting some knowledgeable replies along with a fair bit of banter. She giggled, the alcohol kicking in as she posted a couple of cheeky responses.

After she’d dawdled as much as she could, she left the cubicle and spuriously washed her hands before repairing her make-up. Thankfully, for once, it had mostly stayed in place. She couldn’t say the same for her mop of blackened straw. The bright lights leached even more colour from her cheeks, making her look anaemic. She had no idea why Andrea had insisted on that hairstyle.

Bracing herself, she pulled open the door as two girls barrelled in, barging her slender frame to the side. More people who didn’t notice her in real life. ‘Excuse me,’ she muttered.

Sighing with regret – a night with her newly-borrowed books would have been far more enjoyable – she started making her way back. The girls were still standing gossiping. They didn’t even acknowledge her return, but within minutes had left her alone with the drinks again as they trooped off to the loos themselves.

‘Still here?’ Marcus was passing with yet another tray of shots. ‘Here,’ he handed her another small glass.

She smiled, ignoring her automatic reaction to refuse, and downed it in one, hiding the reflexive cough. She grinned with a flush of success.

He laughed at her and handed over another before continuing on his way.

Sophie downed that one too. Her bravery made her giggle; this was most unlike her. She began swaying to the music and humming. Her feet had miraculously stopped hurting.

She didn’t even mind terribly when the girls returned and immediately left her again. In the shadows, she could happily sway around. The shots had given her just enough buzz to relax and enjoy the music and people-watching. Time flew until the girls reappeared, and she decided to wander off again, this time to have a look at the diff. . .