The Player (Rouge Passion #1) Read online

  THE PLAYER

  J. D. CHASE

  © J. D. CHASE 2014 (All rights reserved)

  All characters in this book are fictitious and have no connection whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. All events are either a figment of my imagination or are linked to personal experiences! Any similarities are purely coincidental . . . or just plain luck!

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in a file retrieval system, or otherwise without the express permission of the author.

  This book is dedicated, as always, to my girls who put up with the hours of abandonment when I’m writing to a deadline and the potential embarrassment that their mum is a shameless sorcerer of smut. They say they’re proud of me for living my dream and for making it work, but I am far prouder of them for being the most amazing, gorgeous young ladies that I could wish for.

  I would also like to dedicate it to my other half, Chris Young, who also puts up with losing me to my laptop till 3 a.m., although bless him, he curls up on the sofa next to me as I write at night. His support knows no bounds . . . from moral to technical support, he’s my go-to guy. Oh, and he’s the cover model for this book . . . and the photographer . . . and the editor . . . Hopefully he’ll stop saying that it’s my round now that I’ve credited him in print!

  There are so many people to thank for their part in making my life easier and my writing better. First and foremost, my editor, Karen Perkins of LionheART Galleries and Publishing House. Not only is she a fabulous editor, she is a genuinely lovely person too. Secondly, my street team, The Chasers, who promote my work and spread the word to other readers. You ladies are awesome and I’ll be eternally grateful to you. Thirdly, my beta readers, who aren’t afraid to give me an honest critique. Your input is vital and I can never thank you enough.

  Every romance blogger that I ‘meet’ is lovely and they are invaluable to Indie authors like me. There are far too many to mention but some deserve a special shout out. Wendy and Claire of Bare Naked Words were fantastic after the release of my bestselling Orion the Hunter anthology. Thank you so much, ladies.

  Jo of Four Brits and a Book beta-read The Player for me, and arranged the cover reveal and blog tour. She is just wonderful! She’s also my co-conspirator for #KiltAid and is a fellow #KiltFlipper . . . although she said she would not bail out myself and fellow author, T Gephart, if we get arrested in Edinburgh at the Romance Author and Reader Event, which is just mean. So apologies to our readers if we were not at our tables to sign our books . . . blame Jo!

  Last, but by no means least, thank you to my fabulous readers . . . without you, none of this would be worthwhile. Some of you have been with me from the start and helped to get me through a year that was incredibly tough for personal reasons. I value your loyalty and friendship more than you know. Thank you for choosing to read my work . . . that’s the part that blows me away every day. And it is because of you that I can live the life I love. So thank you – every single one of you.

  J.D.C. xxx

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  More books by JD Chase

  Chapter One

  Isla shivered as she stepped out of the shower, a blatant reminder that, despite the unseasonal warmth of the past few days, it was still only spring and winter hadn’t quite released its grasp on the weather.

  I knew I shouldn’t have turned the bloody heating off she thought as she pulled the Egyptian cotton bath sheet tight around her curvy body. Let’s hope that’s the only mistake of the day. I can’t afford any more. Not today.

  The chilly air in her apartment proved to be beneficial as it encouraged her to hurry to get dressed and into work early. The only slight delay was when she reached for her toothbrush and, for the hundredth time, registered that there was now only one languishing in the holder. Her gaze flicked to the shelf under the mirror where the absence of bottles of aftershave and assorted men’s toiletries still felt like a punch in the stomach. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘It’s been almost six months,’ she whispered. ‘For fuck’s sake, get a grip.’ She forced her eyes open and proceeded to brush her teeth. She didn’t need distractions. Not today of all days.

  She looked at her reflection and prepared to give herself a pep talk if the shadow of him didn’t lift. Her long, wavy hair seemed to style itself, regardless of what she did. It shone like a fiery beacon under the halogen lights. At least it projected a picture of health, unlike her sallow skin tone. She looked tired, probably as a result of all the extra hours she’d been putting in at work – unpaid but hopefully worth it in the long run. She peered a little closer, noticing that her sapphire-blue eyes looked even darker than usual but then shrugged as she realized that it was probably just the contrast from the unusually pale skin that surrounded them. Her plump lips also looked less rosy than usual. ‘Nothing that a little tinted lip gloss won’t fix,’ she muttered, reaching for her make-up bag. ‘If I can fix my heart, I sure as hell can fix my appearance.’

  At a little after 7 a.m., smartly dressed in a black silk blouse under a grey tailored cashmere skirt suit and long black leather boots with a killer heel, she dashed from her apartment in Southgate, London to the nearby tube station. On the platform Isla joined a throng of other young and middle-aged professionals all looking less keen than she to begin yet another working week. She couldn’t wait to get to work that morning. The owner of the independent five-star hotel that six months before she’d joined out of sheer desperation as a ridiculously overqualified administrative manager had quickly determined her worth and promoted her to Assistant General Manager as soon as the vacancy arose – within two months of her initial appointment. Now she’d set her sights on the position of General Manager – which would be quite a feat for a twenty-seven-year-old who’d only been in the business for six months.

  And she had every reason to be hopeful that it would happen soon – perhaps that very day – for the hotel had been sold and today was the first working day under new ownership. The only irksome issue was that the details of the sale were shrouded in secrecy. Gerald Thompson, the previous owner, had shrugged when questioned, explaining that it was part of the terms of the contract that he didn’t reveal any information about the sale. The only thing he had said, was that Nigel, the general manager, had received a redundancy package as his services would no longer be required, which led Isla to believe that the new owner had realised just how useless Nigel was. She knew it only too well, having carried out half of his duties as well as her own for the previous four long months. She fervently hoped that his job would now be hers after Gerald had told her that he’d put in a good word for her and that he was confident she’d become the new GM.

  Standing there on the platform, she suddenly realised that she’d been so wrapped up in those thoughts she hadn’t really given much thought to what her new employer might be like. Gerald had pretty much left them to it and she hoped the new owner would do the same. She had so many ideas about how the hotel could do so much better, and she longed to be given a chance to make it into something special. She loved a challenge and couldn’t wait to get started.

&nbs
p; The train was crowded – standing room only as usual – when she stepped into the carriage, failing to notice the attention she drew from those around her, particularly the men. She’d grown up curvy-figured and flame-haired so it was nothing new. She usually found it annoying, presuming from past experiences that only the shallow men reacted to her in that way. Past experiences which had taught her that men mostly felt the need to refer to her physical attributes without knowing a thing about her personality. Oh yes, they thought they did. Red hair meant that she was feisty and sex mad. And maybe, before her heart had been torn in two, she’d been like that. Maybe once she’d even enjoyed the attention. It was hard to remember what life was like before that fateful day, six months earlier.

  She felt a nudge then heard, ‘Here, darlin’. Take my seat.’

  Isla looked over her shoulder and found a well-dressed man of around thirty, who continued to openly stare at her well-rounded backside, obviously in no rush to vacate his seat.

  She was about to turn back and ignore him when she noticed the person standing next to her, so instead she cleared her throat. The man looked up, a blank expression on his face. She stared at him pointedly and almost saw the penny drop. He shot up from his seat and gestured for her to sit. Instead, she turned to the elderly gentleman standing to her right and asked whether he’d like to take it. With a twinkle in his eye, the old guy nodded his thanks, sank into the seat and placed his battered, heavy satchel across his knees. Isla then turned back to the bewildered looking younger man and smiled as haughtily as she could manage. Women 1. Sex Pests 0.

  She hoped that was just the first well-deserved outcome of the day.

  By the time she alighted at Gloucester Road station she’d begun to feel quite curious about the new owner and whether they’d already made any changes over the weekend. The hotel had been closed to patrons and staff all weekend since the sale had gone through, late on Friday evening. ‘What if they’ve changed it?’ she muttered as she walked along, and then reasoned that they couldn’t have done much in just a couple of days.

  She gasped when she turned the corner and saw that the imposing Victorian building was now anonymous. The name of the hotel had vanished, as had all the other signs. It looked like an upmarket residential dwelling. There was literally nothing to identify it as a hotel. With each step she took towards the entrance with the revolving door that she’d always found so inviting, she found her palms growing just a little clammier and her chest feeling ever so slightly tighter.

  Questions ran through her mind: What if I get in there and I find that it’s no longer a hotel? What about the existing bookings? People are booked in tonight for fuck’s sake! How will they even find the place now? She stopped in her tracks. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep a lid on the panic that was threatening to rise up within her. Just get in there and see who’s bought it and what their plans are. There’s no point worrying over nothing.

  She set off again with a determined stride, looking more confident than she felt. She manoeuvred through the revolving door and was met by a wall of anxious staff. For the next fifteen minutes, she tried to reassure them that new signage took time to make and have installed, and that it was business as usual unless they were told otherwise. It was clear that none of them believed that she didn’t know who the new owner was or what was going on. None, that is, except Dean, the head barman, who patiently defended her until it was clear they were getting nowhere. Suddenly he snapped, put his arm around Isla’s shoulder, and propelled her towards her office, shouting to them to get back to work in case the new owner showed up.

  Once inside the office, he closed the door, leaned against it, and blew out a long breath. ‘Sorry, Isla, I know that’s probably the last thing you needed this morning. Especially since the same thoughts and concerns must be going around your head. When I got here, they were already gathering. I tried hard to reason with them but they’re convinced you know more than you’re letting on. I’m really sorry I couldn’t sort it. I did try.’

  His chocolate brown, puppy dog eyes were wide with sincerity and he looked crestfallen that he’d failed her. Isla noticed that he was clean-shaven for a change. It suited him but she missed the dark shadow of his immaculately trimmed stubble. He was a good-looking guy and the stubble gave him a rugged look; making him more Isla’s type. If she had a type any more . . . six months without a man. Or sex. Or intimacy of any kind. She missed that most. Sex was okay, but the closeness, snuggles and private jokes . . . their absence was what made a person lonely. She knew Dean liked her and there was a mutual attraction. They flirted a little but that was as far as it had gone. He often popped his head around the door when he rolled in around midday to get the bar in order for the day. With a start, she realised he was in work early. Very early. He must be as concerned as everyone else. Yet he was willing to step up and defend her and now he was blaming himself for failing to deal with something that was out of his control – and not part of his job.

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Dean.’ She smiled to reassure him. ‘The new owner isn’t here to tell them and us what the hell is going on so it’s natural for them to vent at the most senior member of staff. And, what’s more, I should know what’s happening. Well, in the absence of any instruction from the new owner, I’m going to run things exactly as they have been. If he or she deigns to make an appearance at some point, then I’ll make any changes they want. But until they show a bit of common decency and come and meet the staff, or at least communicate with us in some way, it’s business as usual.’

  He smiled back. ‘Atta girl! I love it when you’re feisty.’ He winked, making her laugh. ‘I know you’ve got this but you know where I am if you want to vent or perhaps need a hug . . .’

  She actually wouldn’t have minded a pair of strong arms around her. She found her gaze shifting not so subtly to his biceps, well-defined in a tight-fitting white t-shirt. And that chest . . . and abs . . . and NO! Not there! She quickly flicked her eyes away from below his belt where they’d strayed and back up to his, which were twinkling with amusement. She looked him squarely in the eye, glad that she never got embarrassed. His eyes lost their friendly twinkle and darkened slightly as his pupils dilated, drawing her in. The air charged with attraction and possibilities for a few seconds until he took a step towards her, but immediately he seemed to rethink because he announced that he’d better get the bar looking spick and span in case the new owner did make an appearance; and then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

  Isla continued to stare at the back of the door for a few seconds. She couldn’t decide whether she’d wanted him to close the distance between them or not. She’d noticed the way he looked at her and Bobbi, the head of housekeeping (who lusted after him like a dog in heat), often said she was jealous and how she’d do something about it before someone else snapped him up.

  Isla was attracted to him too, of that there was no doubt. She’d woken up more than once, hot and bothered after he’d featured in her dreams. But what had happened during the previous few minutes was the closest they’d come to doing anything about it. She’d sworn off men six months before, vowing that no man would ever hurt her again. She wouldn’t allow the opportunity to arise again and whenever she felt herself weakening in Dean’s presence, she pictured him behind the bar, lined by women all vying for his attention – some brazenly handing over their room number or phone number – and him flirtatiously returning the attention. That did the trick every time; she knew staying away was the right decision. If she didn’t give her heart, it couldn’t get broken.

  She had no reason to believe that he actually followed up any of those offers – there was certainly no evidence to say that he did – but he was a young, highly attractive, single guy, so what happened when he finished his shift on a Friday night, perhaps feeling horny after all the highly sexual banter? She knew he often went on to various nightclubs, joining up with his friends; and without the barrier of the bar or the r
isk of losing his job, she could well imagine what happened next.

  Shaking her head to clear images of him and other women she turned to her desk, telling herself she was just lonely, that was all. Thankfully, everything looked as it had when she’d left it on Friday.

  The rest of the morning passed in a blur. The only time Isla ventured out of her office, she was studiously ignored by Belinda, the bitchy, blonde receptionist. Isla knew that she’d be the ringleader if there were any further problems with the rest of the staff so she’d made a point of testing the water. She’d hoped to receive a lukewarm reception but she should have known it would be less than tepid. She’d snapped at Belinda, telling her to grow up, then stomped back to her office where she busied herself with making sure that she was on top of, not just her own work (she always was), but the general manager’s too.

  She was trying to decide what to do for lunch when there was a knock at her door, making her jump.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, ignoring the knot in her stomach.

  The door opened to reveal Dean carrying a tray of sandwiches. ‘Hey, Isla, I thought you might like some company for lunch. It seems I might be the only one who isn’t part of the stupid, childish game of ignoring you.’

  ‘Oh Dean, I thought it might be our new leader! And that’s all the staff now? I’d hoped it might just be Belinda,’ she replied wryly.

  ‘It was her idea, as you may have guessed, along with all the outrageous conspiracy theories that she’s been generating all morning long. The last thing I heard was you’re the new owner.’

  Isla burst out laughing. ‘That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows how much I’m struggling to make the mortgage payments on my flat – I’ve made no secret of that. Where on earth would I get the money to buy this place?’