Game of Love (30 page)

All night yesterday, she had hoped they’d be able to pick up where they had left off in LA, but with Tish there, her hopes had been thwarted. She had not been transparent with Tish when she had asked her to arrange Andre’s flight. She had not admitted she had already fallen for Andre. She had only said she wanted a chance to know him better as friends. A lot better, to be accurate.

She was attracted to him, no doubt. And she thought he felt the same. Not wanting to leave things to chance, she had taken some matters into her own hands. For one, her new dress was perfect. A silky black number that hugged her body with a hint of subdued seduction, while it still tipped on the side of classy. Also, this dress brought enough shape to her chest, feminizing her boyish figure. Additionally, now that her thigh was stronger, she wore two-inch heels, making her as tall as Andre. But she also knew heels made her calves pop. She didn’t see anything wrong with showing a little bit of the goods.

She watched Andre step through the hotel doors, her security flanking him on either side. They were focused and alert, while he floated with ease. Thankfully, no paparazzi were in sight. As always, Glen had done a superb job of losing his tails.

Andre wore a three-button tuxedo and a white scarf. She struggled with how a twenty-something carried himself like a thirty-something. He walked with long strides, while the tips of his shoes kicked out slightly. He seemed comfortable with everything he did.

Andre stepped into the limousine then froze in place, mouth partially open.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You look…” He paused, appraising her. “I don’t have the right words… only clichés come to mind.”

Gemma blushed. Her dress had worked, and his face said it all. “You’re being silly.”

“No. It’s true. You’ll slap me any second now–I can’t peel my eyes off you.”

“I won’t slap. Maybe an upper cut.”

He studied her. “Any fallout from yesterday?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“You want to talk about it?”

She grinned. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Whenever you’re ready. In the meanwhile, can I see your cell phone?”

“Sure, why?” She handed him her mobile.

“A little experiment.”

“What are you up to?”

“A harmless virus that your contacts will receive from you.”

“A what? Don’t do that.” She reached for her phone.

He tapped her hand away. “Trust me. Nothing will get damaged, and they’ll never know. What we get in return is information.”

“Is this legal?”

“Technically? No. But your peace of mind is more important than silly legal considerations.”

“Are you planning on telling me what you’re trying to find out?”

“Sure. As soon as you tell me about Georg and why you wanted to dismember him.”

Gemma didn’t know what to expect of the evening, but had decided she would make the most of it. They arrived at the Prime Minister’s residence on time. Ten Downing Street boasted over one hundred rooms, and had been the home of prime ministers for nearly three hundred years. Security was tight, but she and Andre passed through the prominent blast-proof steel door without trouble. They stepped into the entrance hall onto the famous black and white marble tiles.

“Gemma,” a voice boomed from another room. Prime Minister Beckford strode toward them, arms widespread, his wife next to him.

“Good evening, sir,” Gemma said.

He held her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. “Welcome.”

“Thank you. May I introduce you to–”

“Dr. Andre Reyes,” the PM said.

She spun from the PM to Andre, who was smiling too.

“Good to see you again, sir, I mean, Jeffrey.”

The PM eyed Andre. “It took Gemma for you to finally visit?” He shook Andre’s hand vigorously. “How are you, son?” He cupped Andre’s neck, an act of endearment, like an older brother or a loving uncle. She wasn’t sure what to make of this odd scene.

“I am fantastic,” Andre said. “It’s nice to see you both. It’s been too long.”

“How many times have we asked you to visit?” the PM’s wife asked.

“Excuse me, but you know each other?” Gemma asked, confused.

“Yes, my dear. You keep great company. We’ve known Andre for years. Also, this young man has done more for the United Kingdom than I can possibly say. In fact, I can’t say; it’s classified.” He winked.

“Let’s go to the drawing room, shall we,” his wife said, taking Andre’s arm. “The guests are eager to see you, Gemma.”

The Pillard Drawing Room, though sparsely furnished, held a majestic aura. A portrait of Queen Elizabeth I hung over the fireplace and a luxurious Persian carpet covered the majority of the hardwood floor.

As Gemma stepped in, the eight other guests applauded and cheered. She was certain her tanned skin reddened. In a moment of inspiration, she curtsied, to everyone’s delight.

Over the next hour, she introduced Andre to the guests. She observed how he melded easily with the aristocracy of London, yet he remained constant. He was the same person, no matter who he met or where he was.

She was asked about the American by some, to which she replied, “He’s an old friend, and has also worked with the Prime Minister in the past.” She was grateful no one pressed, but also hoped she wouldn’t see articles about him anytime soon.

Inside the State Dining Room, Andre and Gemma sat together. She wondered if anyone would run to the press about her and Andre. She hoped not.

Andre leaned in and whispered, “You’re somewhere else. Be in the moment. Enjoy it.”

She put her hand on his and mouthed,
Thank you
. When she turned, she saw the Prime Minister observing her, grinning. She withdrew her hand.

The ringing of silver on crystal chimed through the room.

“A moment, please,” the Prime Minister said.

Conversations came to a close, and the faces turned to him.

“I’d like to say a couple of words. By now you are well aware that I’m not shy about saying a few words.”

Polite laughter rolled through the room.

He raised his glass and studied Gemma. “The United Kingdom is proud of you. Your heroic battle last week brought an unparalleled feeling of hope to the people. You are an inspiration to all.”

Applause filled the room.

“Most of you may also know I’m fairly competitive and a sports fanatic. Therefore, I’d like to make a request of you, Gemma.”

The PM raised his glass higher.

“Next week, you embark on Wimbledon. This is our country, our sport, and you are ours. Win the championship for your country.”

The guests applauded and cheered, but Gemma heard nothing. She felt as if she had been shoved in a bathtub filled with ice water, drowning and numb. She could only pass one command to her brain–
smile
–as the weight of England itself settled on her shoulders.

“If I may,” she heard Andre say as he pushed his chair back and stood. She studied him as he lifted his glass. “My uncle used to say, ‘
Do what you love, and magic is possible.
’” Andre and the PM exchanged smiles.

“I have known Gemma for some time now,” he said then glanced at her, their eyes locked, “and I can comfortably say that whatever happens, on or off the grass, she is a warrior unlike any other. Gemma, we all want to see you fully recovered so you can bring us all years of magic. First, get better. When you do step on the grass, bring the love, the passion you have for the game to your opponents. With love, magic is possible. And while you’re at it,” he scanned around conspiratorially, “be sure to kick some ‘Merican arse,” he said in a flawless Scottish accent.

The room erupted in laughter, applause, and side conversations.

“We may have just witnessed the making of a new American politician,” the PM said.

“No sir, not me. I solve problems, not cause them.”

The laughter thundered through the dining room. He glanced at her. She winked at him, thankful for coming to her rescue. Again.

After dinner, the guests went to the terrace. The scent of cognac and Cuban cigars floated over the rose garden. Andre was talking to the Prime Minister when Gemma slid her hand through the crook of his elbow.

“May I steal him for a few moments?” she asked the PM.

“Of course.” He turned, but paused, considering something. “Gemma, I just had a brilliant idea. My only daughter, Emily, is getting engaged in a couple of months. Why don’t you join Andre as his guest?” He glanced at Andre.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, staring at both men, who seemed to be locked in a staring contest. “That’s very sweet.” They continued staring at each other. “I’ll be sure to get details from Andre. Thanks again.”

“It’s my pleasure,” the PM said, grinning, still locked onto Andre. He winked then walked away.

She tugged Andre, moving him deeper into the terrace. “What was that all about?”

“The man’s a brilliant politician and strategist. Never mind. How are you, Gem?”

“Tired, elevated, and scared. But who cares about me? I want to know how you know the bloody PM.”

“That is classified, Miss Lennon,” Andre said in a dignified, thickened voice.

“You’ve done work for the UK?”

“Without giving away classified information, one of the services I provide is to help track terrorists through their communication–chatter.”

Her mouth opened. “You do that type of work too?”

“It’s my specialty. In fact, that was my claim to fame when I was fifteen. I helped Homeland Security and the National Security Agency decode a bunch of chatter that led us to arrest a lot of bad guys. I got to meet the president. Can you imagine? A fifteen-year-old kid meeting the President of the United States because he helped get the bad guys.”

“Unreal,” she said. “You must suffer from superhero complex.”

“No, not at all. I don’t see it as a complex.”

They strolled farther into the shadowy terrace. She squeezed tight into him.

“Do you really believe with love, magic is possible?”

“Absolutely. I think you do too. At the Aegon you tapped into something primal when the rest of us thought you had reached the end of your championship run. If you can tap into the source, then you can accomplish anything.”

She managed to smile. “I’d like to tap that source right now,” she said as the space between their lips disappeared. His lips were gentle, warm, and loving. The taste of cognac on his mouth, which should have made her sick, was somehow sweet and pleasant now. Her hands dropped to her side, giving in to him. She wanted to worry about the people there, the people who would betray her, but she was powerless to speak or move. Instead, she remembered his words. “
You’re somewhere else. Be in the moment.
”

A flare of heat rumbled in her chest and expanded.

“I think they’re over here,” someone said, her voice dangerously close.

Gemma broke her lips away and spun to Andre’s side before his eyes had even opened.

“What–” he began, but Gemma stopped him.

“Are you looking for me?” Gemma said as she briskly walked in the direction of the voice.

“No, my dear,” the PM’s wife said, “I was showing the guests my prize rose bushes.”

Gemma’s shoulders slumped.
Great.