Game of Love (7 page)

The room faded. No one else was in the world, only the two of them.

Gemma’s self-assured smile faded while the flames danced in his eyes. “I would have cleared it up,” she finally said.

“I didn’t see you or Bedric jumping in.”

How could she explain that she didn’t want to draw attention to herself? “It’s complicated.”

“Not to me.”

“But you are not me. And like I said, I would have cleared it up. In fact, we did. Afterwards.”

He raked his hands through his hair. “Looks like you’ve answered my question.”

She shot him a quizzical look.

“If not me, then who,” he continued in a warm voice. “I guess it would have been you. I’m glad I’m not alone.” He produced a handsome, yet honest smile.

Gemma cleared her throat. “I do apologize for being such a git. Not only for causing the accident, but also for questioning your motivation.”

“No worries. I don’t hold grudges.”

His words rang true. Apologizing hadn’t been so hard after all. “Good. Let me buy you a drink. As a peace offering.”

“Didn’t realize we were at war. But since we’re coming clean, I need to apologize as well.”

“Oh? What for?” What would he say? Because I was starstruck? Because I wanted to see if I can get a chance with Gemma?

He rubbed his face and grimaced. “For staring at you. It’s a bad habit, but I’m not a pervert. Promise. You can ask my aunt.”

Tish giggled, and Gemma smiled. “You were staring? At me? Why would a well-mannered American like you do that?”

“I don’t want this to come across as a line–because it’s not. But it was your eyes. Even now, sitting here in the dark, I find it hard to grasp the impossible brilliance of your eyes. It’s insane how beautiful they are.”

Gemma could feel Tish’s stare, but she didn’t dare look, nor break eye contact with Andre. Heat flared on her forehead. “I’ll accept that–line or no line.”

“Good, because I was about to propose a trade: I’d forgive the second-degree burn if you forgive the innocent gawking. Now I can hold on to my bargaining chip for the future.”

“Oh? You have future plans for us?”

“Pardon me.” They spun toward the middle-aged English woman.

“Hate to interrupt, but can I please have your autograph for my daughter?” she asked. “She adores you. It would make her year.”

“Absolutely. What’s her name?” Gemma asked.

After the lady walked away, Gemma glanced at Andre, who appeared confused.

“Are you famous?” he asked.

Tish threw her head back and laughed, pounding the table.

Gemma searched his eyes. Was he serious? Did he really not recognize her?

Andre scanned from one to the other. “Should I know you?” His eyes widened. “That came out all wrong. Didn’t mean it that way.”

Gemma wondered if he was pulling her leg, but his boyish honesty made it impossible for her not to believe him. “It’s no big deal. Some people know me,” she said. How ironic that her anonymity made her feel special.

“Boy, this would’ve been a real bad first date,” he said.

A small snort escaped Gemma, and she immediately covered her mouth. She didn’t snort. She hadn’t snorted since she was eight. Her eyes froze on his. The moments ticked away.

Tish cleared her throat. “G, hate to break this up, but you have an early start tomorrow.”

Gemma glanced at the time. “Blimey! It is late. I must turn in for the night,” she said, forcing out the words.

“Yeah, me too. Hopefully I’ll see you around,” Andre said as he slid out of the booth. “Maybe at breakfast.” He grinned, then walked away.

Gemma studied the way he moved and how his pants fit him just right.

“A bit dishy,” Tish said, her eyes trained on Andre’s arse.

“Bloody hell, Tish,” Gemma hissed.

They scooted out, leaving from the furthest exit and avoiding Andre’s table. The women moved briskly toward the lifts.

“What was that all about?” Tish asked in a harsh whisper.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Looked like nothing to me as well. Typical fan, but isn’t a fan. In fact, he has no clue who you are, but you pulled a Spanish Inquisition on him because he helped some waitress. Then you sound daft, because he actually did what a decent person should do. Nope, nothing at all. I can see that, clear as day.”

Gemma tried to keep her composure. “So, what did you think of him?”

“Handsome–did you see those biceps?–young, but talks like a man, and actually has no clue who you are, but was mesmerized by your eyes. Though frankly, my eyes are prettier, but that’s neither here nor there. Clearly a sorry excuse of a man. Shall I get his number?”

“Can you just pretend to be professional? Why I hired my best friend to be my assistant, I’ll never know.”

They broke into laughter as they stepped into the lift. Tish placed an arm around Gemma’s shoulders.

“Seems like a decent bloke,” Gemma said. “I guess I was wrong about him.”

“Hold the presses. You have both apologized and declared you were wrong, all in the span of ten minutes. This must be a sign of the apocalypse.”

Gemma closed her eyes and daydreamed of his bright silver eyes and honest smile. But like all others, once he realized who she was, those same eyes would probably see opportunity.

“They all start that way, don’t they?” Tish said.

“Sorry?”

“Decent, charming. Then the profit motive kicks in. So hard to trust anyone.”

Gemma was silent.

“Speaking of lost trust…” Tish eyed Gemma. “I received an odd note from Johnny’s assistant saying he would not make it to your next match. The ‘brilliant one’ sends his apologies.”

Gemma pulled away from Tish’s hold. “Why would that daft cow think I was expecting him?”

“You tell me.”

“Who were you talking to earlier?” Roger asked Andre once Franck left.

Andre knew better than to tell this man the truth. “Someone I met earlier today.”

“I see,” Roger said. Silence joined their table for a few moments. “I am concerned with some of our newer recruits.”

Andre glanced at him. “Why’s that?”

“They seem to struggle with keeping their priorities straight.”

A headache tore at Andre’s right temple.

“I preach to all our young consultants that there will come a time for all that other romance stuff. Now is when they have the opportunity to set the world on fire with their intellect.” He finished his glass of wine and rose. “I wish they were more like you. I mean, look at what you’ve accomplished so far,” Roger added. “You know how to keep your eye on the prize, son.” The winning smile emerged. “And in your case, with your retention bonus on the horizon, that prize will be a game changer.”

“Speaking of which,” Andre said, “I’m getting married right after. Will you attend?”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

They both laughed, but Andre knew the truth behind Roger’s joke. If Roger suspected that Andre planned to bail once he got his bonus, the next six months would redefine misery.

“Whoever said, ‘It’s not whether you win or lose that counts,’ probably lost.”
~Martina Navratilova

ranck, this is awesome,” Andre said. “I’ve never been to a tennis match.” They strolled through the pathways of Roland Garros observing the ad hoc street performers, scanning the various stores, and shops.

“Our pleasure,” Franck said. “I expect you will cheer for your countrywoman.”

“That’s the plan. I hear she’s scary-good in person.”

“Yes, but so is her opponent. She is the best server in the game.”

“Nice. Should be a great battle.”

He could have spent hours people watching. The smiles, the laughter, the incessant buzz, and intermingled languages from countless countries. As unsettling as they were, even the mimes were almost enjoyable. Almost. The energy was undeniable. A mass of people from across the globe brought together for one common love: tennis.

This was well worth delaying his flight by a day. He couldn’t recall doing anything remotely like this in… well… forever.

Tomorrow morning he’d return home. For now, he’d revel in this match. And tonight, he’d return to the hotel bar with hopes Gemma would show up. He had checked every night, but since their first encounter, there was no sign of either Gemma or her friend.

They joined Roger in the stadium. The athletes had not taken the court for warm ups yet. The seats couldn’t have been better. Dead center, facing the judge, four rows off the court. He needed more of this. And he would do more. Soon.

Electricity ran through the crowd when the announcer introduced Sonia as she took the court. He finally felt his age, screaming, hooting, and hollering.

Mixed with the loud cheering and painful echo, the unintelligible blare of the announcer said, “
Representing Great Britain
–
”
but Andre was not able to catch anything else. Cheers escalated to a roar, resonating throughout his body.

“Wow, she’s got loud fans,” Andre screamed in Franck’s ear. “Lennon, was it?”

“Lennon. Gemma Lennon.”

Confusion stunned him.

Wilkins vs. Lennon.

Great Britain.

Lennon is Gemma Lennon.

Gemma is the tennis player?

At that instant, Gemma marched out. She wore an all black outfit, her toned body glistened, her ponytail danced. She was radiant. His heartbeat slowed, his lungs labored, and his brain stopped. He stood transfixed.

She waved to the crowd, who cheered in an explosion of love even while the judge urged the fans to be quiet. Moments later, they settled.

“Andre,” Franck said, tugging at his arm. “Andre.”

Andre pivoted in a semi-conscious move.

“Sit down.”

He scanned around to find he was the only one standing.
Crap!
Andre dropped to his seat. Although Gemma was quite a distance away, he was nearly certain she was looking straight at him. His hand shot up, but he stopped it, not wanting to look silly. Instead, he raked his hair behind his ear. She didn’t react. Maybe she hadn’t seen him after all.