GrandSlam

Lily
Harlem
&
Lucy
Felthouse

California had seduced me with
promises of a new life working at Los Carlos Tennis Academy. What I didn’t
expect was the dark, brooding number one seed Travis Connolly resisting my
help. He wasn’t interested in my psychology skills. Instead his attention was
drawn to the edgy, sharper corners of my desires, proving that they existed,
setting me challenges and driving me crazy to the point of combustion.

I’m the best tennis player in the
world—officially—so why would I need a damn woman full of psychobabble to get
me on form? Despite my irritation, however, I can’t resist pushing Marie
Sherratt’s buttons, even though doing that shows her the darkest shades of my
lust, the parts of me I bury deep. So I set her a challenge, one she rises to,
one that has me rising too, and before long my game relies on her calling the
shots, hitting the target and bending to my will. One thing is certain, being
not just master of the court but also of Marie is seriously good for my soul.

A
Romantica®
BDSM erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

This was the most terrifying part of the whole journey. It was
the unknown, the would-or-wouldn’t-we-survive question that hung in the air
like a sharp, unwanted smell.

I knew the wheels were down, I’d heard a hiss and a great
creak below the fuselage some time ago, so that was somewhat reassuring. Also
the pilot appeared competent. He’d navigated our way across the Atlantic and
then skillfully skirted the San Gabriel Mountains during our descent. But even
so, my abdomen felt light and my body heavy. Despite my clattering heart rate,
I hardly dared breathe in case I upset the delicate balance of the enormous
plane.

The entire cabin was devoid of chatter now, everyone
probably, like me, sending mental encouragement to the front deck. Fellow
passengers gripped their armrests. I clutched my magazine to my chest and stared
out the window at the rapidly approaching ground.

I held my breath as the wheels bumped onto the runway once,
twice, a slight tilt to the right, or was it a lurch? I gasped, closed my eyes
and visualized the plane’s smooth roll to a halt, happy, smiling faces climbing
down the steps into the Californian sunshine and families and friends reuniting
in arrivals.

The thrust of the brakes pressed me into the seat, the plane
rattled and juddered as deceleration took a firm grip of the final moments of
my one-way trip. Needing distraction, I flicked open my copy of
Global
Tennis
, now looking a little worse for wear after being crushed against me.

I’d read it cover to cover in the last twelve hours but
still, one article kept pulling me back. Not because Travis Connolly was one
hell of a hot specimen of the male species, but because he was the newbie at
Los Carlos Tennis Academy. He and I had something in common because I too was a
new recruit. Not that you’d ever catch me on a court holding a racquet though.
Playing tennis wasn’t my thing at all.

There was a photograph of him in the magazine, set in the
center and to the right of the journalist’s report. The picture showed him
celebrating after claiming the winning point against Rudolph Napak at the
French Open the previous year. Two fists hoisted aloft, he was giving a
wide-mouthed yell of pure victory. It was such a primitive, limbic pose. A
primal response given throughout time to tell the world of a successful hunt, a
battle won or in this case, a ball dodging an opponent and landing in a box.

But as a rule Travis Connolly didn’t give much away in his
body language. I’d never met him in person, but whenever I’d seen him in action
or being interviewed, which was rare, he was well-known for being fiercely
private and he’d always been in absolute control of every movement. It wasn’t
just the way he answered questions, it was the purposeful position of his long
limbs and the distinct lack of any type of fiddling, be it with his neat, dark
hair or anything he happened to be holding.

No, at thirty-two years old he came across as a man in
perfect control of every aspect of his life, including his honed-to-perfection
body.

The article was about his move to the States last month and
what it would mean for his recovery after a car accident in March. He’d broken
two ribs, which had, naturally, had a serious impact on his fitness. Also he’d
always trained in the UK, so how would a transatlantic upheaval affect him
mentally?

Personally I thought it was a good decision for him to come
to America, Los Carlos in particular because it was a world-class facility. I’d
followed his rise to global fame over the last few years as my specialty had
narrowed. His game was second to none. Other players viewed him as damn
dangerous whenever he picked up a racquet.

If the thought of living in the sunshine, sweet, sweet
sunshine, appealed to him, then why the hell not come to California? I could
think of nothing better to accompany a recovery from an accident than sunshine
and surf and I, for one, had jumped at the chance to start a new chapter of my
life here. The big four zero would be knocking on my door next year and I had
things to achieve before then, including proving to the world, not just the UK,
that I was a top competitive sports psychologist.

Before long my visual imagery became reality and I stepped
into the Californian sunshine towing my suitcase along behind me. The
longed-for heat spread warm fingers over my shoulders and I raised my face to
its welcome. This I could cope with. When I’d left Heathrow the sky had been
like a damp, gray dishcloth wiping away any trace of sunlight. Breaching the
cloud toward perfect blue had been the ideal antidote for any lingering sadness
I was feeling about leaving my flat in Muswell Hill. The rent was paid for six
months—my trial period at Los Carlos—and the amenities turned off. It would
cope without me. I was sure I’d cope without
it
.

Pushing thoughts of London from my mind, I concentrated on
the task at hand.

Finding a cab.

Austin, my new boss, had given me the address of my
accommodation. I’d been told a safe box outside would hold the key and that the
pass number was six, one, six, f. That made me smile. It was easy to remember
as it was the final score of the Wimbledon’s women’s final this year.

I’d only just got into the cab when my mobile rang. It was
Austin.

“Hey, Marie, how’s the journey?”

“Not too bad. I’m not as exhausted as I was expecting to
be.”

“Great, come straight to the academy. I’ve got final
employment documents for you to sign.”

Really? I wasn’t feeling
that
perky. But still, he
was my new boss and my future success would depend largely on his support.
“Well, yes, okay. As long as you don’t mind me having bags under my eyes as
well as with me.”

He laughed. “Give your cases to the staff at reception and
come straight on up to the department. Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.”

“I’ll sort out food then.”

“But—”

The line went dead and I held it away from my ear. It would
take a while to get used to the fact Americans didn’t say goodbye when they
ended a call. It seemed just…rude, but I knew they didn’t mean it to be.

And hadn’t I said I
wasn’t
hungry? Oh well. I suppose
a cup of tea and a sandwich wouldn’t hurt. My body was travel weary but I knew
the best thing, despite my jet lag, was to keep going until evening before I
succumbed to exhaustion. So I might as well jump in and make my way to my new
place of work. An afternoon orienting myself to the academy might be just the
thing.

I leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Can I change that
to the Los Carlos Tennis Academy, please?”

“Sure thing.”

I rested back, delved into my flight bag and set about
trying to tame my hair and cover the blue-tinged circles beneath my eyes.

* * * * *

“So, Marie, I’ve fed you and shown you around, but how about
checking out your new office?” Austin rubbed his hands together and rolled his
lips in on themselves as though he was stopping himself from saying
more—something that was bursting to get out.

“That would be great.” My weary state had been forgotten. I
was already more than a little impressed with the state-of-the-art academy.
Air-conditioning blew down in every room, providing a respite from the
relentless heat outside. Large, glossy potted plants filled reception, and the
sport technology and physiotherapy rooms were top-rate. There didn’t appear to
be one item of equipment not represented.
No expense spared
was the
phrase that kept coming to mind.

“I hope you’ll approve,” Austin said, swinging open a large,
dark wooden door at the end of a long corridor.

I stepped into the room and stared at the beautiful space
around me. Words caught in my throat. It was more than I’d dared hope even when
I’d been wooed with promises of L.A. views and a calm, nurturing space to
consult with my clients.

Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a skyline dominated by
the downward sweep of L.A. Palm trees and tiled roofs led to the lapping ocean.
Santa Monica Pier was slightly to the right of the view, the large Ferris wheel
at the end looming high into the perfect blue sky.

“It’s lovely,” I managed, dragging my attention from the
sun-soaked scene to look at the actual office. It was decorated in the same
light colors as the rest of the academy but there was walnut-brown paneling
halfway up the walls, giving it a more intimate feel than the other offices I’d
seen. The long black leather couch, shaped like a prone
S
and designed
to mold to a person’s body as they reclined, was set next to a rack of deep-set
shelves holding two vases and a set of tennis racquet bookends. A lime-green
and sky-blue theme had been applied and matched a picture of a serene summer
meadow on the opposite wall.

Austin walked over to the fat-legged desk and rested his
hand on the large black leather seat that sat behind it. “I think you’ll find
everything you need in here. And naturally this room is designed for its
purpose. Being at the very top of the building, you won’t be disturbed by any
other comings and goings. Just peace and quiet to do your thing.”

“I love it.” I was probably letting down the stiff-upper-lip
team with my beaming smile but I couldn’t help it. This was beyond anything I’d
dreamed of. I could almost feel the calmness soaking through my pores, the
positive vibes humming in the walls, waiting to be set free by words, my words,
and poured into the sportsmen and women I’d signed up to work with. “It’s
perfect, I can’t wait to get started.”

He laughed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Fantastic, that’s just what I hoped you’d say.”

I dragged the tip of my index finger over the desk, the wood
was smooth and cool. Stared out of the window again and then walked over to the
couch, my heels sinking in the plush carpet. I sat and looked up at Austin.
“I’ll be here at nine in the morning, jet lag or no jet lag.”

“You take as long as you need to recover from your journey.
We want you at your best, after all, only the best for our players. They’re at
the top of their game, which means everyone at the academy has to be at the top
of theirs.”

“Yes, of course, I understand.” The leather was cool but
soft. Probably one of the most expensive seats I’d ever sat on. “But I’ll be
fine.” I smiled to reassure him and hoped the concealer beneath my eyes had
stayed in place.

He pulled open a drawer to the right of the desk. “I took
the liberty of scheduling appointments with some of your players over the
course of the rest of the week.”

I stood and took the sheet of paper he offered forward.
“That’s perfect, the sooner I become a familiar face to them all the better.”

“Exactly.”

I scanned the list, trying to ignore the tripping in my
heart when I noticed that Travis Connolly was due to visit this very room
tomorrow at noon. I pushed my hair behind my ears, licked my lips and glanced
down the other names. All of which I recognized, some I’d met before. But apart
from Travis, it was just a list of tennis players. Apart from Travis, none made
my stomach flip or a flush of heat spread over my chest and around my neck. Why
did I have to be like every other female on the planet and be so damn affected
by his sultry good looks, raw sex appeal and cool demeanor?

“Come this way. I’ll show you the courts next, and the
changing rooms.”

I placed the list of appointments on the table. Tomorrow I
would transfer them to the iCalendar on my Mac. “Will there be any staff
around?”

“Should be some coaches. I’ll introduce you.”

We headed for the elevator then Austin took us back through
reception toward the courts. There were four indoor and two outdoor, he told
me.

When we reached the sun-drenched outdoor courts a coach was
just gathering up some balls.

“Hey, Peter, come meet Marie.” Austin waved him over to the
comfort of the shade.

Peter looked up, squinted and then expertly threw three
balls into a wire bucket. He was tall and lean, his limbs long and coated in a
fuzz of blond hair. As he took several long strides toward me he shoved his
fringe away from his forehead.

“Hi, Marie, great to finally meet you.” He held out his hand
and offered me an all-American grin—white teeth, a smile that reached his blue
eyes. “Austin has been singing your praises since he met you in London last
month.”

“Well, that is very nice to hear.” I took Peter’s hand. It
was large and warm, his grip firm. “Lovely to meet you too, Peter. Are you
working with anyone in particular at the moment?”

“Sure am.” He folded his arms and nodded. His gaze slipped
from my face a fraction, not a full-on once-over, but a definite
absorbing-my-style. Which, to be honest, wasn’t at its best, not after an
eleven-hour flight, but still, I’d done a bit of a repair job in the cab. At
least my jeans were new, and I’d teamed them with heels and a soft, pink
t-shirt. I wasn’t too trampy, just a bit worn around the edges.

“He’s working with Travis,” Austin said. “The world’s number
one has only been here a month, and already Peter is jacking up his fitness.”

“Yeah, it’s all about slow and steady after an injury.”
Peter nodded seriously. “We’ve just come out of the gym now. A gentle run and
some weights, nothing that’s going to cause any twinges, just cardiovascular
and a bit of resistance. It won’t take long for him to be in peak condition
again.”

“Good.” I thought of the large workout room on the second
floor. With its mirrored walls and rows of treadmills, it looked like the ideal
place to hone a body back to perfection. And Travis’ body, well, even with a
few cracked ribs, it was still perfection.

“You must be exhausted,” Peter was saying, a sympathetic
frown creasing his forehead. “Waking up in London must seem a lifetime ago.”