GrandSlam (15 page)

I was totally in the zone as the ball whizzed back and
forth, back and forth. Sweat poured from me and my muscles screamed with
energy. I was surprised I even noticed what was going on around me. But a
feminine giggle reached my ears and, hardly knowing what I was doing, I spun my
head to look where it had come from. I already knew of course that the laugh
had come from Marie’s sweet lips, and unless she’d suddenly developed a
penchant for either sniggering to herself or finding tennis ridiculously
amusing, then Peter was the cause of her mirth.

Just in time, I remembered where I was and why. I was a
hairsbreadth from missing the damn ball but I didn’t. I gave everything I had
to return that ball to Lampani and it paid off. Immediately I was running for
another hit. There was another giggle, but this time I resolutely ignored it
and concentrated on the game. I couldn’t afford distractions. I aimed my
racquet for the ball and slammed it back with every ounce of strength—not to
mention irritation at the courtside antics of Peter and Marie—I had, and by
some miracle, Lampani missed it. It was in, which meant I’d won the point, game
point.

Some reflex made me give a fist pump and I noticed my coach
and psychologist grinning at me and giving me thumbs-up. I didn’t break out of
my mean and moody persona, instead returning my focus to my opponent. It was my
turn to serve.

* * * * *

By the time our match was complete, I was walking on air.
I’d won. Only by one game, but it was still a win and I was absolutely
delighted. Lampani and I shook hands over the net, then I made my way over to
where Peter and Marie sat to get a drink. And, if I was honest, to intrude on
their conversation.

Marie spoke before I even reached them. “Hey, well done! You
did brilliantly—it was incredible to watch.”

I remembered that Marie was a genuine tennis fan and
therefore appreciated a good game as a human being, not just as a psychologist,
so I took her congratulations with good grace. “Thank you. I feel amazing. Not
just ’cause I won, but the adrenaline that is pumping through me is just
incredible. It’s good to be back on the horse.”

Peter reached forward to shake my hand. “Congrats, buddy.
That’s just the first step on your journey to greatness. Again, I mean. You’ve
always been great.”

The smile and the thanks that I gave my coach were much more
manufactured. He’d been having a good old time sitting on the sidelines with
Marie and he seemed very happy. I took that to mean that he thought he was
still in with a chance. I wondered how I could let him know he wasn’t without
being too obvious.

“Okay, guys, I’m off to hit the shower. I’m sure you two
have to arrange your next date, don’t you?” I shifted my expression into the
very epitome of innocence, which was damn difficult to maintain when Marie
stared daggers at me.

“Oh, well, I—” Peter said, frowning at first me and then
Marie.

“Marie told me what happened Saturday night,” I said with a
shrug as I wrapped a towel around my neck. “That you’d bumped into an old
friend and she left for home in a taxi.”

Peter looked from Marie to me and back to Marie, swallowing
loudly. “But she said she didn’t mind and, Marie, you—”

“See you later,” I interrupted with the most cheer I could
muster, which, given my win and the fact I’d rattled Peter was a lot. I just
hoped it didn’t sound insincere. Marie obviously knew what I was up to but Peter
didn’t. Poor sod, he’d messed with the wrong girl, and certainly with the wrong
guy. He didn’t stand a chance.

And now, hopefully, he’d just dig himself in deeper because
I’d chivvied him on to ask her out again, and if he did, she would turn him down.

I whistled a happy tune as I strode across the court and was
swallowed into the relative gloom of the academy.

It was all I could do not to let my mouth hang open as
Travis strolled across the court, the swagger in his step both cocky and
gorgeous. His racquet was swinging nonchalantly at his side and he was
whistling something irritably loud and out of tune.

How dare he?

He’d put me in a really awkward situation and he knew it. It
was so obvious, so deliberate and so manipulative. And poor old Peter was
stuttering like a teenager.

I would have quite happily slapped Travis across the cheek
as hard as he’d spanked my arse the night before. What was he playing at?

Prickles of irritation swept over my chest, my stomach
clenched and little beads of sweat collected in my cleavage.

“I sure feel bad about the other night,” Peter said. “I
shouldn’t have let you go like that.”

“You’ve already said sorry a million times, Peter,” I said,
only just managing to keep my tone light. “I really didn’t mind going, I was
tired. I’d had a nice time and you and your cousin needed to catch up after not
seeing each other for ages.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts.”

He reached and took my hand, turned it over within his and
traced my palm with his index finger. “You’re sweet to be so understanding, but
I haven’t forgiven myself.”

“I told you it’s fine and—”

“I’d like to make it up to you. I have a buddy with a boat,
a yacht. The weather forecast is awesome for tomorrow and he’s having a few
friends onboard to take a trip to Catalina Island. I’d love you to come as my
guest. It will be a cool day out—sun, sea, champagne—and as it’s the Fourth of
July, no work worries.” He smiled and there was such hope in his eyes it
stretched my heartstrings. “He has an onboard chef too, delicious canapés will
be handed around all day. It will be a real unique celebration.”

He shoved a hand through his blond hair and it flopped back
around his face as he smiled hopefully at me.

The word
no
sat on my tongue. I couldn’t agree to
this.

Could I?

Go out for the day on a yacht? See Catalina Island? This
time last month the best offer I could have received for a seaside day out
would have been a trip to Southend, more a pint-of-lager-and-bag-of-chips place
than canapés and champagne. It was hard to resist. Hadn’t this been the kind of
thing I’d dreamed of when I took this new job? Wonderful things to do in my
free time. Places to go, people to meet?

I should resist. I’d told Travis I wouldn’t date Peter
anymore. And I was a girl who stuck to her word.

“Please say yes,” Peter said, worrying at his bottom lip.
“It will be a blast and this time of year we’re sure to see dolphins.”

“Dolphins, well…” I tugged my hand from his. “In that case
I’m persuaded.”

He grinned. “Excellent, you’ll love the crowd, most are
tennis players themselves, though not professionally and nothing like him.” He
nodded toward the changing rooms. “He seemed pleased with himself, didn’t he?”

“Mmm, he did indeed.” Pleased with the stirring he’d just
done.

“How do you think he is? Mentally. It’s only weeks until we
head to New York for the first round of the Open.”

“Mentally he’s perfectly confident in his abilities,” I
said. “And are you happy with his fitness?”

“Yeah, he’s there, bigger and better and stronger than ever.
I really don’t think he slipped physiologically as much as anyone thought he
had. His stamina dipped with the injury, but it hasn’t taken long for him to be
getting the same cardiovascular results on the equipment that he was before.”

“Good.” I’d agree with his stamina being on form. Certainly
it had been Saturday night. Damn, how many orgasms had I had?

“And not just that,” Peter was saying, “with a talent like
his, it’s going to take more than a few months off for him to forget how to
win, and he’s hungry for it, I can tell. It’s in his eyes, in the way he moves,
talks. The man is a machine when it comes to going after what he wants.”

“He is.” I stood. This conversation was playing with my
head. I’d just agreed to another date with Peter and now everything he said was
making me think of being in bed with Travis Saturday. Of being his, calling him
Sir, bending over his knee, letting him fuck me until my body was aching with
exhaustion. “I’d best go, I need to remind him about our debrief, you know,
after the match. We need to go through his preperformance routine, examine his
imagery and self-talk.”

“Yes, sure. He needs to do that.” Peter stood. “Oh, and
mention the day out on the yacht to him. The crowd are dying to meet the famous
Travis Connolly. I doubt he’ll come but, you know, we can ask. They’d love to
have a genuine celeb onboard. He seems to like you, perhaps he’ll say yes if
you ask.”

Shit, really? Ask Travis if he wanted to come on a day out
where I was supposed to be Peter’s date? I wanted to stamp my foot, shout
no
way
but resisted. Instead I tensed my jaw so tight I feared for the
survival of my teeth and screwed my toes up in my sandals. “Okay,” I managed,
scooping up my handbag and yanking the strap over my shoulder. “Will do.”

Like hell I would.

“Hey, Pete, how you doing?” Lampani strolled from the
changing room door, bag slung over his shoulder and dark hair wet from the
shower. He moved from the shadows into the bright sunlight and slipped on a
pair of shades.

“Hey, bad luck,” Peter said, walking over to him, hand
outstretched. “You played well.”

Lampani shrugged and grinned, shook Peter’s hand. “Ah, I let
him win, you know, boost his morale.”

Both men laughed; the statement was untrue, everyone knew
it.

I left them chatting about Independence Day plans and headed
toward the changing room. As I strode away I wondered if Peter’s attention was
on my arse. The small black dress I was wearing was tight and hugged my figure.
I couldn’t blame him for looking, if he was, but I hadn’t selected it for his benefit.
I’d plucked it from my wardrobe hoping Travis would like it.

Travis.

Whether he liked it or not now was irrelevant. He needed to
be told that it wasn’t okay to play with me like that, or Peter. He was also
about to find out that his plan had backfired and I would be having a lovely
day out with Peter, on a yacht. Oh, I had no intention of getting serious with
Peter, and definitely no plans to get into his bed. But we could be friends,
spend time together, have fun. I was in a new country and I didn’t know many
people. The more friends I could make the better.

I wandered down the corridor toward the changing rooms. It
was quiet except for the sharp clicking of my heels on the tiled floor. There
was no one at the academy this morning, that had been prearranged. Neither
player wanted an audience of any sort. The result of the match would be an
absolute secret. Connolly smashing US star Lampani so near to the Open would be
front-page news in the sporting world.

As I pushed into the male changing room for the second time,
the sound of splashing water filtered toward me. Travis was still showering, no
doubt letting the jets beat down on his tired muscles the way he had that very
first time I’d seen him in the flesh.

I set my handbag down on the counter next to the sink and
checked the silvery chiffon scarf around my neck was still hiding the purple
stain left there by Travis. It was. Good, the last thing I’d needed was for
Peter to see
that
. It was worth being too hot to keep the love bite
hidden—it made me feel as though I were a horny teenager again, allowing boys
to give me hickeys to prove I was with someone. I wondered if Travis had done
it on purpose. Marked me, claimed me as his.

I turned to the shower cubicles. Travis was in the big
communal one, several shower heads angled at his shoulders and his hands on the
wall as he leaned forward, presenting his sexy as hell arse my way.

My traitorous body reacted at the sight of his beautiful
one. My insides tensed, my heart skipped and my arms ached to hold him. I
stared at his buttocks, at the way the water sluiced down the center crack, and
remembered touching him there in his most secret of places as I’d sucked his
cock. He’d come so hard his legs had given out and he’d landed on the floor
next to me, his body a trembling mess.

“Marie,” he said, not moving, just continuing to stare at
the floor, head bowed. “Marie.” He reached downward with one hand toward his
groin, let out a deep moan.

“Travis.”

He turned, his eyes wide. “Marie?”

“What the hell was that all about?” I asked, placing my
hands on hips.

“What?” he asked, releasing his semierect cock.

I swallowed. Shit, how the hell was I supposed to argue with
him when he was naked and dripping and looking deliciously dirty despite the
clean, woodsy scent of his shower gel?

“All that.” I flicked my hand, using my anger to help me
ignore the fact he’d just been stroking his cock and saying my name. “Out
there. With Peter.”

He gripped his dick again, tugged it. A sly grin spread on
his face. “He needs to know where he stands. It’s only fair.”

“That’s for me to do, in my own time, thank you very much.”

He ran his grip up his shaft, smoothed his thumb through his
deep slit. I found it impossible not to watch. “Come here,” he said quietly.

“No.”

He stared at me, the shower beating on his shoulders bounced
off him in a hard spray, creating a mist, halo-like around his head. I almost
laughed. Travis Connolly was no angel, not by a long stretch of the
imagination.

“Marie, come here.” His tone was firmer this time.

“I need you to say you won’t interfere again.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“You’ll have to.”

He smiled but his lips flattened almost immediately as he
set up a slow push-pull movement on his dick. He tipped his head up to the
water and groaned.

“Jesus,” I said, taking a step toward him. I licked my lips,
felt my heart rate skitter. His abdominal muscles were like a row of bricks,
deeply defined and golden. That tempting dark trail of hair was flat and wet
against his skin. How I would love to run my fingers through it, lick, nibble
and suck, head lower… “Are you really going to stand there and have a wank
instead of discussing this with me?”

“I can wank and have a conversation. I’m good at
multitasking.” He set his gaze on me once more. “But feel free to help me out here.
If you want to that is.”

“No.” I folded my arms.

“Perhaps I’ll order you to.”

“What, like you ordered me not to go out with Peter?”

“I don’t recall it happening that way at all. You
offered
not to see him again.”

“Yes, well, maybe I did, but I also remember you saying you
had no hold on me, no claim.”

“Mmm, did I?” He was masturbating a bit faster now, a small
shudder rippled through him. “Well that was before I spanked your pretty arse
and then fucked you. Maybe now I’m feeling that gives me some kind of rights.
Certainly more rights than Peter has.”

“You said we were just exploring, playing, that was the
deal.”

“It still is the deal. But forget Peter, he’s not here, it’s
just us. And this place is empty, empty and quiet, warm and wet and seeing you
standing there… Fucking hell, Marie, have you any idea what you do to me? How
hard you make me?”

“I do?” I had a fair idea.

“Yes, like granite, concrete. I swear half the blood in my
body goes to my cock when I think of you over my knee or remember myself buried
deep inside you or…” He moaned, jerking his hips into his own fist.

“Or…?”

“Or thinking of you touching me in the shower. Right from
that first time I saw you, I’ve fantasized about it… Fucking hell, come here.
Now.” He grimaced. “And if I have to tell you again you’ll find yourself
becoming acquainted with some clamps I have whether you want to or not.”

My breaths were rapid. His words tumbled through my mind.
Shower—he fantasized about me touching him in the shower? That was what got the
world’s number one off when he was alone—me jacking his cock in the water? And
clamps? I could have a good guess at what he meant, I wasn’t stupid. But
really? He thought that was a threat? It sounded like a big pile of fun to me.

I stepped out of my sandals, went so close the steamy spray
of the water dampened my arms and settled on my cheeks.

“Touch me,” he said. His tone carried a definite order but
there was also a certain note of desperation in it. “I need you to touch me,
you, just you, Marie.”

I needed to touch him too. And I could forget about Peter.
That was possible. In fact that was easy. Touching the man standing in front of
me—horny, turned-on, gorgeous—was all I wanted to do. Everything else paled
into insignificance.

He stepped out from under the water just a little and
turned, palms on the wall again, the way he’d been when I’d first walked into
the room.

I moved in behind him, not caring when the thin cotton of my
dress pressed against his back and buttocks and became instantly soaked. I
squeezed closer still, my breasts squashing against his solid body, my mound
pushing at the base of his buttocks. All I could think of was hearing that
rumbling groan he made when he came, of feeling his cock pulse in my hand, of
making him fall to his knees again when an intense orgasm ripped through his
body.

Reaching ’round him, I curled my hand around his cock,
absorbed the appreciative moan that erupted from his chest and started a slow
pumping movement, up and down, slowly, so slowly.

He rocked his hips a little, canting them forward and
backward. I took the hint, increased the speed, stretched with my other hand
and cupped his balls, cool, wet sacs that were heavy in my palms.

“Use your nails,” he gasped, widening his stance. “On my
balls. Please, scratch me.”