GrandSlam (2 page)

I laughed. “Yes, it does to be honest. But the sunshine
helps.”

“Get used to it. You’re in the Golden State now, honey.” His
smile was infectious and I couldn’t deny the effect his handsome face had on my
giggle.

“Have you been to California before?” he asked.

“Nope, first visit, and I hope it’s a long one.”

“Me too,” Austin said.

“Well, perhaps I could show you around, you know, the
tourist sights and then some only the locals know.” Peter shrugged as he spoke,
as though it was no big deal.

“That would be lovely. I’m looking forward to settling in,
getting to know everyone and becoming a California girl.”

“I think you’ll fit in just fine.” Peter laughed and
strolled in the direction of another abandoned yellow ball. “I’ll catch you
around. We’ll have things to go through later in the week no doubt.”

“Absolutely.” I averted my eyes from his butt as he bent to
scoop up the ball. Instead I turned to Austin with a smile. “Are we done?”

“My poor girl, you must be exhausted and here’s me dragging
you around meeting people. I was just about to tell you that the gym is at your
disposal too, but you probably don’t want to hear that right now.” He frowned.
“But yes, just the changing rooms and then you should go find a pillow.”

Oh the thought of my head sinking into a deep, cool pillow.
Heavenly. I stifled a yawn and followed Austin through a set of automatic glass
doors. My heels clicked on the tiled floor as we walked past a long row of
framed photographs hanging on the wall, each one a famous tennis player in
action on the courts I’d just admired.

Austin’s phone trilled from the breast pocket of his
shirt—some classical piano piece. “Excuse me,” he said, reaching for it and
glancing at the screen. “My wife. I’d better take it. If you go through that
door there, on the right is female changing and left the men’s. Go take a look
and I’ll be right behind you. I’m sure it will be a place for many pep talks
over the coming months.”

“Of course.” More often than not players wanted to see their
sports psychologist just before a match to help them get into the zone. The
changing rooms were somewhere I’d get to know well if I did my job right.

I turned from Austin and pushed through the first door I
came to. It led to a small corridor with a red carpet and pale-cream walls. I
wandered through the door on my left and the smell of soap and deodorant
filtered toward me. I wondered if any of the female players would be around. I
had four on my list, it would be nice to say hi.

The changing room had the same wooden paneling as my office,
with lockers to match. There were long rows of hooks with benches beneath them.
The floor had a short-piled carpet.

The splashing of a shower filtered toward me, the noise
irregular as a body moved beneath the streams of water. Moistness hit my skin
and nose, steam from someone taking a long, hot soak, probably pounding tired
muscles with powerful jets.

Orienting myself to the changing rooms, I stepped around the
aisle of lockers, past a row of sinks with a large, round mirror above and
toward the showers.

Something in me froze. It wasn’t my heart, for that would
have been the end. But something did.

I felt as though I was going to fall backward, so shot out
my hand and touched the lip of the unit holding the sinks. Steadied my weak
knees.

In the shower, in the female changing room, was a man. Naked,
toned, dark-haired and delicious. He stood with his back to me, his head and
neck lowered and his palms pressed to the tiles as his shoulders took a
thrashing from the heavy downward spray.

His butt was a fraction paler than the rest of his sun-kissed
skin. Pert and small, perhaps clenched too, judging by the dents in the outer
edges.

I knew I should go. Get the hell out of there. But what was
a guy doing in the female changing room? Indignation and surprise kept my feet
stuck, as though they were lead weights anchored to the floor.

Suddenly he straightened, turned and gave me a full frontal
view.

His eyes were shut and that was my undoing. Because that
exquisite moment of seeing Travis Connolly, unguarded and in all his naked,
dark-haired, tight-muscled glory, was not something any red-blooded woman could
turn away from.

He shoved both of his hands through his hair, flattening it
over his head, and then stared straight at me.

I admit I was dragging my feet as I headed to the top floor
of the academy for my first
official
meeting with the new sports
psychologist. All that psychology crap was just that… Crap. Yes, I’d been in a
car accident and had broken two ribs, but it was no big deal. I was really
getting back into the swing of things now. Training with Peter, my coach, and
working my way to peak fitness once more. I didn’t see what fractured bones had
to do with my thoughts and feelings and all that, but unfortunately it was in
my contract that I had to go and see this woman and let her work her mumbo
jumbo on me. Ugh.

Exiting the elevator, my trainers—or sneakers as my new
colleagues called them—sunk into the thick carpets and I almost felt as if I
were bouncing down the corridor toward the relevant room. The academy had
obviously been well prepared for her arrival because there was already a name
plaque on the slightly ajar door—
Marie Sherratt, Ph.D.

So now I knew her full name, as well as her job title and
that she was from England, like me. That was the sum total of my knowledge. Oh
and that she liked to wander into male changing rooms and gawp at players while
they were showering.

I gave a little snort as I remembered that moment. I’d
hidden my surprise and watched as she’d asked what the hell I was doing in the
female changing rooms. When I’d corrected her, she’d fallen silent for a
second, then stuttered, telling me her name and job title and something about a
wrong turning and jet lag. Then she’d shot out of the changing room faster than
any first serve I could ever belt out, with her cute little bum wiggling in her
tighter-than-tight jeans.

I hadn’t done or said anything as she’d spoken, just stood
there, let the water beat down on me and watched her wringing her hands
together and trying not to look at my cock. I did wonder though how long she’d
been watching me. Not that it was the first time a woman had seen me showering,
and hopefully not the last, I just preferred it if we were both naked. Made it
so much more fun, or at least it did when it was Elle with me.

Clenching my fists, I pushed thoughts of Elle from my mind.
She was on the other side of the Atlantic, belonged to someone else, and
thinking of her in the shower was not only delusional, it was self-destructive.
And right now, I had other things to concentrate on. Starting with this Peeping
Tom woman.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she’d just be a form
filler, a pencil pusher who would skim over the details and then send me on my
way. That was often how it was with these office folk.

Who was I kidding, as if the academy would employ someone
like that. No, she’d soon be asking a load of questions to find out all about
me. And one of the things I disliked most in the world was talking about
myself, my feelings. So it was understandable why I was so reticent heading to
my appointment with Miss Nosy Pants.

A glance at my watch told me I couldn’t mess around any
longer. I may not have been remotely interested in attending the meeting, but I
also hated being late. Things like getting stuck in traffic and delayed flights
drove me crazy, especially since there was nothing I could do about it. I’ve
often been called a control freak and don’t deny it. In fact, I don’t see a
problem with it, whatever I’m doing.

There was also no doubt in my mind that Miss Nosy Pants
would call me something similar by the time our hour was up. I didn’t often
wish away my life, but I really wanted it to hurry up and be one o’clock so I
could leave that damn office and go back to what I did best—being an athlete.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door, just to the
right of her name plaque.

“Come in,” called a feminine voice.

I pushed open the door and walked into the room.

“Hello,” she said, getting up from the huge leather chair
that made her look tinier than she already was and walking around to meet me.
“I’m sorry about yesterday’s misunderstanding. I hope you’ll forgive me and
allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Marie Sherratt, your new sports
psychologist. It’s lovely to meet you.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, she was blushing, something that was
easily noticeable on her pale skin. Good, I was glad that she had the good
grace to be embarrassed that she’d ogled me showering. But I thought, she’d
have to take care in the scorching California sun too, otherwise she’d be
burned to a crisp. I took her small hand in mine and we shook.

“Travis Connolly. It’s great to meet you,
properly
,
and there’s nothing to forgive, mistakes happen.” It was just politeness and
habit that fueled my words—obviously she knew who I was because I had an
appointment. I was no mystery caller. Plus she’d seen me naked. I didn’t look
that much different in clothes.

She nodded in acknowledgment of what I’d said, her glossy
brunette hair bouncing. Instantly I found myself thinking about
her
naked in the shower and me tangling my fingers into her wet hair, forcing her
to her knees in front of me and ordering her to open up, take me, all of me,
deep and deeper still…

God, where had that come from? I pushed the thought quickly
away, pasting a smile on to my face.

“It’s nice to hear a British accent, to be honest,” I said,
my grin widening as she looked up, her brown eyes gazing into mine. “Don’t get
me wrong, everyone here is great, but it takes a bit of getting used to the
sense of humor and the slang. I almost wet myself laughing the first time I
heard someone say fanny!”

Marie smiled back at me, tucking her hair behind her ears.
The gesture was cute and I felt the tickle of more filthy thoughts at the edge
of my consciousness, trying to get in. I resolutely ignored them.

“I’ll have to watch out for that then,” she said. “It
wouldn’t do for me to start laughing at my new colleagues, would it?”

“Not really,” I replied. “I’ll have a think if there are any
more phrases I should warn you about and let you know.”

“Thanks.” She gestured to the shiny leather sofa. “Want to
take a seat and we can get started?”

She’d done a subtle switch—from friendly human being to
consummate professional—and I figured she was trying to make a good impression
on her first day so if anyone asked me I could profess to her proficient
manner. Clever girl.

I sat down in the deepest part of the S-shape and watched
her lithe figure as she grabbed a chair from the side of the room and moved it
over to where I sat.

“So,” she said, lowering herself onto the seat and crossing
her legs, “as this is our first session—not to mention my first day—we’ll just
have a very informal chat so we can get to know each other better, okay? Then I
can work out how best to help you going forward with your preperformance
routines and your positive mantras.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything lest I betray
my true feelings about being there. She was just doing her job, after all. It
wasn’t her fault that I was being made to attend appointments even though I
didn’t need a damn psychologist. So I wouldn’t take it out on her. I’d just do
everything she asked of me in the hope that she’d discharge me as quickly as
possible so I could get on with being a tennis player.

She didn’t seem concerned by my silence—she was probably
used to clients even more awkward than I—and paused for a moment before posing
her first question.

“Travis, can you tell me about your accident? Everything you
remember.”

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. She already knew
everything there was to know about my accident—everybody did. It had been
reported widely in the media, especially in Britain, and she must have read my
notes. Again, I had to remind myself that she was just doing what she was paid
to do, and that I’d just promised myself I would do everything she asked of me.
So I waited for a second to gather my thoughts, then told her what she wanted
to know, as honestly and in as much detail as possible.

* * * * *

By the end of the hour I felt violated, as I’d known I
would. Wrung out, like she’d squeezed my most private thoughts out of me as
though I were a wet rag. But I couldn’t resent her for it—she was very skilled
at what she did and I’d certainly been stuck in rooms with less pleasant
people. Less attractive people. As we’d talked—or she’d asked questions and I’d
answered them—I’d found myself surreptitiously checking her out. From her
beautiful hair to the tips of her sexy stiletto shoes, she was gorgeous. Way
too hot to be a nerd too. I’d say she was a few years older than me, but damn,
she was in fine condition.

In the absence of a pen and notepad—or whatever else she’d
use in our subsequent sessions—it appeared her hands were itching to do
something. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears umpteen times, swept several
nonexistent bits of fluff from her navy-blue skirt and repeatedly tugged at its
hem. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was still embarrassed about the
shower incident.

I wondered if she was having flashbacks of me stark naked
beneath the flow of water, and that was what was making her fidget. I found
myself sincerely hoping so, and not just as some kind of payback for her
walking in on me. For some reason, I wanted her to be thinking of me. Naked.

* * * * *

“So,” Peter said as I met him in the gym for our workout
session, “what do you think of the new doctor?”

“Doctor? I haven’t been to the doctor.”

Peter frowned. “I thought you’d been to see Marie Sherratt?
It was on your schedule.”

“I have.”

His laughter echoed around the room. “Well then, you’ve been
to see the doctor, haven’t you?”

“Oh, I see what you mean. I always forget psychologists are
doctors. She didn’t introduce herself as one either.”

He shrugged, starting to jog on the spot. “Maybe she doesn’t
like to show off or something? Anyway, forget that. You haven’t answered my
question. What do you think of her?”

“She’s all right.”

My answer was obviously too fast, as it aroused his
suspicion and his eyes lit up. I looked away and joined him in his stretches.

“She’s hot, isn’t she? I only met her for a minute and she’d
just got off a plane from England but she still looked gorgeous. I’m right,
aren’t I? She’s a babe. And damn I love that accent of hers. It’s much better
than yours.” He shot me a good-natured grin and I ignored his last comment.

“What about Penny?” I asked, for some reason eager to
deflect his attention away from me and remembering he’d told me a couple of
weeks ago that he was dating a blonde with legs that went to heaven and back.

Peter waved his hand dismissively. “Penny and I are through.
She’s too high-maintenance and we kept arguing about all the time I spend at
the academy, so I told her we were over. I’ve worked damn hard for this career
and I’m not throwing it all away for a woman.”

“She obviously wasn’t the right woman then. Because when you
meet the right one, you’d sacrifice your life for her, never mind your career.”
I raised my eyebrows, surprised at myself. Where had that sage—and somewhat
soppy—advice come from? Elle? What she’d given up to live with her Master
maybe? Well, wherever it had sprung from, I was annoyed that it gave away more
about me than I felt comfortable with. In Britain, I’d have gotten laughed out
of the gym for a comment like that, but it seemed American men were more
comfortable discussing such topics because Peter didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead
he nodded and carried on with stretching out his hamstrings.

“Yeah, you know, that sounds right. Penny was a great girl,
for all her faults, but she didn’t bowl me over or anything. Perhaps I was just
sticking with her for the sake of it. Because there was no way I was gonna ask
her to marry me or anything. Maybe I just wasn’t
in love
with her.” He
sighed. “I keep waiting to meet a woman to fall in lust and love with, but it
just isn’t happening.”

I resisted the urge to run from the room. God, I’d started
something now, hadn’t I? I’d hit the nail on the head with the problem with
Peter’s previous relationship and now he was ready to tell me his innermost
thoughts and feelings. Was he going to start crying or something? I bloody
hoped not. Damn, I missed stuffy Brits. Keeping it all locked inside suited me
well.

Either because he’d noticed my discomfort or because he’d
simply said enough, Peter turned to me with a grin.

“Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I’m not
heartbroken, so I’m going to move on with my life. And what better way to do
that than to find a new girl? I just happen to have one in mind. Which brings
me neatly back to the conversation you managed to divert me from.”

I frowned, pretending not to know what he was talking about.

He gave me an incredulous look. “You got short-term memory
loss? I was talking about the good doctor. I asked whether you thought she was
a babe.”

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, “she’s certainly easy on the eye, but
I don’t know much about her as a person. Our conversation was purely
professional.”

“Ugh, you uptight Brits. The way to find out more about her
as a person is to get to know her better. And that’s exactly what I’m going to
do.”

“And how do you propose to do that, smart-arse? Read her
diary? Hack her email?”

“No, you idiot. I’m going to ask her out on a date.”

An irritated prickle swarmed up my neck and I clenched my
jaw. “Well, best of luck, mate.” My words sounded genuine but they weren’t, not
exactly. And I didn’t even know why, really. I’d only just met the woman, and
although I thought she looked damn good on the outside, I didn’t know enough
about what was on the inside to figure out if we could have a connection or not.
I certainly couldn’t lay any kind of claim to her.

But there was just something about her that made me feel
annoyed at Peter’s intention to ask her out. And by the time I put my finger on
it, it could be too late.