GrandSlam (3 page)

I’d managed to get Travis Connolly to speak to me for nearly
an hour but he’d told me absolutely nothing about himself—zilch, nada, bugger
all. Oh, he probably thought he had because he’d gone into minute detail about
his accident, the speed of both cars involved, the length of the skid marks,
the safety spec on the new Volvo he’d been driving. And then there’d been the
whole spiel about the insurance and the witness statements and the decision to
buy another Volvo because he’d been so impressed with its performance. After
that came the medical list—the X-rays, the analgesia and anti-inflammatory,
right down to the doses he’d been taking and how he’d titrated them down to
needing nothing now he’d healed.

Yes, there was no doubt in my mind that if Travis were asked
he’d say he’d told me everything I needed to know about him and his accident.
But he hadn’t and I’d been itching to ask him how it made him feel. Had he been
scared, terrified or had it all been like a dream, something happening to
someone else? Having another vehicle crash into your car so hard the wheels are
lifted into the air before whacking down on a barrier is scary stuff for
anyone, no matter who you are. Getting carted off in an ambulance, strapped
down, collared up, told not to move in case your cervical spine is broken is
enough to make anyone have nightmares.

Though something told me Travis Connolly would rather pull
out his fingernails than confess to being frightened. He’d sat on my couch and
worn a polite smile like a mask. A mask that was different from the one I’d
seen him use in public when his privacy had been encroached upon, then he’d
just looked angry. It was also an expression a million miles from the one I’d
seen on court when he was beating an opponent into submission. That was pure,
gritty determination. No, this had been tight, almost forced, his smile pasted
on. A few times I’d seen a light in his eyes, but mainly I got the impression
he was more interested in the clock on my desk than what we were supposed to be
doing.

But since it was our first session, I’d been easy on him,
let him rattle on and on about whatever he wanted to. It had been hard, against
my nature really. But I still felt bad about taking a wrong turn in the men’s
changing room yesterday and having a good ogle at his naked body, so I kind of
felt that evened up the score a little, that I’d been gentle with him.

Still, I was sure he’d think it odd that I couldn’t stop
fiddling with my damn hair—what was with it today, must have been the
humidity—or that bits of fluff kept needing to be removed from my skirt. And my
legs, it was like they needed a good jog to get the twitches out of them. Every
time I crossed them I had the urge to re-cross. He’d think I was trying to do a
Sharon Stone.

After he’d hotfooted out at the end of the session, I
flopped onto the couch. The body heat he’d left behind seeped through my skirt
and into my buttocks and a thrill shivered through me. He was as bloody
gorgeous close up as he was from the stands or inadvertently spying on him in
the shower. My body clock might be messed up but there was nothing the matter
with my antennae for spotting a hot guy. He’d smelled divine too. The scent of
cedarwood and vanilla, perhaps with a hint of mint, lingered long after he’d
gone.

I sighed and shut my eyes. Wondered why he never had a woman
on his arm at any of the events he attended. No anxious beauty in the family
box biting her nails and sipping Pimm’s. No one to make a mad dash for after
each victory to hug and celebrate with. He appeared to be a loner, and after
listening to him today, talking about everything but his feelings, I wondered
just who he had to open up to. Because one thing I was sure of, everyone had to
have a
someone
. It was impossible to get by without that.

I decided to take Austin up on the invitation to use the
academy’s gym on my lunch break. I was tired, yes, but the thought of getting
the restlessness out of my legs was very appealing. Maybe I was overtired and
that was why they felt so agitated.

After slipping into the correct changing room and pulling on
Lycra shorts and a crop top and swapping my stilettoes for trainers, I headed
into the workout area. My mind was set on finding a cross-trainer, or
elliptical as they called them here; that way I could work upper and lower
body, a double whammy.

The place was half full, mostly girls and a couple of guys
on the weights. I looked twice. The guys were Travis and Peter.

Damn. I’d do my best to ignore them. Didn’t want Travis
thinking I was stalking him. I seemed to be everywhere he was the last
twenty-four hours and in a big place like this, that was getting kind of
suspicious.

I found a cross-trainer at the far end of the long gym,
flicked my iPod to a workout playlist and slotted the earphones in. After
hitting start I set to my task, hoping it would settle my equilibrium.

I quickly built up speed and a sweat, staring out the window
across the L.A. skyline and thinking about the cool surf splashing over Santa
Monica Beach in the distance. I imagined I was running there, my arms and legs
working hard to take me to the ocean. Once there I’d sink my body into the
coolness, be at one with nature. It was a relaxing visual when I was building
up a burn but it hit the spot and I steamed onward and forward—and it certainly
did the job of distracting my thoughts from Travis Connolly.

Or at least it did until a movement on my right caught my
attention. I glanced sideways and saw Travis stepping onto a cross-trainer two
down from mine. Peter was fiddling with settings, chatting as he did so. Travis
was waiting patiently, not adding to the conversation. He looked across and
caught me staring.

I gave the briefest of smiles and turned away, wishing a
bead of sweat hadn’t been balancing on my nose at that very moment. Not a good
look.

But he hadn’t bothered to smile back anyway. His mouth just
stayed in a tight, serious line, his body held stiffly as though his muscles
were pumped up after the weights.

My music quieted between tracks and the rhythmic grind and
swish of the machines filled my ears. I risked another glance. Travis was
gaining speed, his arms and legs power demons as he pushed and pulled. His skin
shone with a sheer coating of sweat and his hair was shoved back, messily
spilling over a black headband.

“Hey, Marie. How you doing?” Peter stepped toward me,
harnessing my attention.

“Oh Peter, er, hi,” I said breathlessly and a little too
loudly. Quickly I slowed my pace. I’d done nearly twenty minutes, that should
just about do it. “I’m good, thanks.” I pulled out my earphones and let them
hang around my neck, making sure to reduce the volume of my voice.

“Have you recovered from the journey?”

“Well, not really, but hopefully a workout will help.”

“Always does.”

I smiled and glanced at Travis. He was staring straight
ahead, a frown creasing his forehead. He’d obviously been training hard and was
ready for it to come to an end too. He hadn’t bothered with his iPod, his
earplugs hung around his neck.

“So,” Peter was saying, “if you’re up for it that would be
great.”

“I’m sorry, up for what?” I glanced back at Peter, feeling
bad that he’d been speaking and I’d taken no notice. He’d think me incredibly
rude.

“Going to the pier later.” He pointed out the window. “It’s
a good place to start orienting yourself and I know an awesome seafood place
down toward Venice Beach called Lobster Lagoon. You like seafood?”

“Yes, I love seafood.” Was he asking me out on a date? I
recalled our conversation yesterday when we’d been introduced. He’d said
something then about taking me out and showing me the L.A. sights. I was pretty
sure I’d more or less agreed to it already.

“So shall I pick you up at eight thirty?” he asked, flashing
me his all-American white-teeth smile again.

“Can we go earlier? I’ll likely want to do nothing but strip
off and go to bed by that time. I’m still on a UK clock.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t have a problem with
stripping off and getting into bed.” His grin broadened.

Bloody hell, me and my stupid big mouth. I glanced at
Travis, who was staring straight ahead, pounding on the machine harder than
ever, apparently lost in his thoughts and not in the slightest bit interested
in what was going on around him. He had that focused, determined expression I’d
seen on his face many times when he’d been stacking up the points. Only one
thing counted, and that was the physical.

“Six would suit me just fine if you can manage that,” I
said, looking at Peter and slowing my machine right down so I was barely having
to work at the movements. I hoped my ignoring his saucy comment had given him
the hint.

“Six is awesome, I’ll pick you up. Are you staying in the
academy residentials?”

“Yes, 876 Garfield.”

“I know it.” He rubbed his hands together, still smiling.
“See you then.”

“Yes, okay.”

He turned, walked over to Travis and, with his back to me,
started to fiddle with something on his cross-trainer. I studied his wide
shoulders, his Los Carlos Tennis Academy t-shirt stretched across them creating
three creases between the points of his scapula. His hips were narrow and his
legs, since he too was in shorts, showed tan skin and blond hairs. He wore
pristine white trainers.

It seemed I’d got myself a date for tonight with a hunky
tennis coach. Hadn’t taken me long. Impressive by anyone’s standards. Though
really I was too tired. But I had to eat, and the pier with the big wheel at
the end had been beckoning me to explore it every time I glanced out one of the
academy windows. A trip out would do me good. I’d enjoy it once I was there,
and certainly a nice-looking tour guide couldn’t do me any harm at all.

I hit stop and after the machine had gone through my workout
statistics, I headed to the changing room. It was time to shower, put on my
office clothes again and see my next client, Nadia Gorlando, seeded number
nineteen in the world.

* * * * *

I was just closing down my laptop when Austin knocked as he
walked through my open office door.

“Marie, how was your first day?”

“Great, I’ve seen two players, met a ton of people, probably
all of whom will have to tell me their names again, and I’ve started reading
through departmental policies.”

He smiled. “That’s why we hired you. Most folks would have
pleaded jet lag and stayed home after the journey you did yesterday, but I
sense you’re a woman who likes to get things done.”

I flushed a little at the compliment. “Well, yes, I don’t
like to sit about when there are players I can help.”

“That’s a girl.” He paused. “How did you get on with Travis
Connolly?”

“Okay, it was just a getting-comfortable-with-each-other
session really.”

Austin nodded. “Yeah, that’s the best way to start with him.
He can be a bit prickly around the edges.”

“He can?” I wasn’t surprised, but any extra information I
could glean on my most famous player, and most handsome one, was definitely
welcome.

“Yeah, he wasn’t really up for the clause in his rehabilitation
contract that said he had to spend time with a psychologist, said he’d,” Austin
held up his hands as if in surrender, “and I mean no offense by this, he said
he’d been through that mumbo jumbo psychobabble crap in the past.”

I laughed. I could just imagine Travis using those exact
words, and it certainly explained why he’d appeared to only just tolerate being
in my office. He clearly thought I had nothing to offer him, no way of helping
him get back to competing to keep his top spot in the world of tennis. But he
was wrong. I had lots to offer, if he just gave me the chance. “That’s fine, in
fact I’m glad you told me, Austin. It means I’ll adjust my approach with him.”

“Good, because he’s going to need some help. That was one
hell of a knock at the height of his tennis career, not just physically but
mentally too.”

“It will all be fine and he seems to be getting his fitness
back up pretty quickly.” An image of him on the trainer, hammering away,
flooded my mind. His athlete’s body was an elite engine. Powerful and fast, his
reaction speed second to none.

“It arrived.”

“Mmm?” I said with a frown. “What did?”

“Your car. Just now.” Austin held up a set of keys.

My heart did a little skip and I grinned. “Oh great.” I took
the offered key ring, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. The letters BMW
smiled at me. This was what I’d been looking forward to. A company car was part
of my package and I’d only gone and negotiated myself a convertible M3 in
snow-white. Boy was I looking forward to cruising around the California
highways. Perhaps I’d even do the Pacific Coast up to San Francisco once I had
my bearings.

“It’s in the lot,” Austin said. His face turned serious.
“But drive carefully, won’t you? It’s fast and flash and you, Marie, are
precious to us.”

A little piece of me melted for my new boss. He was sweet
and kind and a bit of a father figure. It made me miss home less to see his
concerned face and hear the words my dad would no doubt say when I spoke to him
later on the phone.

* * * * *

The sunshine was blinding as I walked across the sweltering
car park, searching for my new wheels. As the heat settled on the top of my
head, I rummaged for my shades and slipped them on, twitching my nose at the
smell of melting tarmac.

Ah, there it was beneath a big cream-colored gazebo. Sleek
and cute all at the same time. Spotless and shiny, crying out to be driven to
cool locations. No trips to Tesco or the launderette in this baby, it was made
for destinations like San Fran, Vegas, San Diego and Monterey to name but a
few. There was no doubt about it, we were going to be the best of friends. Me
and my M3 could take on the world.