GrandSlam (4 page)

I dropped my bag on the passenger seat and walked slowly
around the hood, sweeping my hand over the hot metal. For five years this had
been my dream car. The specifications were superb, the leather interior
beautiful, the performance, well, I was itching to see if all of its boasts
were true.

“Nice car.”

I spun at the sound of a deep male voice behind me.

Travis stood not ten feet away in jeans and a gray t-shirt,
leaning against a big black wagon. His hands were shoved into his front pockets
and he stood with one leg crossed over the other. He wore black wraparound
shades.

“Um, thanks,” I said, trying to act as though I hadn’t just
been drooling over my new mode of transport.

“It’ll be quick.” He slotted the shades onto the top of his
head and strolled over to me, eyeing up my car as he did so.

“I hope so.” Damn, he smelled good. He must have been fresh
from the shower, that woodsy scent of his was stronger than ever. Trouble is,
when it’d been faint it did funny things to my stomach, making it flip and
flutter. Now it was so intense that greedy sensation for more headed straight
between my legs.

Was it even legal for one man to be so gorgeous?

“You driven one of these before?” he asked, striding around
to the other side, tilting his head as though inspecting it from all angles.

“I’ve test driven a couple, yes.”

“Back in England?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been on the roads out here before?”

“No, but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it. It’s just a case
of going on the other side of the road.”

He laughed, but not with humor. “It’s a bit more than that.”

A flush of irritation rose up my spine. I might be a woman
but I was a bloody good driver and it annoyed the hell out of me that blokes
thought I should have a safe little housewife car. I liked speed and I liked
flash, and if I wanted a convertible BMW I would damn well have one and, what’s
more, I would drive it as fast as I liked, anywhere I liked. “I’ve driven in
Europe plenty of times so I’m pretty sure I’ll manage.” I clicked the fob and
the car beeped to life. I couldn’t help a little smile even though he’d hit a
nerve.

He raised his eyebrows and watched as I climbed in. He then
strode around to the driver’s side and wrapped his hand over the top of the
door.

I gripped the steering wheel and was thankful the car had
been parked in a shady spot. The leather smelled new and creaked slightly as I
sat. The dash was so shiny I could see my reflection.

I adjusted the seat and reached for the door.

Travis kept tight hold of it. “So you’re going out with
Peter tonight?” he asked, using his other hand to drop his shades back over his
eyes.

What was it to him? I hesitated, unsure of what to say.
“Well, yes, he’s taking me to the pier.”

“And then for dinner.”

I shrugged, tried to pull the door but he didn’t let me
budge it. Frowning up at him, I said, “Everyone’s got to eat.”

He pressed his lips together, flattening his mouth into a
straight line. If I was to go by body language clues, I’d say he had a problem
with me going out with Peter. But that was ridiculous. Why the hell would
Travis Connolly care if I went out with his coach?

“So it’s a date?” he asked.

Okay, now I was really puzzled. “No, not really, we’re just
friends. Well, I hardly know him.”

He did that laugh again, the one that wasn’t really a laugh,
more a burst of scorn. “Friends, yeah, right.”

“Yes, right. What’s your problem anyway?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Well I haven’t, you’re both free agents.”

“Yes we are.” I hesitated, sensing he had more to say.
“What’s bothering you?”

“It’s just…”

“Just what?”

He frowned and tugged at his bottom lip, seemingly trying to
decide whether or not to tell me something. “Just be careful, okay?”

“What of, Peter or driving on the scary other side of the
road?” I spoke softly, smiled a little, wondering if that would get me a
truthful answer.

“Both.” He suddenly slammed my door and stepped back.

I watched Marie screech out of the car park in her brand-new
BMW like a bat out of hell. I didn’t blame her to be honest. She probably
thought I was a total arsehole—speaking to her as if she were a child and all
but warning her off a man neither of us knew particularly well. I sounded like
an overbearing father.

I sighed—what the hell was wrong with me? I was
acting
like
an overbearing father. Though I didn’t feel remotely familial toward her—more
like I wanted to know her in the biblical sense. But it was more than that—I
was growing more attracted to her every time I saw her, even when she was in
those sweaty gym clothes. I wanted to spend more time with her—outside the
mumbo jumbo appointments, of course—and get to know her better.

Peter, on the other hand, seemed more interested in getting
into her knickers. The way he’d spoken about his ex, Penny, made me think he
was a bit of a twat when it came to women. I was far from perfect, obviously,
but I had respect for women, treated them the best way I knew how. Even when
they didn’t belong to me. Plus he was a bit young for her—what was he, late
twenties? I was much nearer her age, there couldn’t be more than five years
between us.

I pushed thoughts of belonging, thoughts of Elle firmly out
of my head before they had time to fully form, to consume me. Just before they
relented and scurried to the farthest recesses of my mind, they left me with
one lasting notion.

You have no right to lay a claim to Marie. Just like with
Elle.

I moved away from the canopy Marie’s car had been parked under
and went back to my own truck. Got in and lay my cheek on the steering wheel,
resisted the temptation to bang my head against it. It was true, of course, I
had no rights to Marie.

Elle was different—she was a true sexual and lifestyle
submissive and relished the idea of “belonging” to someone. The trouble was,
that someone wasn’t me. The lucky human being to have that privilege was my
friend Kevin Bourne who also happened to own a BDSM club, Satiate, which was
where we’d both met Elle all those months ago. As experienced Doms, we’d both
seen the submissive side in her straightaway, but Kevin was in a position to
own her fully and I wasn’t. It was okay for me to dip in and out of the BDSM
world—particularly as Satiate was so discreet and would protect my privacy no
matter what—but I couldn’t do it full time. For one, I wouldn’t want the
full-on lifestyle, and also, if the media ever found out about my alternative
lifestyle choices, they’d have an absolute field day with me. And who knew how
that would affect my career?

Kevin though, knowing how much I liked Elle, was gracious
enough to let me share her on occasion. The trouble was, each taste of that
delectable body, her willingness to please, left me wanting more, wanting
something I couldn’t possibly have—for so many reasons. So when the opportunity
arose to make a fresh start in America, I grabbed it with both hands and held
on tight.

Now my much-needed fresh start was already becoming tainted.
When I’d left England, I’d vowed to leave all my Dominant shit behind too.
Become a different man, a better one. I’d been doing so well—I hadn’t come into
contact with a woman who interested me beyond a chaste appreciation of her
looks, and because of that, because of my self-imposed chastity, I didn’t miss
being a Dom. If I got horny I’d wank and that was the end of it.

Deep down though, I knew that if I got involved with a
woman, my dark side would reemerge in the bedroom. And what were the chances
that said female would be into that kind of thing? If she was, it would be a
fucking miracle. If she wasn’t, I could end up with a slap in the face—or
worse—and my name and kinks would soon be plastered all over the American
media, which I knew was just as hungry for scandal as the British equivalent.
Inevitably the news would also make its way across the pond to my home country,
bringing my well-kept secret, the life I’d built, crashing down around my ears.

So why, despite all that, was I feeling possessive over
Marie? From what I knew of her—particularly regarding our recent exchange—she
was a feisty so-and-so and really didn’t strike me as the type of woman who
would be into power plays, spanking, tying up and the various other things that
I enjoyed in my role as a Dominant.

I could have been wrong, of course, but it didn’t really
matter anyway. Peter was the one taking her out on a date, not me.

I headed back to my flat—sorry, apartment—and had a shower
so hot it gave me a pounding headache. Which was incredibly stupid, especially
because with Marie on my mind, a cold shower would have been much more
suitable.

Later I found myself stomping through the fairground at
Santa Monica. I’d been too irritable, too restless to stay in by myself so I
figured a walk and some distraction would do me good. It was only when I got
close enough to be bathed in the glow of the flashing lights that I realized I
hadn’t eaten since lunchtime.
Shit.
I half contemplated grabbing
something from one of the stalls in the fair—a corn dog or a pretzel
perhaps—but Peter would not be impressed if he found out I’d been derailing his
training by eating junk food.

Fortunately I had my wallet with me and therefore my credit
cards, so I could go and grab something healthier from a restaurant. I made my
way off the pier and onto more solid ground. Looking around for a decent
eatery, I caught sight of Lobster Lagoon. Perfect. I went inside. Even in my
casual wear, the maître d’ bowed and scraped before me, Mr. Connolly this and
Mr. Connolly that. I found it more than a little irritating that he was sucking
up to me because he’d recognized me, knew who I was. If I’d been any old Joe
Bloggs he wouldn’t have given a shit. But I was Travis Connolly, world-famous
tennis player, and therefore I was shown to the best table in the restaurant,
which overlooked the beach—not that I could see much on account of the
darkening sky—and also gave me a view back toward the pier, where the big wheel
was turning lazily. Unfortunately, it also happened to be right behind Peter
and Marie’s table. Fuck and double fuck.

I snatched up the menu, holding it in front of my face as I
worked out what the hell to do next. The maître d’ said something as he left
but I didn’t take it in and waved him away absentmindedly. I’d known they were
coming here tonight, but it was still early and they were supposed to be going
to the pier first. Bugger.

I could have left. Just gotten up and walked out and nobody
would have been any the wiser. Or would they? Surely I would have been pretty
conspicuous, walking out almost immediately after arriving. No, I didn’t want
to draw attention to myself. But there was only so long I could reasonably hide
behind a bloody menu.

Peter had his back to me, so if I was seen it would be Marie
doing the spotting. Somehow that was so much worse—she’d think I was stalking her
or something. Deliberately trying to ruin her date, especially following our
heated conversation earlier that day when I’d slammed the door of her brand-new
car. I had a feeling I was going to pay for that at some point in the future.

I couldn’t worry about that now though. I had to focus on
being as invisible as possible, having something to eat and getting the hell
out. All without being noticed by the two people sitting mere feet away from
me.

I was so screwed.

The longer I sat there though, the more I thought perhaps I
would get away without them seeing me. They were engrossed in conversation,
which I noticed with a flare of…something, was mildly flirtatious. The
occasional touch of a hand, a laugh… I couldn’t see Peter’s face of course, but
I suspected that if I leaned slightly to one side, around my coach’s broad
back, I could see hers.

I found myself doing it and boy, was it a mistake. My
movement had drawn Marie’s gaze and her attentive, happy expression quickly
turned to one of confusion and disbelief. She had just opened her mouth to say
something when my designated waiter appeared. He was a youngish lad, who I
suspected was working there to earn some cash for university. Or, as the Yanks
confusingly dubbed it, college. He didn’t have the look of someone who wanted
to work in a restaurant for the rest of his life. This was just a stopgap.

“Mr. Connolly. It is an honor to meet you. I’m a big fan.
Sorry, I just had to say that.”

My heart sank. I might have remained anonymous if he had
stuck with “Mr. Connolly”. But the rest of his words implied to anyone who
could overhear that I was a somebody, someone a person would be a fan of, be
pleased to meet. I cringed, waiting for the inevitable gazes turning toward me,
the sudden flickers of recognition in their eyes.

The waiter’s words had certainly gotten Peter’s attention
anyway. He turned in his chair, and after a glimmer of surprise had crossed his
face, he grinned at me.

“Hey, buddy. What are you doing here? Crashing my date?”

His words were jovial and his expression matched. Therefore
I surmised that Marie hadn’t mentioned our earlier “discussion” and that he
didn’t know how dangerously close he was to the truth.

I forced out a laugh that I hoped sounded sincere.

“No, of course not. I was out for a walk and I was suddenly
starving, so I ducked into the nearest place. I didn’t even know you were
coming here.”

I was lying, of course, but neither of them could know that
for sure. I’d overheard—okay, I’d been deliberately listening to—their
conversation in the gym earlier, when Peter had asked her out. I hadn’t looked
in their direction in case they realized I could hear them. I’d just continued
to pound away at the cross-trainer, which usefully gave me something to take my
growing irritation out on as my coach chatted up my psychologist. My
hot
psychologist.

Just then I was saved. Another waiter turned up with Peter
and Marie’s meals. Peter turned back to his table and accepted his food with
thanks. At the same time, my own waiter politely prompted me for my order. It
was then that I had a stroke of genius.

“Actually, mate,” I said, leaning in conspiratorially,
hoping to get him on my side, “is there any chance I can get something to take
away?”

He looked wary for a second, clearly wondering how much
trouble he’d get into for bending the rules. His face twisted into a thoughtful
expression, then a grin.

“Hang on, Mr. Connolly. I’ll just go and check, but it
should be okay.”

“Please,” I said, beaming back, “call me Travis.”

The waiter practically skipped in the direction of the
kitchens at my words and I let out a low chuckle. There were perks to my
so-called celebrity and I probably didn’t take advantage of them nearly enough.
I resolved to rectify that in the future.

When he was gone, Peter turned back to me. “I hope you don’t
mind us not inviting you to join us, buddy. If I weren’t on a date, I totally
would. But, you know…”

I gave him a tight smile and waved at him to indicate he
should get back to his meal. He gave me a strange look, then turned around.

Oh, I knew all right. If I’d been on a date with Marie I
wouldn’t have wanted to share her either. And I’d have been really pissed about
someone we knew turning up the same restaurant as us too. In all fairness, it
wasn’t all down to me. It was still early and I was expecting them to still be
wandering the pier, checking out the rides and shops or whatever. I definitely
didn’t think they’d be here yet, which is why I’d thought it would be okay to
duck in for a healthy meal—healthier than a burger bar, anyway—and then be on
my way. I absolutely, categorically did not think I’d be unlucky enough for
them to be in the damn place already
and
me ending up seated right
behind them!

Ugh, who was I kidding? Why had I ended up at the pier in
the first place, out of all the destinations I could have gone to? It hadn’t
been a conscious decision, I’d simply put one foot in front of the other after
leaving my apartment and eventually found myself heading in the direction of
the pier. Once I’d gotten that far, it seemed stupid to turn back. It was a
free country, after all. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted.

Except to a BDSM club.
Whoa, where had that thought
come from? Obviously the dark side I was trying desperately to hide, to forget,
was not rolling over so easily. Weird. I hadn’t missed it that much since I’d
arrived in California, except for the occasional pang when I thought about
playing with Elle. Unfortunately, those pangs were becoming more frequent of
late and I didn’t know why.

A burst of laughter from the next table gave me pause and
suddenly I knew. Knew why my head was a mess, why I was acting odd. It was
Marie. Her appearance had made me painfully aware of my self-imposed chastity
and had turned my mind into a whirl of kinky thoughts, both about her and about
Elle. The two women had become mixed up in my brain, probably because although,
yes, I missed Elle, deep down I wanted Marie to become the new Elle. Except
instead of belonging to my friend, she’d belong to me.

She let out another giggle at something Peter had said and I
realized that that was unlikely. I found it difficult to believe Marie would
ever belong to anyone—in the true sense, that was—and if she did, it seemed my
coach had first dibs. Despite him being a knob when it came to women, he was, I
supposed, a good catch. There was no reason why Marie shouldn’t start dating
him, have a hot boy toy on her arm if that was what she wanted.

The idea made me clench my fists and grit my teeth. I’d
thought that was a pretty subtle gesture, considering what I really wanted to
do was jump over the table, grab Peter and beat my chest as if I were some kind
of Neanderthal, laying claim to my woman.

“M-Mr. Connolly? Are you all right?”