GrandSlam (5 page)

My waiter was back and was looking at me nervously. It
seemed I wasn’t being as restrained as I believed and my expression was hinting
at my dark thoughts.

“I-I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir, I had to speak
to my manager and then the head chef. I’m really very sorry.”

The poor kid thought I was pissed off at him. I took pity.
After all, it wasn’t his fault I was having completely irrational feelings
toward a woman I barely knew.

“Stop apologizing, kid. I’m not mad at you.” I grinned to
reassure him. It worked, the lad physically relaxed and smiled back.

“Oh good. Thank you, Mr. Connolly.”

“Travis, remember?”

“Oh, oh yes. Sorry. T-Travis.” He kept smiling.

“Was there something you wanted?”

“Oh, of course! I spoke to my manager and the head chef and
it’s fine to have takeout. Anything you like, we can prepare and you can take
it away with you.”

“Perfect, thank you. I appreciate that, kid. Please pass on
my thanks to your manager and the chef. Now…”

I placed my order, then turned my attention to the window as
I waited. I couldn’t see much of the beach but if I shifted my gaze farther out
to sea and along a bit, I could see the reflection of the fair’s lights
twinkling off the waves. It was mesmerizing and I found myself staring at the
scene before me, disappearing into my own world, unaware of everything around
me. Which was just as well, considering the situation.

I had no idea how much time passed as I sat there, looking
out the window and waiting for my dinner. I was truly in my own bubble and that
suited me just fine. I enjoyed the view and the peace, right up until a polite
cough was issued from beside me.

The waiter stood there, grinning sheepishly and holding up a
bag. My dinner. Excellent. I took it with a smile.

“What’s the damage, mate?”

The boy looked confused, clearly thinking hard of what on
earth he should say to me when he had no idea what I was talking about.

“Sorry, that’s me talking in English slang. It means, ‘How
much do I owe you?’”

The waiter huffed out a sigh of relief, followed by a short
laugh.

“I’m sorry, Mr.… Travis. I’ll get it now, and I’ll remember
that in case anyone else ever says it to me! Um, the bill comes to forty-five
dollars.”

I frowned for a second, thinking how expensive it was,
totally forgetting the dollars-to-pounds exchange rate. I shook myself. What
the hell did it matter, anyway? I had the money to pay for it a thousand times
over.

I handed over eighty dollars and the kid took it with
thanks, then turned to get my change.

“Hey,” I said, “wait. What’s your name?”

“Randy, sir. Uh, Travis.”

I held back my mirth. I was sure that in America, Randy was
a fine name. But to a Brit, it held another meaning altogether.

“Okay, Randy. Don’t bother with my change, okay? You keep
it. Put it towards college, okay?”

I stood up and grabbed my bag of food.

“H-how did you know?”

“Call it intuition, Randy.” I tipped him a wink. “Thanks so
much for this, kid, I appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be back. With service like
this, I might become a regular.”

Randy looked delighted at this possibility and I gave him a
clap on the back as I moved past him to leave. Remembering the couple at the
table next to me, I glanced at them. They were both looking back at me so I
gave them the widest grin I could muster. “Have a nice night, you two.”

I strode across the restaurant and out the door as fast as I
could go without looking as though I was rushing.

Back out on the street and away from prying eyes, I let out
a string of profanities under my breath.

I was losing my fucking mind. Marie was getting under my
skin and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

I shoved the last of the books I was unloading onto the
shelf in my office—
The Sporting Mind
,
Psychology for the New Century
and
Tennis History
—then rammed a bookend against them. I’d woken at 4:00
a.m. and was starting to feel sleepy again. My date with Peter had ended not
long after our delicious meal because I’d been beyond tired. But my early night
had meant early to rise.

Luckily Peter was a nice bloke, easygoing and didn’t seem
offended by my yawning. He’d driven me home, kissed the back of my hand and
said he’d love to take me out again sometime. I’d agreed. Why not? There was
nothing not to like about Peter. He was great-looking, fun company and
certainly I’d put bets on him having one hell of a hot body beneath his jeans
and casual shirt.

The lift doors pinged at the end of the corridor and I
guessed my first client of the day had arrived. Travis Connolly again. He’d
been contracted for extra sessions because of the accident and I had a feeling
he was going to make them as little about himself as possible. I wondered if
he’d mention being at the same restaurant as Peter and me last night. I doubted
it, he’d looked pretty twitchy about seeing us there, hadn’t even stayed to eat
his meal. He was more of a loner than I’d initially suspected.

I patted the twist of hair on my crown. I’d clipped it on
top of my head today to keep my neck cool but it was behaving waywardly again
and strands kept sliding forward.

After reaching my notebook and slipping on my spectacles, I
turned to the door. I always kept it ajar when expecting a client, to give the
impression that I was open to whatever they needed to talk about. It was a
subliminal thing.

Travis stood in the frame, his wide shoulders filling the
space, the top of his head almost brushing the wood and his jawline holding a
heavy sprinkle of black stubble.

Fuck, he should come with a warning. Hazard to the health of
every female heart. He looked good enough to eat, or lick all over at the very
least. Tasty.

“Knock, knock,” he said, slipping his gaze down my body.

“Come in. Take a seat.” I gestured to the couch and made a
point of not letting my attention slide over
his
body. I didn’t need to
look at soft blue jeans worn in all the right places or at his black polo top
with a Nike logo just over his right nipple to imagine what was beneath them. I
took a deep breath to stop myself doing just that. His physical attributes
weren’t my concern, it was his mind I was after.

He shut the door and sat sideways on the low S-curve of the
black leather recliner, his long legs folding over and his knees coming up
high.

“Please,” I said. “Lie back, make yourself comfortable.” I
took a seat on a soft chair just to his left and crossed my legs.

Damn, I hadn’t realized how short this tight little red
skirt was. Quickly I uncrossed, then started to worry there was a gap between
my knees that would flash the top of my stockings or worse, what was between
them. Hurriedly I pressed my notebook over my lap, resisted a squirm and forced
a gentle smile at Travis.

“You wear glasses,” he said.

“Contacts usually.” I touched the black frames and pressed
them up the bridge of my nose a fraction.

“You were in a hurry this morning then?” He frowned, as
though irritated by me being in a hurry.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You were in a rush to get to work?”

“Not especially, it’s just the heat and being tired, it’s
made my eyes a little sensitive. I thought it best to opt for my glasses when I
left home this morning.”

“So you slept at home last night?”

“Pardon?” I creased my brow in confusion.

His fists were clenched and a muscle twitched in his
jawline. “You slept at home then and not at…?”

I struggled to keep the surprise out of my expression.
Bloody hell, was he getting at what I thought he was? Did he want to know if
I’d slept at Peter’s?

His dark eyes were boring into me; they were deep
chocolate-brown, almost black. Annoyance swirled in their depths, so did a
curious certainty that I’d answer his question. He was definitely a man who was
used to getting what he wanted.

Well, I supposed he would again now, because if he didn’t
chill out we’d get nowhere and I had things to start work on. Plus I
hadn’t
slept with Peter. I wasn’t a to-bed-on-the-first-date kind of woman, so what
was the harm in being truthful? “Yes, I slept at home last night.” I opened my
notepad, clicked the spring on my ball-point pen and tilted my chin. “Alone.” I
caught his steady gaze. Yes, I’d told him something he had no right to wonder
about. But by telling Travis what he appeared to want to know, he owed me
something in the confessing stakes.

He nodded slowly, then lifted his legs and did as I’d asked,
lay back on the chair and settled his gaze over the L.A. skyline.

“And what about you?” I asked, watching as he unfurled his
fists and rested his hands over his flat belly. “Did you sleep alone?”

He frowned. “You know I did.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I was eating alone, Marie. You saw me.”

“Yes. I did. But you could have been heading out to meet
someone or catching up with other players. I’m not a mind reader.”

I waited for him to elaborate on our chance encounter or
offer some information on the rest of his evening. He didn’t.

“In these sessions, Travis, it’s important for me to know
who else is in your life, who you hang out with, who you share your thoughts
and feelings with.”

“You have everything you need to know in my file.”

“Your file is full of facts. I’m more interested in the
non-tangible things.”

“Like what?”

“Things like who your special someone is.”

He sucked in a breath, rolled his lips in on themselves and
stared out the window.

“Have you left someone you care about back in England?” I
asked gently.

“I think this is all very much beyond the realms of what
we’re supposed to be doing here.” He’d fisted his fingers again and shifted his
right foot irritably, as though kicking something away. I wondered if he was
imagining it was my head.

“It’s up to us to decide what we want to do with our time
together, Travis. We can talk about your accident or cognitive methods for
keeping calm and focused under pressure, or you can unload all the stuff that
fills your mind and stops you from being able to concentrate on court. Entirely
up to you.”

“Great, in that case we won’t discuss my love life. It
really is the last thing that plays on my mind when I’m beating an opponent
into submission.”

Okay, now was the time to play my trump card. “Yet you feel
it necessary to ask me about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to answer.”

“No, I didn’t, but you wanted to know, and since we’re stuck
with each other for three hours a week for the foreseeable future I figured it
would make sense for us to know a little about each other’s lives.”

“So now we do. I know you’re dating my coach and he wants to
get into your knickers, and you know I sleep alone and have done for a long
time now.” He paused. “Too long.”

Great, now we were getting somewhere. “And would you like
that to change?”

“What?”

“Sleeping alone.”

He sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. I watched
the black strands feather through his fingers and an image of myself doing that
to him as he kissed down my sternum, onto my stomach, lower, suddenly stole
into my mind.

I tightened my legs together. Felt a pleasurable little rush
of heat in my lower abdomen. No. That was a ridiculous thing to daydream about.
Travis Connolly was not only way out of my league, he was also a surly grump.
Sitting here talking to him was stretching seconds into minutes.

“Are you asking me if I want to get married?” he asked, his
gaze slipping to my chest.

Damn it, my nipples were tingling now.

“No, not at all. Simply wondering if you feel your career
allows you to have a romantic relationship or if it’s something you’ve
sacrificed in the name of tennis.”

“I’ve sacrificed lots of things to be number one seed.”

He twitched his shoulders as if suggesting those things were
insignificant to him. The mere fact he made that micro movement told me they
weren’t.

“Like what?” I asked.

He finally shifted his attention from my chest and let out a
long breath. “I didn’t go to uni like a lot of my friends did so I missed out
on the whole student experience. I’ve had to turn down countless invitations to
parties, weddings, etcetera over the years because I’ve been playing on the
other side of the world. And yes, occasionally I’ve felt that I haven’t been in
a situation where I could be with someone I wanted to spend more time with.”

“That must be hard. Especially if those people you wanted to
be with were important to you.”

“Yes, it was, but they understood and moved on.”

“
They
moved on?”

“Yes.” He tightened his lips into a thin line and stared out
the window.

“It’s important,” I said, “to have love and support from
those you care about.”

He shrugged. “Important but not essential.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared at me again, my face this time. “I don’t need
anyone, Marie. I can do this alone. I’m used to relying on me.” He jabbed his
thumb at his chest. “Even if I was in a relationship, that wouldn’t change. I
would still be relying on myself, day in, day out.”

“Most people believe that having a partner means you don’t
feel alone, that you don’t need to be so brutally dependent on yourself and
problems encountered through life are halved.”

“I’m not most people.”

Boy, did I agree with that. “In which case, Travis, you’re
very lucky to feel that way.” I paused to let my acknowledgement of his
statement sink in. “Has it changed though, that sense of absolute
self-reliance, since the accident?”

“No, why would it?” He frowned.

“Sometimes it does when you have a near-death experience.”

He laughed. “It was hardly a near-death experience. I think you’re
being a bit dramatic for the sake of justifying your job.”

I didn’t need to justify anything but I let him have that
one, for now. “You told me all about it in our last session, Travis. It sounded
pretty terrifying. If I’d been knocked unconscious, broken my ribs and then
been strapped to a board and blue-lighted to hospital I would certainly wonder
whether or not I’d survive and if I did how my life might be changed.”

“I did survive, and my life hasn’t changed.” He rolled his
eyes, letting me know he thought I was talking rubbish.

“But you’re here, in L.A.”

“Well yes, but only to get back to peak fitness and then
I’ll reclaim my titles and it will be as if the accident never happened.”

“I hope that’s exactly what the next few months bring for
you.” I smiled to defuse the tension.

“They will.” He folded his arms. “My sponsors are paying
good money for that to happen.”

“A place like this doesn’t come cheap.” I paused. “And has
the fracture site been giving you any pain while you’ve been at Los Carlos?”

He cocked his eyebrows. “What has that got to do with my
mental state and all this psychobabble of yours?”

God, it was like drawing blood from a stone. I was certainly
earning my money here. “Pain affects the body, yes, but also the mind. I’m just
wondering if you’re still suffering any twinges.”

“No.”

“And if you were you’d tell your doctor?”

“Yep.”

“Good, because all pain is bad for your psychological health
as well as your physical.” I crossed my ankles and tapped my heel on the wooden
floor.

He looked at my feet. “Do you really think so?”

“Think what?”

“That
all
pain is bad?”

“Yes, it’s the body’s warning system to let you know
something is wrong.”

“Or right,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving, his
attention rising from my feet to my face.

“I’m not following you.”

He sat and swung his feet to the floor. Rubbed his hand down
his cheek and around his chin, the stubble making a rasping sound against his
palm.

“Travis?” I said, closing the notebook and hoping that would
send a signal that whatever he wanted to tell me would be off the record. Was
he still suffering when he was training? Had he not healed properly? If so that
was something we needed to take very seriously.

He stared at me, almost as if he was angry that I’d made him
think of something, then stood, walked to the window and surveyed L.A.

I couldn’t help but ogle his cute behind. I knew what his
arse looked like naked but bloody hell, he could fill out a pair of jeans to
perfection. His tennis gear looked amazing on him but jeans, especially a pair
that suggested he’d spent many an hour lounging in them, were enough to
actually make my mouth water.

He placed his hands on his hips, kept his back to me. “Come
here, Marie.”

“Why?” I looked at the back of his head, how his dark hair
sat like silken fingers on his collar.

“Do as I ask.”

I was about to retort that I’d do no such thing. I was his
psychologist and I’d stay in my chair, but something in me wanted to comply
with his request. Perhaps it was the way he’d said it, as if I had no choice
but to go to him, or maybe it was some kind of magnetism his sexy aura gave off
that pulled me in like a fish on a line.

Placing the notebook and pen on the chair, I moved to the
window and stood next to him, about a foot away.

“Some people like pain,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Masochists you mean?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

Shit, was he trying to tell me that he enjoyed the pain the
accident had left him with? If so, we really needed to discuss this. “That’s
not the majority of people though.”