GrandSlam (7 page)

“I know. Just remember what I said, all right?”

I didn’t ask which part he meant. I knew he was talking
about Marie. Going after her. It was all well and good him giving me a verbal
nudge in that direction, but it was easier said than done. At that moment in
time she probably wanted to rip my head off and stuff it up my arse, not talk
to me about what had happened and why.

Then there was the small matter of her dating my fucking
coach.

* * * * *

Knowing Marie’s habits of wandering into the men’s changing
rooms at the Academy, I hadn’t showered there after my swim. I didn’t want her
to find me. Instead I’d gotten dressed and gone home still damp. Now though, I
stripped off and threw my clothes into the wash basket. I needed a shower,
obviously, but I was also hoping it would do what the swim hadn’t managed to
do—clear my mind and help me figure out a way to clean up the mess I was in.

Once the spray had reached temperature, I stepped into the
cubicle and pulled the door shut behind me. Closing my eyes, I turned my face
to the jets of water and stood there a while, then turned and soaked my whole
body before reaching for the shampoo. I scrubbed my hair and rinsed, then
grabbed the shower gel and did the same with the rest of me. I was on
autopilot, which left me plenty of brain power to try to work out how I was
going to rectify my predicament.

Should I take Kevin’s advice and try to talk to her—outside
of the academy and our professional personas? Or should I just pretend the
whole thing had never happened? Somehow those options tied in with whether my
inner Dominant should re`emerge or not. If I went after Marie, I was being led
by my kinky sexual desires—and every other iota of me, mental, emotional and
physical that wanted her. And if I didn’t, then I would be hiding. Hiding a
huge part of my personality and denying myself the things that I wanted the
most, aside from success in my career.

When the thought popped into my head, a sudden feeling of
dread crept across my skin. Shit, what if the two things were linked? When
London had been my home, I’d felt able to live my sex life exactly the way I
wanted to. Yes, I’d been away a lot, traveling the world for matches and so on,
but I’d always had Satiate—and Elle—to come back to. If Elle hadn’t been
around, there had been plenty of other girls available to, well, satiate my
needs.

At that time in my life I had been at the top of my game. It
wasn’t ego speaking, it was facts and statistics, simple as that.

Then there’d been the accident and my life had been turned
upside down. Before I knew it, I’d made the decision to pull up sticks and move
to the other side of the planet to ensure I had every chance possible to get
back to the top of my game—literally. In doing that, I’d left behind a very
important part of me. Now I was wondering if I’d made the right decision.

What if denying myself what I really wanted sexually was
preventing me from getting back to peak fitness? What if my subconscious
cravings were holding me down because not giving in to them was taking up the
mental strength that I needed to get my career back on track?

Call me cold, call me single-minded, selfish, whatever. But
it was that thought that helped me make my decision.

Whether it was with or without Marie, I was going to allow
my Dominant side out to play again. And soon.

A repetitive
thwack, thwack, thwack
echoed around the
corridor that led to the academy’s main outdoor court. I hesitated but only
briefly, because all yesterday evening and this morning I’d been telling myself
this had to be done.

Travis couldn’t get away with ducking out of forty-five minutes
of session. No matter what had happened, he needed to get his sexy arse back
into my office so we could finish off what we’d started.

No, not what we’d started. What
I’d
started. Going
through his history, that was. Nothing else. Honest.

I checked the zipper on my smart black trousers, a nervous
habit of old, tugged down the hem of my cream silky t-shirt and stepped from
the cool of the shade into the heat of midday.

Travis and Peter were knocking a ball around. Each working
hard, sweating, grunting, dashing to reach the other’s hit. Neither appeared to
notice my arrival.

I watched Peter scoot for a net shot and realized what a
damn good player he must be, returning the super-fast hits Travis was pounding
him with. He was certainly giving his famous partner a good runabout and bloody
hell, what a partner to be up against—the twice Wimbledon champion.

Travis wore his trademark sweatband on his head. His face
was flushed and shiny, his mouth set in a determined line. The white tank top
he had on showed his damp black underarm hair whenever he extended for the
ball.

Taking a seat on one of the benches around the court, I
prepared to wait. I figured Travis had to walk past me to get back into the
changing rooms so there was no way he could ignore me or my request for him to
come up to my office and complete his session.

I reached into my bag and slipped on my shades. I was glad
my hair was up again today because of the heat, but at the same time I hoped it
didn’t give Travis any ideas about pulling it.

Or did I?

Damn, why had that thought slipped into my mind again? All
evening memories of
that
moment had pinged like an annoying jumping bean
around my brain.

Sure, it had been hot as hell to be in his embrace like
that. What woman on the planet wouldn’t enjoy being mashed up against Travis
Connolly? Feeling his strong, tennis player arms around them and breathing in
his cologne, his breath…his desire?

And it had been desire. There was no doubt about it. But
whether it was desire for me or desire for some kink I couldn’t be sure. Maybe
it was just an urge to dominate his psychologist and control the sessions he
didn’t want to attend. Make our time on his terms so the control was back in
his court.

Whatever it was, he’d picked the wrong woman. A sexy athlete
with come-to-bed eyes wouldn’t turn Marie Sherratt into a simpering schoolgirl.

Or were they come-to-my-dungeon eyes?

I stared at him now as he dashed left to right, throwing all
his power behind his hits and moving his big body around the court the way a
dancer would—light on his feet, in perfect command of each maneuver.

In the middle of the night, when I’d woken from a dream
about running through black tunnels and searching for the light, my predominant
thought had been
Travis is into BDSM
.

I knew it as fact. He’d more than hinted at it, he’d shown
me. I’d be blind to not realize it, plus it would make me the most ridiculous
psychologist on the planet.

Which was a pity, the BDSM thing. It was subject I knew very
little about. I’d have to get online and do some research as soon as I had a
minute. Just so I knew exactly what I was dealing with. From a professional
point of view, of course.

He ran past me, flicking the ball over the net as he moved.
His top lifted around his lean waist, giving me a glimpse of the golden skin on
his lower back and as he spun, the tantalizing line of hair on his abdomen came
into sight, just for a second, just long enough for me to be able to imagine
what it would be like to nuzzle my nose there.

Stop it, Marie. He’s your client.

“Let’s call it a day,” Peter shouted. “I think you’ve worked
your backhand enough. Any more and it will be overkill.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Travis wiped his wristband over his nose
and cheek, looked across at me and stilled, his racquet falling to his side and
hanging there, just touching his knee.

It was the first time he hadn’t been moving in the ten
minutes I’d been sitting there.

“Marie,” Peter called, jogging up to me, a grin spreading
across his face. “How are you?”

I tore my attention from Travis. “Fine thanks, Peter.”

“Hot enough for you today?”

“It is out here.”

A drip of sweat seeped down his temple and he dashed it away
with his palm. “I’ve got us tickets for the Kodak on Saturday, there’s a
premiere on. Only a low-budget movie with an unknown director, but still, the
red-carpet will be out, it will be fun. Give you a real flavor of what it’s
like to be living so near to Hollywood and all its glamour.”

“Wow, that’s great. How did you manage that?”

“Ah, I have contacts.” He tapped the side of his nose and raised
his eyebrows.

Travis grabbed a white towel, buried his face in it for a
second and then slung it over his shoulder. He stepped past Peter, his gaze to
the ground.

“Travis,” I said, standing, “wait.”

He turned, his dark eyebrows pulled low and his brow creased
in a frown.

“We need to finish our session from yesterday,” I said,
hoping the flush seeping up my cheeks could be blamed on the sunshine. I really
wasn’t picturing us pressed up against each other, my hair in his fist and
strange sexual urges zipping ’round my body. Really I wasn’t.

Travis glanced at Peter, who was spinning his racquet in his
hand over and over with little flicks of his wrist.

“That session came to a natural end,” he said, looking back
at me. His lips were a thin, flat line.

“Before time.” I folded my arms.

“Does it really matter?”

“Well yes, I—”

“I’m going to leave you guys to figure this out,” Peter
said. “The shower is calling me. But I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday,
Marie, for our date.” He winked and stepped past Travis, placing his hand on
his shoulder as he did so. “Great training, buddy, you should be proud of
yourself.” He disappeared down the corridor and I heard the hiss of the
automatic entrance as he went inside.

“So that session?” I asked again. I wouldn’t back down on
this, it was my job and it was for his own good.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, “you’re really not going to let
it go, are you? This session thing.”

“You did fifteen minutes out of sixty, so no, I’m not going
to let it go.” I took off my shades and folded in the arms. “I’m not going to
be much good to you if I let you bunk off your time with me. We have things to
work through, get you prepared for the Open next month.”

He tugged on his bottom lip and tipped his head. “So how
about a compromise?”

“I’ll consider that.”

“You come out with me now, for lunch, and we can talk then.
Make up those forty-five minutes while we eat.”

“Lunch?”

“Yes, you know, sit down with food in the middle of the
day.”

I tutted. “Yes, I know what lunch is. It’s just not normal
procedure.”

He grinned and his face softened. He always looked handsome
but when he smiled he was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

“Okay, lunch could work,” I said.

“Of course it will. Give me ten minutes to shower and then
I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

I nodded. “Ten minutes. Okay.”

* * * * *

Travis drove us in his black wagon with its tinted windows
to a small restaurant in Beverly Hills called Roots. The frontage was
discreet—two dark arched windows with wooden blinds and a glossy red door with
four neat topiary trees in the shape of giant lollipops outside.

We were seated at the back of a long, thin dining area in a
wooden-paneled booth that gave us privacy from other customers. A single round
lampshade hung on a brass chain creating a muted evening light and was a treat
after the harshness of the day’s sunshine. The table was set with fine,
polished silverware and a thick, white tablecloth. Linen napkins were folded
into crystal glasses in little fan shapes and red leather-bound menus were
stacked at carefully arranged angles.

“Do you like it?” Travis asked, opening his menu.

“It’s lovely, a bit posh for lunch though. I thought you
meant a sandwich or something.”

He looked shocked. “A sandwich? Marie, I’m trying to
maintain muscle.” His face softened. “I need protein and this place does the
most amazing Pacific blackened cod. It’s just delicious, the best I’ve ever
had.”

“Oh, well, okay.” I’d never had blackened cod, I thought it
was generally served white. “Maybe I’ll go for that too, if you recommend it.”

He smiled as though pleased with my decision to go along
with his suggestion. “Good.”

The waiter poured still water into two tall glasses and I
raised mine, took a sip.

“We’ll have two blackened cods,” Travis said, handing over
his menu and reaching for mine to also give to the waiter, “and two glasses of
your finest champagne.”

“Travis, we can’t. I’m supposed to be at work.”

“And I’m supposed to be on a strict healthy program.” He
leaned forward and the light shone on his face, brushing over the strong angles
of his forehead, nose and chin. “But come on, it’s not a whole bottle and where
is the fun in life if you don’t break the rules occasionally?”

“What, like you did yesterday?” I set my gaze on his.

He sat back, folded his arms. “Well, that didn’t take long
to come up, did it?”

“Of course not. It’s something we need to discuss.”

“My lack of attendance or the incident?”

“Both, but why don’t you start with defining the incident.”

The right side of his mouth twitched. I wasn’t sure if it
was a micro-expression that indicated humor or irritation. “The incident.” He
paused. “I suppose we could define it as me showing you how pain can be good
when administered in the right way, by the right person.”

“It hurt, Travis, and you had no right to do it.”

“You gave me permission.”

“Not to hurt me.”

“I apologize then, for the misunderstanding about consent.
It won’t happen again. I take consent very seriously.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“But I won’t apologize for what I did.”

“So what’s the point in apologizing at all?” Damn, he was
exasperating.

The waiter returned with two flutes of golden liquid, the
bubbles forming a fine spray above the surface. He set them in front of us.

Travis nodded his thanks and when the waiter left he leaned
forward again. “If I made you feel uncomfortable then I regret that, Marie.” He
paused and rested his hand on the table with his fingertips only a centimeter
from mine. “But I don’t regret making you feel something you’ve never
experienced before. That was beautiful, in that moment
you
were
beautiful and I’d defy any red-blooded man to not react to the feel of your
body going all pliant and soft in his arms.”

I wanted to pull my hand away. He was looking at me as
though I were completely naked, as if my soul were laid open for him to study.
But I didn’t, I kept my hand there and considered my answer. “What makes you
think I’ve never experienced going soft and…and pliant in a man’s arms before?”

He smiled and moved his hand so our index fingers connected.

It was as if a sizzling current had traveled through my hand
and up my arm, settling in my chest and speeding up my heart rate. But still, I
willed myself to remain calm, outwardly at least. Inside my head was spinning,
my body was on high alert.

“I wasn’t just holding you, Marie. I’d taken control, I was
feeding you something you didn’t even know you wanted, and I’m damn sure that’s
never happened to you before.” He moved his hand, reached for his champagne and
raised it. “We should toast you finding out something about your sexual desires
you never knew existed.”

“Okay, so now you’re really overstepping boundaries again,
Travis. I’m your psychologist, not some pet you can tease and torment.”

“That’s a shame.”

“For crying out loud, grow up, will you?”

He laughed, a great big guffaw. He slapped the table, making
my flute of champagne wobble dangerously. “It’s been so long since anyone said
that to me.”

“Well, it’s true. You’re behaving like a kid in a playground
who’s trying to shock the new girl.”

His grin broadened. “Come on, pick up your glass. Let’s toast
a new start to our relationship.”

I didn’t reach for my champagne. “You’d better explain this
new
relationship
so there are no more misunderstandings.”

“Fair enough.” He dipped his head, his smile dropping. “A
new relationship where honesty, trust and openness are key.”

“That’s a good start.”

“But it has to work both ways,” he said.

“I agree.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“So you’ll be completely honest when I ask you a question,
not just about all your psycho stuff, but about you, Marie, and what’s in there.”
He nodded at my chest.

I hesitated.

“It’s only fair,” he said. “If I’m going to tell you
intimate things about myself I need to know who I’m telling.” He paused. “Which
means I need to understand certain things about you.”

Okay, he had a point. “I can do that then,” I said. “Within
reason.”

“Within reason.” He flattened his mouth. “I suppose that
will have to do, for now.”

I reached for my drink. This was a highly unusual method of
dealing with a wayward client but then again, so far there was nothing in any
textbook that could tell me how to deal with a man like Travis. I was taking it
one step at a time.