GrandSlam Page 14

  Just in time, I remembered where I was and why. I was a hairsbreadth from missing the damn ball but I didn’t. I gave everything I had to return that ball to Lampani and it paid off. Immediately I was running for another hit. There was another giggle, but this time I resolutely ignored it and concentrated on the game. I couldn’t afford distractions. I aimed my racquet for the ball and slammed it back with every ounce of strength—not to mention irritation at the courtside antics of Peter and Marie—I had, and by some miracle, Lampani missed it. It was in, which meant I’d won the point, game point.

  Some reflex made me give a fist pump and I noticed my coach and psychologist grinning at me and giving me thumbs-up. I didn’t break out of my mean and moody persona, instead returning my focus to my opponent. It was my turn to serve.

  *

  By the time our match was complete, I was walking on air. I’d won. Only by one game, but it was still a win and I was absolutely delighted. Lampani and I shook hands over the net, then I made my way over to where Peter and Marie sat to get a drink. And, if I was honest, to intrude on their conversation.

  Marie spoke before I even reached them. “Hey, well done! You did brilliantly—it was incredible to watch.”

  I remembered that Marie was a genuine tennis fan and therefore appreciated a good game as a human being, not just as a psychologist, so I took her congratulations with good grace. “Thank you. I feel amazing. Not just ’cause I won, but the adrenaline that is pumping through me is just incredible. It’s good to be back on the horse.”

  Peter reached forward to shake my hand. “Congrats, buddy. That’s just the first step on your journey to greatness. Again, I mean. You’ve always been great.”

  The smile and the thanks that I gave my coach were much more manufactured. He’d been having a good old time sitting on the sidelines with Marie and he seemed very happy. I took that to mean that he thought he was still in with a chance. I wondered how I could let him know he wasn’t without being too obvious.

  “Okay, guys, I’m off to hit the shower. I’m sure you two have to arrange your next date, don’t you?” I shifted my expression into the very epitome of innocence, which was damn difficult to maintain when Marie stared daggers at me.

  “Oh, well, I—” Peter said, frowning at first me and then Marie.

  “Marie told me what happened Saturday night,” I said with a shrug as I wrapped a towel around my neck. “That you’d bumped into an old friend and she left for home in a taxi.”

  Peter looked from Marie to me and back to Marie, swallowing loudly. “But she said she didn’t mind and, Marie, you—”

  “See you later,” I interrupted with the most cheer I could muster, which, given my win and the fact I’d rattled Peter was a lot. I just hoped it didn’t sound insincere. Marie obviously knew what I was up to but Peter didn’t. Poor sod, he’d messed with the wrong girl, and certainly with the wrong guy. He didn’t stand a chance.

  And now, hopefully, he’d just dig himself in deeper because I’d chivvied him on to ask her out again, and if he did, she would turn him down.

  I whistled a happy tune as I strode across the court and was swallowed into the relative gloom of the academy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was all I could do not to let my mouth hang open as Travis strolled across the court, the swagger in his step both cocky and gorgeous. His racquet was swinging nonchalantly at his side and he was whistling something irritably loud and out of tune.

  How dare he?

  He’d put me in a really awkward situation and he knew it. It was so obvious, so deliberate and so manipulative. And poor old Peter was stuttering like a teenager.

  I would have quite happily slapped Travis across the cheek as hard as he’d spanked my arse the night before. What was he playing at?

  Prickles of irritation swept over my chest, my stomach clenched and little beads of sweat collected in my cleavage.

  “I sure feel bad about the other night,” Peter said. “I shouldn’t have let you go like that.”

  “You’ve already said sorry a million times, Peter,” I said, only just managing to keep my tone light. “I really didn’t mind going, I was tired. I’d had a nice time and you and your cousin needed to catch up after not seeing each other for ages.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts.”

  He reached and took my hand, turned it over within his and traced my palm with his index finger. “You’re sweet to be so understanding, but I haven’t forgiven myself.”

  “I told you it’s fine and—”

  “I’d like to make it up to you. I have a buddy with a boat, a yacht. The weather forecast is awesome for tomorrow and he’s having a few friends onboard to take a trip to Catalina Island. I’d love you to come as my guest. It will be a cool day out—sun, sea, champagne—and as it’s the Fourth of July, no work worries.” He smiled and there was such hope in his eyes it stretched my heartstrings. “He has an onboard chef too, delicious canapés will be handed around all day. It will be a real unique celebration.”

  He shoved a hand through his blond hair and it flopped back around his face as he smiled hopefully at me.

  The word no sat on my tongue. I couldn’t agree to this.

  Could I?

  Go out for the day on a yacht? See Catalina Island? This time last month the best offer I could have received for a seaside day out would have been a trip to Southend, more a pint-of-lager-and-bag-of-chips place than canapés and champagne. It was hard to resist. Hadn’t this been the kind of thing I’d dreamed of when I took this new job? Wonderful things to do in my free time. Places to go, people to meet?

  I should resist. I’d told Travis I wouldn’t date Peter anymore. And I was a girl who stuck to her word.

  “Please say yes,” Peter said, worrying at his bottom lip. “It will be a blast and this time of year we’re sure to see dolphins.”

  “Dolphins, well…” I tugged my hand from his. “In that case I’m persuaded.”

  He grinned. “Excellent, you’ll love the crowd, most are tennis players themselves, though not professionally and nothing like him.” He nodded toward the changing rooms. “He seemed pleased with himself, didn’t he?”

  “Mmm, he did indeed.” Pleased with the stirring he’d just done.

  “How do you think he is? Mentally. It’s only weeks until we head to New York for the first round of the Open.”

  “Mentally he’s perfectly confident in his abilities,” I said. “And are you happy with his fitness?”

  “Yeah, he’s there, bigger and better and stronger than ever. I really don’t think he slipped physiologically as much as anyone thought he had. His stamina dipped with the injury, but it hasn’t taken long for him to be getting the same cardiovascular results on the equipment that he was before.”

  “Good.” I’d agree with his stamina being on form. Certainly it had been Saturday night. Damn, how many orgasms had I had?

  “And not just that,” Peter was saying, “with a talent like his, it’s going to take more than a few months off for him to forget how to win, and he’s hungry for it, I can tell. It’s in his eyes, in the way he moves, talks. The man is a machine when it comes to going after what he wants.”

  “He is.” I stood. This conversation was playing with my head. I’d just agreed to another date with Peter and now everything he said was making me think of being in bed with Travis Saturday. Of being his, calling him Sir, bending over his knee, letting him fuck me until my body was aching with exhaustion. “I’d best go, I need to remind him about our debrief, you know, after the match. We need to go through his preperformance routine, examine his imagery and self-talk.”

  “Yes, sure. He needs to do that.” Peter stood. “Oh, and mention the day out on the yacht to him. The crowd are dying to meet the famous Travis Connolly. I doubt he’ll come but, you know, we can ask. They’d love to have a genuine celeb onboard. He seems to like you, perhaps he’ll say yes if you ask.”

  Shit, really? Ask
Travis if he wanted to come on a day out where I was supposed to be Peter’s date? I wanted to stamp my foot, shout no way but resisted. Instead I tensed my jaw so tight I feared for the survival of my teeth and screwed my toes up in my sandals. “Okay,” I managed, scooping up my handbag and yanking the strap over my shoulder. “Will do.”

  Like hell I would.

  “Hey, Pete, how you doing?” Lampani strolled from the changing room door, bag slung over his shoulder and dark hair wet from the shower. He moved from the shadows into the bright sunlight and slipped on a pair of shades.

  “Hey, bad luck,” Peter said, walking over to him, hand outstretched. “You played well.”

  Lampani shrugged and grinned, shook Peter’s hand. “Ah, I let him win, you know, boost his morale.”

  Both men laughed; the statement was untrue, everyone knew it.

  I left them chatting about Independence Day plans and headed toward the changing room. As I strode away I wondered if Peter’s attention was on my arse. The small black dress I was wearing was tight and hugged my figure. I couldn’t blame him for looking, if he was, but I hadn’t selected it for his benefit. I’d plucked it from my wardrobe hoping Travis would like it.

  Travis.

  Whether he liked it or not now was irrelevant. He needed to be told that it wasn’t okay to play with me like that, or Peter. He was also about to find out that his plan had backfired and I would be having a lovely day out with Peter, on a yacht. Oh, I had no intention of getting serious with Peter, and definitely no plans to get into his bed. But we could be friends, spend time together, have fun. I was in a new country and I didn’t know many people. The more friends I could make the better.

  I wandered down the corridor toward the changing rooms. It was quiet except for the sharp clicking of my heels on the tiled floor. There was no one at the academy this morning, that had been prearranged. Neither player wanted an audience of any sort. The result of the match would be an absolute secret. Connolly smashing US star Lampani so near to the Open would be front-page news in the sporting world.

  As I pushed into the male changing room for the second time, the sound of splashing water filtered toward me. Travis was still showering, no doubt letting the jets beat down on his tired muscles the way he had that very first time I’d seen him in the flesh.

  I set my handbag down on the counter next to the sink and checked the silvery chiffon scarf around my neck was still hiding the purple stain left there by Travis. It was. Good, the last thing I’d needed was for Peter to see that. It was worth being too hot to keep the love bite hidden—it made me feel as though I were a horny teenager again, allowing boys to give me hickeys to prove I was with someone. I wondered if Travis had done it on purpose. Marked me, claimed me as his.

  I turned to the shower cubicles. Travis was in the big communal one, several shower heads angled at his shoulders and his hands on the wall as he leaned forward, presenting his sexy as hell arse my way.

  My traitorous body reacted at the sight of his beautiful one. My insides tensed, my heart skipped and my arms ached to hold him. I stared at his buttocks, at the way the water sluiced down the center crack, and remembered touching him there in his most secret of places as I’d sucked his cock. He’d come so hard his legs had given out and he’d landed on the floor next to me, his body a trembling mess.

  “Marie,” he said, not moving, just continuing to stare at the floor, head bowed. “Marie.” He reached downward with one hand toward his groin, let out a deep moan.

  “Travis.”

  He turned, his eyes wide. “Marie?”

  “What the hell was that all about?” I asked, placing my hands on hips.

  “What?” he asked, releasing his semierect cock.

  I swallowed. Shit, how the hell was I supposed to argue with him when he was naked and dripping and looking deliciously dirty despite the clean, woodsy scent of his shower gel?

  “All that.” I flicked my hand, using my anger to help me ignore the fact he’d just been stroking his cock and saying my name. “Out there. With Peter.”

  He gripped his dick again, tugged it. A sly grin spread on his face. “He needs to know where he stands. It’s only fair.”

  “That’s for me to do, in my own time, thank you very much.”

  He ran his grip up his shaft, smoothed his thumb through his deep slit. I found it impossible not to watch. “Come here,” he said quietly.

  “No.”

  He stared at me, the shower beating on his shoulders bounced off him in a hard spray, creating a mist, halo-like around his head. I almost laughed. Travis Connolly was no angel, not by a long stretch of the imagination.

  “Marie, come here.” His tone was firmer this time.

  “I need you to say you won’t interfere again.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “You’ll have to.”

  He smiled but his lips flattened almost immediately as he set up a slow push-pull movement on his dick. He tipped his head up to the water and groaned.

  “Jesus,” I said, taking a step toward him. I licked my lips, felt my heart rate skitter. His abdominal muscles were like a row of bricks, deeply defined and golden. That tempting dark trail of hair was flat and wet against his skin. How I would love to run my fingers through it, lick, nibble and suck, head lower… “Are you really going to stand there and have a wank instead of discussing this with me?”

  “I can wank and have a conversation. I’m good at multitasking.” He set his gaze on me once more. “But feel free to help me out here. If you want to that is.”

  “No.” I folded my arms.

  “Perhaps I’ll order you to.”

  “What, like you ordered me not to go out with Peter?”

  “I don’t recall it happening that way at all. You offered not to see him again.”

  “Yes, well, maybe I did, but I also remember you saying you had no hold on me, no claim.”

  “Mmm, did I?” He was masturbating a bit faster now, a small shudder rippled through him. “Well that was before I spanked your pretty arse and then fucked you. Maybe now I’m feeling that gives me some kind of rights. Certainly more rights than Peter has.”

  “You said we were just exploring, playing, that was the deal.”

  “It still is the deal. But forget Peter, he’s not here, it’s just us. And this place is empty, empty and quiet, warm and wet and seeing you standing there… Fucking hell, Marie, have you any idea what you do to me? How hard you make me?”

  “I do?” I had a fair idea.

  “Yes, like granite, concrete. I swear half the blood in my body goes to my cock when I think of you over my knee or remember myself buried deep inside you or…” He moaned, jerking his hips into his own fist.

  “Or…?”

  “Or thinking of you touching me in the shower. Right from that first time I saw you, I’ve fantasized about it… Fucking hell, come here. Now.” He grimaced. “And if I have to tell you again you’ll find yourself becoming acquainted with some clamps I have whether you want to or not.”

  My breaths were rapid. His words tumbled through my mind. Shower—he fantasized about me touching him in the shower? That was what got the world’s number one off when he was alone—me jacking his cock in the water? And clamps? I could have a good guess at what he meant, I wasn’t stupid. But really? He thought that was a threat? It sounded like a big pile of fun to me.

  I stepped out of my sandals, went so close the steamy spray of the water dampened my arms and settled on my cheeks.

  “Touch me,” he said. His tone carried a definite order but there was also a certain note of desperation in it. “I need you to touch me, you, just you, Marie.”

  I needed to touch him too. And I could forget about Peter. That was possible. In fact that was easy. Touching the man standing in front of me—horny, turned-on, gorgeous—was all I wanted to do. Everything else paled into insignificance.

  He stepped out from under the water just a little and turned, palms on the wall ag
ain, the way he’d been when I’d first walked into the room.

  I moved in behind him, not caring when the thin cotton of my dress pressed against his back and buttocks and became instantly soaked. I squeezed closer still, my breasts squashing against his solid body, my mound pushing at the base of his buttocks. All I could think of was hearing that rumbling groan he made when he came, of feeling his cock pulse in my hand, of making him fall to his knees again when an intense orgasm ripped through his body.

  Reaching ’round him, I curled my hand around his cock, absorbed the appreciative moan that erupted from his chest and started a slow pumping movement, up and down, slowly, so slowly.

  He rocked his hips a little, canting them forward and backward. I took the hint, increased the speed, stretched with my other hand and cupped his balls, cool, wet sacs that were heavy in my palms.

  “Use your nails,” he gasped, widening his stance. “On my balls. Please, scratch me.”

  I did as he asked, pressing my cheek on his sopping shoulder blade as I drew little scrapes over his sac.

  “Ah, yes, like that,” he said breathily.

  His shaft was thick and hot, swollen and stiff. I wished I could see it from where I stood but I couldn’t, I was embracing him from behind.

  “That looks so incredibly sexy,” he gasped. “To see your tiny hands on my dick like that.”

  “You should come soon in case someone interrupts us.”

  “No one will… But don’t worry… I’m not far,” he moaned. “Ah yeah, faster now, harder.”

  His balls were packing in tight to his body, the pulse in his cock was throbbing against my palm and he was rocking into me and away, setting the pace.