Love in Straight Sets (17 page)

It had never been like this before—not even close. Ben slotted into her body as confidently as he’d strutted into her life, defying her, disrupting her, showing her how wonderful it felt to loosen her grip and give up control.

She moaned from somewhere deep in her core as he stroked in and out, pressure building in her body until her arms and shoulders were tense with it, her knees clamping and her abdomen rocking with increasing urgency. She dug her fingertips into his back as coherence slipped further and further out of her grasp until all she could do was tremble and whimper.

Ben pressed a kiss to her temple, then kept his face close to hers. “That’s it. You’re nearly there. Let go.”

Those two whispered words were all it took. She opened her hands, shut her eyes and poured herself out completely, shuddering as she dissolved, falling and spinning and flying until she landed in Ben’s arms, safe, sound and blissfully content.

* * *

Ben gingerly slid the condom off his still-tender flesh and deposited it in the trash alongside its predecessor. Then he flopped back onto the bed, stretching languidly before tugging Regan into his side.

Although he’d never been a one-night stand kind of guy, he’d had his fair share of sexual encounters. The women he dated tended to be smart, bold and strong, and in those respects Regan was the same—except she couldn’t be more different.

All his worries about whether she’d be able to give herself to him, whether she’d be able to jerk out of her inner monologue and throw herself fully into their lovemaking had been completely unnecessary. Her capacity for hot, consuming, limitless passion surprised him, but it shouldn’t have, not when he thought about the way she moved on the court. Or launched herself into their arguments, or looked at him with eyes that could melt the polar ice caps. He couldn’t believe he ever doubted her. Of course she gave of herself completely—she always did.

He glanced down at her now, her eyelids at drowsy half-mast, her lips curling in a satisfied smile as she snuggled in more closely. He swallowed hard as he tightened his arm across her back.

He’d loved before, and he’d loved fiercely, but never like this. Something was changing in him—something big. Something that would never be the same.

There was no denying it. He’d fallen. Hard.

Regan pushed up on one elbow and ran her hand through his hair. “You look so much better without that stupid hat.”

“I love that hat. Why don’t you like it?”

“Because when you’re wearing it, you’re usually yelling at me to hustle to the net or put more spin on my backhand.”

Her smile faltered, and so did his heartbeat. He knew what was coming—there was no avoiding it any longer.

“Where are you working now? You said you’re not coaching anyone.”

His jaw tightened. “This is a bad time of year to find new clients. No one wants to change coaches at the start of the summer circuit. Matt’s thrown me a couple shifts in the pro shop at Cavan Isles. They have a handful of courts and I’ve picked up some private clients at the community—mostly bored housewives.”

“You’ve gone from coaching an elite professional to the rich and face-lifted? Ben, you need to tell me what happened.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.” She gave him an encouraging smile that was like a sucker punch straight to his gut.

He pulled in a deep, bracing breath. “When I first started working with you, Des said that if I touched you, I was out. Turns out he was serious. When one of the Tallahassee papers mentioned that we’d been seen together at the staff party, he fired me.”

Her brows knit together. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m sure I could’ve mollified him. I know he can be overprotective, but he couldn’t really mean—”

He shook his head. “He found out that Catharina’s immigration papers were falsified, and he threatened to send them to the visa service if I contacted you. Even though I had no idea she wasn’t legal, I could still get in enough trouble to jeopardize my ability to bring my sister over.”

“But you came tonight. What changed?”

His smile was grim. “First I talked Catharina into going back to the Netherlands. I figured if she wasn’t in the country, how much could the government really care? I was researching whether or not it could still affect my sponsorship status when I realized that, without the kind of income I was getting as your coach and a few months to go before I could feasibly find a new player, I’d never be able to afford to sponsor my sister anyway.” He shrugged. “I had nothing left to lose.”

Regan sat back against the headboard. “I can’t believe Des would be so vicious. What does it matter to him whether I’m seeing someone or not? Admittedly dating my coach hits a little close to home, but I’m an adult, I can handle it.”

“I know Des cares about you,” Ben said carefully. “And I’m sure he thought he was acting in your best interest. But you have to remember, he’s also a businessman and you’re his investment. Sometimes those two things get so close that people forget which is which.”

“Like your dad.”

“Exactly.” He reached for her hand. “I didn’t want you to go through the same betrayal I did, at least not before your big tournament. That’s why I tried not to tell you.”

“I appreciate that—and I’m glad I know.” Her expression neutral, she nodded toward the chest of drawers. “My clothes are probably still wet. I need to borrow some from you, and then I need you to take me home. I have to make some phone calls.”

“Help yourself.” He watched in perplexed silence as she began to rummage through his drawers, pulling on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt that hung to her knees. She looked at him expectantly and he hurried to gather up a reasonably clean pair of jeans from the floor, still waiting for the emotional volcano to erupt.

It never did. She was silent on the drive to her house. When he pulled into her driveway she was out of the passenger seat so fast, he didn’t even have time to cut the engine.

“Thanks, Ben,” she said so briskly that he grabbed her arm to keep her from running up the walkway. She paused in the open door, leaning down to meet his eyes.

“Regan, you can’t—I mean, we—” He cleared his throat and started again. “This wasn’t just about sex for me. That’s not all I want. Do you understand what I mean?”

Her smile was sweet, but largely inscrutable. “What do you do with Boris when you travel?”

He frowned. “Matt usually takes him, why?”

“Better call him, then.” She reached across the car to brush her thumb over his lower lip, and despite everything, he felt his groin stiffening at her touch. “You’re leaving for London tomorrow.”

Chapter Thirteen

Regan stretched and turned over in the enormous hotel bed, crossing her hands under her cheek as she stared at the sunlight filtering in through the sides of the curtains. She was supposed to be napping after the overnight flight from Miami, but her mind whirred so quickly she hadn’t even bothered closing her eyes. Although she’d only gotten an hour or two of sleep on the plane, she was as wide-awake as if she’d had twelve.

Inevitably her thoughts centered on her confrontation with Des. Ben had been putting the last suitcase into the trunk of her car when her manager pulled up to the house, evidently not content to let her brief but explicit voice mail stand as the last word on this conversation.

She braced herself for a fight as he got out of the car, and from the silent way Ben moved to stand behind her, she knew his expectations were the same.

But the Desmond Campbell who hurried up to her on the sunbaked driveway was not the boisterous, deal-making whirlwind she’d known for nearly ten years. His posture was cowed, his expression desperate and his brow furrowed with worry.

“Regan, I’m sorry,” he called as he jogged toward them, looking older and pudgier than she remembered in khakis and a golf shirt. “It was a mistake. I realize that now, and I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

Des’s gaze flicked over her shoulder, and although she saw his expression tighten with distaste, he kept his tone civil. “Percy, I shouldn’t have fired you. I overreacted, and I apologize.”

“It’s the blackmail that concerns me more than the heavy-handed management decisions,” Regan interjected icily.

“It wasn’t really blackmail, it was—”

She sighed. “If you came here to offer excuses, you may as well leave now, because I’m not interested.”

His shoulders sagged even further. “I came here to apologize to you. To both of you. No excuses, I was way out of line.” He took one step closer, and Regan looked up into the face that had always been a source of support and encouragement—until now.

“I shouldn’t have interfered,” he said softly, “but I want you to know that I thought I was doing what was right for you. I knew how upset you were over the breakup with Spencer all those years ago, and I didn’t want the same thing to happen again.”

He extended his hand as if to touch her arm, but she drew back. “How many other decisions have you made for me, that I don’t know about?”

“Absolutely none. We’ve always been a team.”

“How can I be sure of that now? How can I trust that you’re always giving me the full story?”

“I promise, it was just this one time.” His voice had taken on a beseeching tone, and his eyes widened with growing panic. Regan felt herself beginning to tilt toward relenting, to giving him a second chance when he spoke again, his words hushed and urgent. “We both know Percy isn’t the kind of man you need at this point in your career, and I was worried you were getting carried away. I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen how you look at him, how he watches you. For God’s sake, Regan, there are pictures of the two of you in an alley in Tallahassee. I didn’t want him getting in the way this close to the end, and I simply thought that—”

“That’s enough, Des.” She silenced him with a held-out palm, but as Ben shifted his weight behind her she knew he’d heard what Des said. “We’re leaving now. Goodbye.”

Ben remained standing when she slid into the car, and she watched in the rearview mirror as Des approached him with a finger extended in accusation. She lowered the window just in time to catch Ben’s ominously cool reply.

“I’m a man of my word, Des. I told you I’d find a way to tell her, and I always keep my promises. You should’ve taken me seriously.”

Des snorted. “Why would I? You were nothing when I hired you, a nobody on a long road to nowhere. Now you’ve hit the bull’s-eye with the easiest target going, a lonely, isolated girl who’s never had time for real relationships and you think you’re a big man who knows what he’s doing, is that it?”

Regan’s jaw dropped. Ben took a menacing step forward, fisting his hand in the front of Des’s shirt. She stood up from the car but stayed beside the door, unsure whether to rush out and stop him or let Ben pummel her former manager until he begged for mercy.

“Time for you to leave,” Ben growled, leaning into Des’s reddening face. “And don’t come back until you’ve learned some respect.”

Des wriggled in his grasp and Ben released him with a shove, turning sharply and stalking back to the car.

“Let’s go,” he urged, dropping into his seat and slamming the door.

Regan remained standing for a few more seconds, her eyes locked with her manager’s. Des’s expression was bleak, broadcasting his sorrow and remorse more clearly than anything he could’ve said. Which is maybe why he didn’t speak at all, merely held out his hands palms-up as if that gesture could encapsulate all the apologies he couldn’t articulate.

It was that despairing gesture that stayed with her now, as she turned over yet again in the twisted, tossed sheets. Des had seemed so genuinely contrite, maybe it really was the one horrifically bad but singular judgment call in the eight years he’d been her manager.

Or was she trying to find any reason not to believe that her longtime manager and most trusted advisor had anything other than his own best interests in mind?

The soft rap on the door was a welcome distraction from the mire of her own brain, and Regan leaped up to answer it. She assumed it was either her publicist, Sarah, or physiotherapist, Dan, the two members of her tournament entourage who weren’t fully clued in on the situation with Des, stopping by to get all the details in a space more private than the airports, customs lines and taxis they’d all shared thus far. She placed her mental bet on her gossip-loving publicist and yanked open the door without bothering to throw a bathrobe over her camisole and boy-short pajamas.

Ben stood in the doorway, and she couldn’t stop her smile.

“I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“Not even close. Come in.”

She stretched out on the bed and patted the empty space beside her. He perched on the edge a little hesitantly, and she bolted up from her reclining position. Things had been so busy and chaotic since she left his house the night before, she’d barely had time to think about what was happening between them. Now she had the terrible suspicion that he wanted to discuss exactly that.

“I think you should forgive him,” he murmured, staring down at his hands in the dim light.

She blinked. “What?”

“Des.” He looked over at her. “I think you should accept his apology and forgive him.”

A hundred thoughts raced through her head, leading her to a single word. “Why?”

“Because despite what he’s done, he’s been a good manager to you for more than eight years. And I truly believe he thought he was doing what was best for you, even though it was at my expense. All that stuff he said to me, or about me, was just a defense mechanism. He doesn’t really hate me, but he feels threatened by me. I’m encroaching on his territory and he can’t handle it.”

Regan studied the pattern on the coverlet, absorbing the weight of the sentiments offered in his thoughtful, quiet voice. She reached to take his hand.

“What about everything he did? Firing you, blackmailing you?”

“He never followed through on the latter—maybe he had no real intention of doing so. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.” Ben sighed. “If anything happened, I think you might regret not having tried to work things out.”

“Do you wish you could’ve worked things out with your dad?”

The eyes that met hers were full of a hurt so old and deeply ingrained that her heart twisted. “He never gave me the chance.”

And then she was climbing into his lap, smoothing her palms over his cheeks, consumed by a need to give him as much comfort and support and unfailing constancy as he’d given her since day one. There was a new tenderness between them as their lips met, as their tongues collided, as they slowly sought to taste each other more and more deeply. Ben’s movements were smooth as he pulled her camisole over her head and slid her shorts down her thighs. Her fingers were patient as she loosened his shoelaces and unbuckled his belt.

When she lay back on the pillows and parted her knees, something swelled in her heart—something unexpected and frightening but not at all unwelcome. When his thumb stroked unhurriedly up the inside of her thigh, it began to take shape. An idea, an awareness, a realization that gradually took on definite edges and a firm form.

And when he finally pushed inside her, stretching her, sating her, filling her until she was complete, she understood.

She was in love.