Love in Straight Sets (7 page)

“Do you still want to know what I think of you after what happened?”

Regan swallowed her apprehension and nodded.

“I think you’re strong and smart and fun. I think you’re incredibly brave for telling me about the panic attacks. I want you to let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. And I think that all those other opinions you’re worrying about probably aren’t nearly as harsh as your own.”

She blinked, his words as touching as they were terrifying. How had he seen straight through her?

She was readying her defensive retort when, without warning, he reached out and brushed her hair over her shoulder, his fingers trailing over the bare skin he exposed.

Her breath fluttered and caught in her throat. Her heartbeat was picking up again, but not with the frantic pounding of anxiety. Instead the adrenaline thudding through her veins carried excitement, arousal and a forceful yet totally unexpected hope.

Ben’s hand hesitated at the back of her neck, his fingertips lingering at her hairline. His touch was agonizingly light, yet it sent a shower of sparks coursing out from the almost imperceptible point of contact. She held herself completely still, afraid of what might happen—or might
not
happen—if she made the slightest movement.

The pressure of his fingers increased until he was cupping her nape, his thumb tracing a tantalizing trail behind her ear. Her chest rose and fell with the rapid hitches of her breathing, her mouth had gone dry and she was sure her taut nipples must be visible through her shirt. Ben’s eyes were hooded with unnamable intent, and they flicked down to her lips before lifting again to meet her own. He swallowed hard and drew her closer.

She leaned into him slowly, drinking in the scent of his aftershave, savoring the steady guidance of his fingers. The characteristically laid-back, boyish ease in his features had vanished, leaving behind only the strong, angular planes of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t used to disappointment.

Her hand found its way onto his thigh, bulky with muscle and anvil-hard beneath the cloth of his trousers. The silence between them was so total and heavy with expectation, the scrape of her shoulder against the wall was almost earsplitting as she turned to face him fully, pushing herself up off the carpet as his chin dipped to level his face with hers. His palm flattened around the back of her neck, her fingers tightened on the impenetrable muscle in his leg and she let her eyelids drift shut as they came close enough to share breath.

The rhythmic clomp of an approaching pair of high heels rang out like a gunshot in the empty hallway. Regan snatched back from Ben, pressing herself to the wall with such twitchy suddenness that her elbow slammed painfully against it.

She swore under her breath as she rubbed the aching joint. Ben swept to his feet, then reached down and hastily motioned for her to stand.

Regan took his proffered hands and let him hoist her up, then jerked her fingers out of his grip as if his touch was on fire.

Which was not far from the truth.

The noise of the heels grew louder, and within a second a uniformed hotel employee came around the corner, her immaculate chignon and clipboard exactly what one would expect from her brisk pace. She stopped short when she saw them, her face instantly brightening into a practiced smile.

“Everything okay here? Can I help?”

“We’re looking for the sports panel,” Ben replied quickly, and Regan’s gaze snapped to him at the throaty, rough-velvet edge to his voice. “I think we’re a little lost.”

“I’m afraid you are. Head back to the elevator bank and press the button for the top floor.”

“Is there a staircase?” He nodded at Regan. “She’s in training.”

The woman looked at her, recognition dawning in her expression. “Of course. The stairs are down here, on your left.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “But it’s almost twenty flights to where you’re headed.”

“Got it, thanks.”

The woman continued on her way with a nod, and Ben turned to Regan.

“Twenty floors is a long way, and we’ll have to explain why you’ve arrived out of breath and sweating. Do you think you can stomach a quick trip in the elevator?”

She studied his expression, which was back to being as neutral and amiable as the minute they met in the parking lot. He spoke with the easy tone of the coach who cheerfully put her through her paces each morning. Any hint of the raw, primal male lust she’d seen glitter in his eyes had vanished without trace. Maybe she completely misread the situation—maybe nothing had been about to happen except her own pathetic self-delusion.

Ben shifted his weight as he waited for her answer. His jaw was tighter than usual, the hard angle of it rigidly defined. He tugged on the bottom of his blazer, and in the instant before he buttoned it closed she caught a flash of the bulge straining the zipper of his trousers.

Heat rushed up through her face until she was sure her cheeks were bright red. She thought of the small space of the elevator, how close she would be to Ben’s tall form. He carried himself with such relaxed posture that it was easy to forget just how big he was, that he had the powerful shoulders, sculpted core and long legs of a champion tennis player. For all the luxury this hotel promised that elevator had been pretty crammed. If there were other people inside she might find herself pressed against Ben’s chest, her cheek only a whisper away from those muscled planes, his belt buckle digging into her abdomen, his hands hanging loose beside her hips.

She raised her eyes decisively. “We can take the elevator. I’ll be fine.”

* * *

Ben clenched his hands in his lap as the panel audience broke into hearty laughter at another one of Regan’s clever responses. Des chuckled at his side, the mediating columnist couldn’t contain her own giggle, and even Tanya Nellis, the up-and-coming British player and Regan’s fiercest rival, managed a reluctant smile.

The event couldn’t be going better. And he was in hell.

He snuck a look at where Regan sat behind the long table, her smile confident and assured. She wore tight jeans and open-toed heels that added several inches to her height. Her hair was loose, falling in caramel waves over the shoulders of her scoop-necked top, and the makeup artist had evidently used every product in her arsenal to highlight each elegant swoop, dip and curve in Regan’s face. She looked elegant, more sophisticated and ready for the cover of a swanky woman’s magazine.

And yet she was nowhere near as lovely as when she was sweaty, disheveled and scowling at him from the center mark.

He studied the grain of his trousers as the panel moved on to the next question and he relived that moment in the hallway for the hundredth time. Although he’d suspected that some degree of chronic anxiety lurked beneath her overthinking, tight-gripped surface, watching the mighty Regan Hunter dissolve into a trembling shadow of herself was more jarring than he could’ve expected.

She was a fascinating study in contrasts. Discovering that her tough exterior held such a soft, secretive core made him all the more intrigued and endeared—and all the more keen to figure out how he could slot into the puzzle of her life.

At least that had been his thinking until they stepped into the bustle of the greenroom. Des was waiting for them with his arms crossed, and Ben was instantly reminded of what was at stake. As Regan drifted off to hair and makeup, the manager’s warning about keeping his hands to himself echoed in his mind as it so often did.

“Where have you been?” the Scot muttered. “Regan texted me from the parking lot a half hour ago.”

“Some rude corporate types were gawking in the elevator, so we took the stairs. Nothing to worry about.”

Des looked unconvinced but said nothing more as a tall man with silvery-blond hair, an artificially white smile and one of the most recognizable faces in the world advanced on them.

“Spencer, what a surprise.” Des’s voice was cool as he greeted the recently retired men’s world number one player and—if the tabloids were to be believed—Regan’s ex-boyfriend.

“I was standing over there by the window and thought, surely that’s not Ben Percy. No one’s seen hide nor hair of him in a decade.” Spencer Vaughan’s upper-class British accent was as nasal as ever as he smiled broadly and stuck out his hand, ignoring Des. “But here you are. What’s brought you out of the woodwork after all this time?”

Ben kept his expression carefully neutral as he shook hands with his old rival. “I’m on the coaching side of the game these days. I’m working with Regan now. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”

Spencer arched one blond brow. “You coach women?”

“I could make an exception in your case if you’re thinking about a comeback.”

“You always did have a sense of humor.” Spencer’s smile was as frosty as his tone. “I don’t usually take much notice of the women’s game, but now that things are getting serious with Tanya I’m trying to make an effort.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. Although he’d formally stepped away from competition, apparently Spencer hadn’t retired his habit of going after every young, pretty player that came up through the game.

Before he could respond, Spencer continued, “Anyway, I think they’re ushering us to our seats. It’s good to see you again, Ben. If Tanya and Regan stay on track I guess we’ll meet again at the Baron’s. Will this be your first time back since—”

“Since I beat you in the semifinal?”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “Since you quit the game.”

Ben forced a friendly smile. “Yes, first time back. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Regan does have a reputation for dispensing with her coaches. Let’s hope she doesn’t fire you before June rolls around.”

“She won’t.”

Spencer looked at Des for the first time. “Confident. I like that.” He returned his attention to Ben. “You know, Regan and I dated briefly. Years ago, now, but I often think of her as the one that got away.”

“Is that right?”

Spencer nodded. “The first and only time I was on the receiving end of a breakup phone call. We’ve remained friends, but I’ve always thought about the potential for a second-chance romance.” His grin was wolfish. “If she does retire this year, I might just give her a call.”

The image of the man’s long, bony fingers running up the inside of Regan’s tanned thigh made Ben’s stomach heave and churn. “What about Tanya?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tanya,” Ben repeated more loudly. “Your girlfriend.”

Spencer blinked. “Oh, of course. Quite right. Well, one never knows what the future holds.”

Adding a creepy wink to emphasize his point, he turned on his heel and strode back across the room.

“Well, he hasn’t mellowed with age,” Ben remarked once Spencer was out of earshot.

“I’d wring his neck if I could,” Des replied with unexpected vehemence. “He swooped in on Regan in her first year on the circuit. The relationship was so tempestuous that she finished way below where she should have. Unfortunately he seems to have set the tone.” He shook his head. “I realize her relationships have to be publicly strategic as well as romantic, but why she insists on only dating the most arrogant of the lot is a mystery to me.”

The manager turned to him with a sudden grin. “That’s what I like about you, Percy. You’re nothing like those self-centered big shots lining up for their turn to have Rumored to be Dating Regan Hunter printed after their name in the press. We’re unlikely to see you grabbing headlines anytime soon, unless it’s a Where Are They Now? retrospective.” Des’s laugh was hearty but laced with threat. “Nope, you’re not like them at all. You know your place.”

Those words echoed in Ben’s mind as he glanced down the row to where Spencer sat beside Tanya’s manager, his cover-worthy smile probably tied more to the potential to be photographed by one of the many reporters present than to Tanya’s shy, fumbling responses to the panel questions.

Ben had long grown used to the affluence that went hand in hand with professional tennis. The clubhouse where Regan trained was in the center of her exclusive gated community, which boasted a marina and a golf course in addition to the twenty-court tennis complex. Every morning the brief walk from where he parked in a visitors’ lot to the entrance took him past one immaculately manicured multimillion-dollar house after another.

Although she was his richest client to date, the main reason he hadn’t been intimidated by her wealth was because he’d grown up in it. While political instability and social tensions roared ever louder through Zimbabwe, his father’s uncanny ability to constantly reposition his business interests and maneuver his way into a winning hand kept his family insulated—and isolated. Shuttling from behind the high walls of their estate to his elite private school to the tennis court and back again, it wasn’t until Ben found himself penniless and alone on the wrong side of the Atlantic that he had any understanding of the suffering and corruption blighting his homeland.

It had been a hard, painful fall to earth, and he would never pretend otherwise. He went from a pampered tennis prodigy to a destitute refugee almost overnight, and for the first time in his life he had to find a job, make a budget, cook his own meals and wash his own clothes.

He’d need two hands to count the number of times he burned his fingers trying to iron his shirts for his first job in a tennis pro shop in a gated community not unlike Regan’s. But eventually his skin thickened, his patience improved and he learned to survive.

And he wouldn’t move into one of those luxurious, beautifully appointed, impossibly expensive fortresses if you paid him.

But as he replayed all that had happened that day, he became more and more disconcerted.

Regan said herself that she put a lot of stock in other people’s opinions, and Des’s complaint about her dating choices seemed to confirm that her concern about her image included her love life. Of course she’d go for the worst of a bad bunch—she could be assured they’d pass muster with the press. At the same time she didn’t expect a real relationship, so she didn’t have to worry about being vulnerable and releasing any of that control she guarded so carefully. Guys like that were notorious for wanting a pretty piece of arm candy and no hassle, and she wanted exactly the same thing. Love didn’t enter into it. It was a business deal, plain and simple.