Not So Snow White (20 page)

Which was the only reason he gave in to the impulse to do what he did next. Fully cognizant of several sets of eyes on them, he leaned in even closer, then reached up and slowly slid an errant piece of hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened momentarily in surprise, and those pupils of hers shot wide again, only this time for an entirely different reason.

And he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the little rush of purely male power that moment gave him. Probably why he pushed just a bit harder, letting his fingers trail along her jaw before dropping away. Two could play at her dangerous little game. Best she knew that about him now, before this got any further out of hand.

"Just make sure," he began, his voice so deep, so soft, she had to turn her chin just slightly to hear what he had to say. And there was a moment, when presented with that soft spot of skin
along the underside of her jaw, that he wanted almost desperately to lean in and press his mouth there, where he knew he'd feel her pulse. Vibrant and alive, just like she was. The swirling fog of pheromones was quickly clouding his judgment. Before he could hoist himself on his petard—which at the mom
ent was quite…
hoisted—he knew he better finish what he intended to say and end this little game. "Just make sure that while you're fulfilling your own agenda here, and you and I both know you have one, that you stick to that vow. Don't do anything to hurt Gaby, her reputation by association, or her chances here." He closed the gap and put hi
s lips right next to her ear. "
Or I will make certain that whatever little game it is you're really playing backfires in the most spectacular fashion possible."

She smelled good. Like lemons and oranges. It was the worst possible time to notice that. He pulled back, taking no small measure of satisfaction in the fact that she didn't. When she said nothing, he said, "I'm going to go have a talk with the trainer, then take Gaby back to the house." He didn't ask her what she'd be doing or what her plans were. He'd played with the fire that was Tess Hamilton quite enough for one day, thank you. If he quit right now, he could escape with only a few singe marks. A win in his column, as far as he was concerned.

Carefully not looking at any of the other occupants of the room, who, judging from the sudden rush of bustling noises and sounds of chairs scraping across the floor, had all suddenly returned to whatever it was they'd been doing before their little soap opera had played out, he exited the lounge. He was three flights down before his body finally settled. And he was no
longer sure who the winner was.

Do Not Pass
Go
, he thought.
And most definitely
,
Do Not Play with Tess Hamilton again.

Cha
pter
1
6

"
T
hank you, I really appreciate you going to the trouble to do this for me." Tess took the stack of morning papers from Sir Robin's majordomo and balanced the unwieldy pile in her arms. She grinned up at the taller, older gentlemen. "You da man, Phil."

She almost thought he might have smiled, It was hard to tell. "No problem at all, miss." He sketched a curt bow, then pulled the door to her suite closed before leaving.

I could get used to this,
Tess thought as she spread the newspapers across her bed. Right next to the breakfast tray she'd had sent up earlier. So what if she'd done so because she wanted to avoid any kind of close encounter with Max at the breakfast table this morning? Call her a coward, she didn't care.

One thing was for sure. She was definitely getting spoiled, being waited on hand and foot like this. Even five-star digs didn't have this kind of personal touch. She wasted a second revising her opinion on having staff, and wondered if she'd have
been able to afford a Phil or two,
had she managed her money better
. She snorted. "Oh yeah, you who couldn't keep an agent or manager on payroll for more than a few months at a stretch
.
"

There came a tap on her door before she could unfold the first paper. Sighing, she shoved them under a pillow—in case it was Max—and padded back to the double oak doors. She had a fleeting thought that she had serious bed head, her mascara from the day before was probably smudged around her eyes, her flannel pajama bottoms were ancient and baggy, and her T-shirt had seen better days. Years, even.

"Why in the hell do I care what he thinks about how I look?" she asked herself when she found herself checking her reflection in the glass on a framed print by her bedroom door.

Scowling now, more at herself than at the untimely interruption, she opened the door a crack and started to stick her head out.

"Tess, thank God you're here!" Gaby pushed past her, almost knocking her down as she sailed into her room, crossing all the way to her bed before flopping heavily across it. She was wearing her whites—the predominant Wimbledon dress code was almost a religion in Britain—and her long, thick hair had been slicked back into a tight ponytail. Her makeup was perfect. If you were sixteen and favored smokey eyeshadow.

"Dress rehearsal? Your match isn't until tomorrow morning."

"Didn't Max tell you at breakfast? They had a walkover and moved us up to this afternoon." Gaby rolled to her back and flung her arms out wide. "I'm so sick, Tess."

Tess quickly crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" She put her hand across the teenager's forehead, much as her mother would have done with her, only the skin was cool and dry. "You don't have a fever."

"It's my stomach."

"What did you have this morning? Have you even eaten breakfast?"
And where is
your
brother,
Tess wanted to know. Why was Gaby in her room, complaining to her and not to Max? She had zero experience with this kind of thing. Sure, she'd played big sister to Bobby his whole life, and surrogate mom, too, since their own had passed away, but that was easy. Bobby called for advice. Giving advice was essentially the same thing as giving opinions. And she had plenty of those. He never needed her for illness. He had trainers and managers and girlfriends for that. He had a wife now, come to think of it. Wow, that was so weird to t
hink about, put like that. So…
grown-up.

"Tess?" Gaby's long-suffering tone—what Tess's mom had called a "Camille dying scene''—pulled her from her wandering thoughts. "What if I can't do it?"

"Do what?" Tess's eyes widened, then narrowed immediately as her meaning sunk in. "You mean, what if you can't play? Of course you're going to play." And not just because Tess needed her to, of course. Her cell phone had lit up first thing this morning as requests for interviews started to come in. She was glad now she'd thought to pass around some of her personal business cards—complete with her direct cell number—at those corporate shindigs she'd gone to, making sure that one or two found their way into the hands of the press covering this event or that. Just in case.

It looked like all her hard work might pay off after all. She hadn't returned any of the calls yet, wanting to see what exactly had made the print editions first. Obviously something from their little impromptu press junket yesterday during Gaby's practice session had made it into print. She'd screened the calls just enough to know that the outlets wanting her now weren't just the little rags and gossip pages. No, it was network level now, baby. BBC Radio and USA Network, to name a few. She
was on her way to
…
well, to something. Something that would surely lead her to
…
something, Something with a nice payout involved.

She'd figure all that out just as soon as she got Gaby in gear. She couldn't very well make a splash on radio and television talking about why she was working with America's newest tennis sweetheart if said sweetheart squandered her first-round opportunity because she was too busy playing
drama queen on Tess's bed.

"Have you talked to your brother?"

Gaby groaned and put her hands on her stomach. "No. He's been on the phone all morning and he won't understand, anyway."

Tess frowned. Both at the news that Max was on the phone— hopefully not fielding the same offers she was, because knowing him, he'd turn them all down—and at Gaby's unwillingness to talk to him about what was bothering her.
"Why wouldn't he understand?"

All of a sudden Gaby scrambled off the bed, clutching her stomach. "Bathroom?"

Tess immediately pointed to the door behind her. "Through there."

She followed Gaby as far as the bathroom door, which Gaby had closed behind her. A moment later came the unmistakable sounds of retching. Tess shuddered, but kept her concerns about Gaby's health in check. At least until she had the chance to ask her a few questions.

She heard water running and some splashing, then finally a somewhat paler Gaby opened the door. Tess smiled. "Feel better?"

The teenager nodded briefly, then crossed the room back to the bed. She didn't fling herself quite as dramatically as before, but she did lay down, curling up on her side. "What's wrong with me? Food poisoning or something?"

"I doubt it. We all ate from the same kitchen last night and this morning." Tess crossed the room and sat on the bed next to Gaby. Without thinking, she reached out and stroked Gaby's long, glossy ponytail. It was as silky to the touch as it was shiny to look at. The kid really did have all the bases covered. Killer game, fit body, natural good looks. She was every sponsor's dream. All she needed was a title or two under her belt, be a threat in the slams, and Tess wouldn't be surprised if she was signing endorsement deals before her first slam title was in her trophy case. "I think you have a good case of the nerves."

Gaby rolled to her back, a surprised look on her face. "I never get nervous before a match. Not sick nervous. I just get anxious to get out there and get going. I can't win sitting in the locker room. But nerves don't get to me. Not like this."

"You're not in amateur rounds anymore."

"I know that. I played in the French and I didn't puke my guts up. I played on the show court and everything."

"First-time luck," Tess said. "You had nothing to lose and everything to gain. For you it was like a field trip to an exotic place you hoped to go back to one day." She smiled. "What was there to be nervous about?"

"Oh, I don't know, thousands of cheering fans shouting things at me in French, rooting for my opponent? Who just happened to be the number-one player in the world at the time?"

"And you fed off of that because you were the underdog, and you could use it to your advantage."

"I'm certainly the underdog here."

"In the minds of the tournament directors and the other players, maybe. But not in your mind." She tilted her head so she could match Gaby stare for stare. "Playing Serena on a grand-slam show court where she's won the title is one thing. You played to win, but you understood the odds, and when she
came out swinging, you hung in there the best you could and were happy to take a set off of her."

"It would have been better to beat her."

"Sure, it's always better to win. But you made her play. And for your first time out there? You turned heads, people sat up and paid attention to you. That increased attention has followed you to London."

Gaby lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I guess."

"You know. You made it further in Birmingham, played Venus well, and now your association with me has elevated that attention even more."

"I don't mind that. I really don't. In fact, I kind of like it. Don't let Max hear that I said that." Her lips curved in a hint of a smile, the first one Tess had seen today. "Not that he hasn't figured it out. I wish he'd stop jumping all over you, though. I've always felt this way, always had this kind of attitude. He knows that, but I think it scares him. Well, I know it does. So it's easier to blame it all on you. I'm sorry for that." She shifted her head on the bedspread so she could look at Tess's face more squarely. "He really is a nice guy. I don't know why you two bring out the worst in each other, but normally he's a great guy, funny, charming."

Tess smiled dryly. "I'll take your word for it."

Gaby's smile grew until it almost reached her eyes, which were still too dark, too worried. "So, if I'm okay with the attention and I've handled the pressure of a slam already, why do you think this is a case of the nerves and not just some bad shrimp or something?"

Tess stroked her hair again, her smile softening a little as she remembered exactly how she felt when she'd been in Gaby's place. She hadn't gone so far as to throw up before her first round, but she knew she'd have felt a hell of a lot better if she had. Might have played better, too. "The difference here is, you
want it this time. You want Davina so bad you can taste it. You know you're finally in a first-round slam match you have an absolute chance at winning. So now it matters."

"It always matters,"

"True. But be honest…
you want this one more.
You'r
e supposed to. You're supposed to want each successive one more. The more you can do, the more you want to prove it."

"I don't feel like I'm proving anything. I just started out here. I mean, I'm not dense, I know there are expectations of what kind of pro player I'm going to become, but I certainly don't feel the pressure to become a superstar overnight or anything."

"Maybe not from outside forces you don't. But then, you don't strike me as the kind of player or person who really gives a damn what other people think."

Gaby pushed up and sat cross-legged on the bed, facing Tess. "You're right, I don't. Neither did you, right?"

"Other than my family? No, I didn't care."

"I do care what Max thinks." She looked down, fiddled with the lace trim on her perfectly white tennis socks. "He's given up everything for me." She looked up, and it struck Tess how odd it was to be looking into the face of a teenager, but into the eyes of someone who seemed so much older. In too many ways, it was like looking into the mirror of her own past. "But he doesn't pressure me. If anything, he's too protective and doesn't let me push as hard as I'd like to. He's afraid I'll burn out."

"He's a wise man. And he's obviously been paying attention. It's a real fear to have."

"I can play eleven tournaments this year and he's only got me scheduled for eight. I know I am capable of—"

"I know," Tess broke in. "We know. But I can speak with the benefit of hindsight. I didn't burn out, but my body didn't hold up like it might have if I hadn't pushed so hard."

"But that fall you took, nothing could have helped that."

Tess shru
gged. "Maybe. But maybe if I'd r
ehabbed my initial shoulder injuries better and not pushed to come back so quickly, it might have been reparable this last time. I don't know. I do know your brother and I are at loggerheads a great deal of the time."

"Mostly about me."

Tess grinned. "Always about you. W
hat else do we have in common?"

Gaby went back to picking at the lace on her socks.

Tess's smile faded slightly, but she let that go and stayed focused on her message. "I'm not complaini
ng. I'm on your side, remember?
But I also think, in this very isolated incidence, of course, that he's doing the right thing by bringing you out on tour slowly."

"I'm almost seventeen. I can enter fifteen events then, and I want all fifteen. It's not that much. Do you know how many titles Steffi had by then? She'd already won her first slam. So did Chris Evert and Serena and Venus. I just want to get in and start moving up the ranks."

"Eight tournaments, not to mention fifteen, is a healthy number over a ten-month season. And you didn't start until later this year, so it's even more compressed." She lifted a hand when Gaby went to argue. "I know, I know, you're young, you're invincible. Today, maybe. But not forever. Which brings me back to that trick stomach of yours. You do want this bad. We both know that. Just like we both know you can do the math. With only a handful of tournaments this season, doing well at the slams will leapfrog you ahead in the rankings faster than doing well in smaller tournaments. Just like we both know your quarter of the draw here is probably the best you could have hoped for. One or two lucky breaks up the chain and you could have a nice run. All you need is another giant killer to take someone out above you and—"