Page 37 of Match Point

“Welcome to Seattle Now. Please welcome back Sorcha Templeton, who’s been joined by her coach, Olympic silver medalist Tucker Nassar. Welcome to the show.”

“It’s good to be here.” The roughness of his voice was magnified by the microphone.

“I seem to recall you two were an item at one time.” Grace held up a card with an old tabloid picture of Tucker and Sorcha on the front. She read it out loud. “Are the Tennis Court Princess and her princely counterpart the top picks to win Wimbledon?”

Tucker groaned, clasping his hand to his forehead, and the audience laughed.

“You have to let me keep that. I’ll hang it in Tucker’s office,” Sorcha said, reaching for the card, giggling at the look of resignation Tucker wore on the cover and her own foray into braces and bangs.

“No, you won’t,” he said.

“It’s been fifteen years since this picture was taken, and you two have both had your ups and downs. What made you decide to make Tucker your coach?”

Finally, an easy question. “We’ve been friends forever and I owe a part of my earlier success to him. But Tucker’s instincts on the court match my own and we make a cohesive team. When my manager asked me to give him names for a coach, Tucker was at the top of my list.” Leo had made it happen. He was making a lot of things happen, some she hated, and others she adored. The more she realized his worth, the harder it was to separate her mind from her growing emotional need for him. Not just as a manager, but as a man.

She was falling hard and fast and there was no soft landing in sight.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Leo opened the door to Sorcha’s dressing room, more relieved than he cared to admit. She’d been a natural in front of the camera and answered the tough-hitting questions with confidence. He was proud of her coolness under pressure. Something about her had changed in the past week. She’d buckled down and worked out without bitching, and the better she became, the harder he found it to resist her.

“Excellent show,” he said, stepping inside the large dressing room. He stopped in mid-stride and swallowed. Hard.

“What the hell, Leo?” Sorcha was standing in the middle of the room in her bra, underwear, and heels, her hair cascading about her shoulders. Eyes widening, she snatched up her dress and held it in front of her.

“Sorry, I didn’t think to knock.” Hell, it was hard to think at that moment. She was stunning, all curves and angles, bare smooth skin.

Noise reached him from the hallway, voices and rustling from the retreating busy crew members. Self-preservation said to exit and wait for her outside. Desire kept him rooted to the spot.

She narrowed her eyes, back ramrod straight. Cool blue eyes met his. “Please shut the door before the entire crew sees me.”

“Sorry.” He turned to face the door. A small mirror hung on the door and he caught her reflection. Heat burned up his neck. It was hard not to stare. Fuck, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a half-naked woman before. Not half, almost all the way naked. But that was beside the point. “Why are you standing in the middle of the room with nothing on and with the door unlocked?”

“My dress is like a tourniquet and made me feel claustrophobic.” She bit her bottom lip and lowered the dress until the top of her breasts were exposed. “I always panic after interviews, I don’t know why, and feeling like a sausage wasn’t helping.”

“Okay.” He’d file that bit away for future reference, along with the erotic sight of her in underwear and heels.” He tore his gaze away and stepped to the left to avoid her reflection. But the vision of her in a pink lace bra and underwear was burned into his brain. “Well, you did well. You should be proud. Grace is giving Tucker a tour of the studio.”

“No big surprise there. He did great on his interview. He’s been, um, well, it can’t be easy for him, can it?”

This was the second time he’d caught her wearing lace. He liked lace. Stop. Just stop. But his dick had a hard time listening to his head. Focus. He shook his head, sympathizing with Tucker. It couldn’t be easy reliving such a traumatic time in his life for the sake of other people’s morbid curiosity. “Don’t you think you should get dressed?” he asked, hating the raspy quality of his voice. They were two adults. He was clothed, and she was wearing skimpy lingerie.

“What’s wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asked, a biting edge to her teasing remark. “Oh, right, the girlfriend.”

He considered blowing off the remark, but what was the point? It hadn’t acted as a barrier between them before. It shouldn’t make a difference now. She was his client and her future would determine his. “I broke it off with Kat. What you said hit home. She deserved better.”

“I see.” The two words were clipped and cool.

Okay, perhaps Kat wasn’t the only person who deserved an apology. He scratched at the scruff on his jaw. He’d considered shaving that morning for the first time in weeks, but had settled for wearing a dress shirt, the once-fitted fabric now loose on his shoulders. He’d benefited from the same workout as Sorcha and lost bulk from excessive cardio. Pulling out his phone, he pretended to look through his emails. “I don’t think I ever apologized to you.”

He’d been a dick to her and Kat. The apology was a long time in coming. He wasn’t proud of his behavior. Relationships had never been easy for him and up until recently, he’d avoided them at all costs.

Silence wrought with tension filled the room. Would she accept his apology or tell him to fuck off? If she did, he deserved it. The clock on his phone flipped to the next minute. .

“No, you didn’t,” she said in an even tone that gave nothing away. A text popped up from Howler and he stifled a relieved sigh. “Howler wants to take you out for dinner and discuss strategy. Send me a text when you’re ready.” She needed to hurry for his peace of mind. Of course, he could leave her and wait outside, the most logical choice.

“I’m ready.”

He moved aside and turned to her. The phone dropped from between his fingers and landed with a soft thump on the carpet.

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