Page 11 of Match Point

Fingers ran along her sore muscles, each press of the massage therapists thumb excruciating, until she wanted to shake her leg in protest. She remained still, breathing through clenched teeth. Once the initial knots were worked out, she’d be better off for it. “Don’t you want to wait until you can write it down?”

“No, I’ll remember,” came his muffled reply.

“You’ll remember?” Given what she knew about him so far, he was pretty damn smart. He couldn’t be much older than she was, and there was more to him than met the eye. If she weren’t trying to get a permanent contract, she would have come clean about the injury.

“Yes, I’ll remember. Names, please.”

“Name one is Tucker Nassar, as well as name two, three, four… you get the gist.” She’d gotten under his skin, every tanned inch of it. Good. He said she was uptight, but he needed to loosen up and stop taking everything so damn seriously. Licking her lips, she rattled off a few other ex-tennis players who were on the circuit when she was much younger. “I don’t want an established coach; I want someone fresh with new eyes that I actually like.”

“Didn’t Nassar stop those terrorists from bombing the Kansas courthouse a few years back?” Admiration underlined Leo’s words, along with respect.

Would he ever speak to her with the same kind of respect? Respect was earned and if she were honest with herself, she’d been just as rude to him as he had been to her.

“Yes, and now he’s on the US Para-Olympic tennis team. It’s quite amazing, actually. He was my training partner.” And her ex-boyfriend during one stressful summer. They’d had an amicable breakup and he was one of her closest friends. She’d spoken with him many times over the phone, but she hadn’t seen him in person since the accident. Another failure on her part. She’d kept people at a distance, and it was hard to break old habits. Hence her reason for being here with Leo. She’d made it to the top, but the slope had begun to rise, and it was harder to stay there.

Sorcha made the mistake of opening her eyes and looking at him. He was rolling over to his front, the towel falling low, a perfect eight pack exposed until the massage therapist righted his towel.

Stop. Looking. At. Him.

He infuriated her yet she was attracted to him. When he had shown up at her hotel room in casual workout clothes, her entire body had been aware of him as a man. If circumstances had been different, she could see herself having sex with him. Yet another thing she’d been avoiding; intimacy in any form. Since her last affair with a world-renowned soccer player, she had hit a dry patch. Or perhaps it was just her. Everything boiled down to her own inadequacies. It sapped at her energy and infused her mind with self-doubt.

The massage therapist moved from her thigh to her calves, capable hands running up and down her shin. The visual of one man and the stimulation from another was wreaking havoc on her body. Each touch was somehow erotic, but as enjoyable as it should have been, she couldn’t wait to get off this ride. Next time, she would insist on a woman masseuse and on a solitary massage, thus taking away the temptation.

“With his physical limitations, do you think he’s up to the task? The Bellevue Invitational is coming up fast and he’ll have to start ASAP.”

Please don’t remind me. She’d lost the last two times she had played in the tournament, a stunning defeat since she’d won it on three previous occasions. Her shoulders sunk deeper into the massage bed, a dull headache rising. Was he simply stating a fact or rubbing it in? If she didn’t place, would Howler refuse to sign her?

“I think that’s up to him to determine, but I want to give him a chance.” Sorcha was taking a big chance with her career for a temporary commitment. She wasn’t lying when she said she’d heard good things about Howler’s Agency. He had been honest, which she liked after years of constant dishonesty and subterfuge, an occupational hazard. She prayed she would live up to her own hype and he’d keep her signed on. It wasn’t about the money. She had enough to set her up for life. It was about getting back to the sport that she had grown to love a long time ago. Before her life went to shit.

Chapter Eight

Leo slipped on his sunglasses and exited to the tennis courts at the country club. He stood in the shadows and watched Sorcha on the court. Wearing white shorts, knees bent, tennis racket in hand, she threw the ball in the air. He counted the seconds, his heart racing in anticipation of seeing her in action.

Arm back, she slammed the ball, grunting from the effort, and it sailed over the net at impressive speed. Damn she was good, and she’d be back on top if he had his way, and he would have his way. Success never came without hard work and he had worked hard his entire life. Howler was right, though. Work had become mundane, boring. He wanted more from life, but he had no clue what.

Someone in the bleachers clapped and a little girl stood, grinning. She waved, and Sorcha waved back, a smile lighting her face. She never smiled at him, she glared.

It didn’t matter. Yet it did. He pulled out his phone, hit the app he’d downloaded earlier, and walked out onto the court. Her expression fell, and she offered him a clipped nod before she grabbed another ball from the bucket and went back to the serve line.

“Hold up, I want to see something.” He went to the far end of the court and stood, holding out the phone. “Let’s see how fast you are.”

She narrowed her eyes under the brim of her visor, lips pressed together, determined. Popping the ball up, she smacked it once it reached eye level. The ball veered close, almost hitting him as it sailed past. He didn’t have to ask to know she’d aimed it on purpose. “Careful, I have a MOLLE pack and I’m not afraid to use it.”

The corner of her mouth lifted, and she palmed the second ball in her hand. She performed the same delivery, this time more centered but no less deadly. “Isn’t mole a Mexican sauce?” she asked with a tongue-in-cheek grin.

“In this case, it’s your worst nightmare. Sixty pounds of equipment and weaponry.” He glanced down at the app and nodded, pleased by what he’d seen. She just needed to focus and channel her energy. “Greed speed on the serve.”

“Not just great speed, excellent speed.” A light laugh drifted to him, her self-deprecating grin contagious. She corrected, turning her back and bending down, the curve of her ass showing under the skimpy shorts. Her legs were lean, thighs powerful. What would they feel like wrapped around his waist while he entered her tight heat? He huffed out a breath, needing to get his thoughts out of his pants. “I spoke to Tucker.”

“He texted me right after you called,” she said, bouncing the ball on the ground and catching it in her hand. “He wasn’t sure if you were legit. He hadn’t exactly been raking in the offers after his accident. People tout him as a hero until he isn’t relevant anymore.”

In the Army, Leo had worked side by side with men like Tucker. His own father had been killed in active duty. It had been the end and the beginning of Leo’s young life. His mother had been deported and he’d been left to fend for himself in the foster care system. He scrubbed the thoughts that crowded his mind away. Reliving the past wasn’t helpful. Moving forward was key. Except he couldn’t do that until he located his mother.

“He’s a good guy and we go way back. He was my first kiss.”

“Really? Your first kiss?” What would it be like to kiss Sorcha? He shifted from foot to foot. Given her animosity toward him, he never would. Nor was it wise to even think about her along those lines. She was a client and a temporary one at that.

“Yep. We dated when I was sixteen, a long time ago. But don’t worry, it won’t affect our working relationship. We’re good friends, that’s all.”

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