Page 31 of Behind the Net

Her phone is out, and she’s tapping away on the app. “No.”

I see where he gets his stubbornness from.

“Yes.”

She glares up at him with the corner of her mouth curling up. “No. I’m perfectly alright now, thanks to Pippa.” She shoots me a warm smile, and this time, her eyes sparkle.

I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe the breathing exercises helped. “It was nothing.”

She shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t.” She winks at me.

After Donna promises to text him the second she’s home, Jamie relents, and we all head downstairs to wait for her car. When it pulls up, she wraps me in a warm hug.

“I’ll see you soon,” she tells me, and she has this way of saying it like we’re old friends. When she hugs Jamie, she tilts her head in my direction. “Don’t let her get away.”

My face heats. I know she means as his assistant, because I make his life easier, but I can’t help but hear it the other way. The romantic way.

No, I tell myself. We’re not going there. The last thing Jamie Streicher is thinking about is dating his assistant, and I’m not gettinganyideas about dating another famous guy.

“Text me when you’re home,” he reminds her as she gets into the car, waving at us.

We watch the car drive away before his eyes settle on my face. They don’t have the hard edge they usually do.

“Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there. Last time, she was driving, and—” His eyebrows pull down. “She crashed her car.”

“Shit.” My mouth falls open.

“She was okay,” he adds quickly, crossing his arms. His jaw ticks, and pain stabs in my gut for him. He looks so worried.

“She’s okay,” I tell him with what I hope is a reassuring smile.

“Yeah.” His eyes trace my face, my hair, which is loose around my shoulders tonight.

The way he’s looking at me is making a warm weight settle in my stomach.

He gestures at the parking garage. “Let’s go.”

“Oh. I was just going to walk.”

His eyebrow arches. “Why? We’re going to the same place. Besides,” he says, glancing around us, “it’s not safe for you to walk home alone.”

I let out an amused huff. “Jamie, compared to some of the places I’ve been with the tour, Vancouver isverysafe.”

He looks down at me with a set jaw. “No, Pippa.”

The way he says my name, all stern and demanding like that, sends a shiver down my spine.

Before I can even answer, he puts his hand on my lower back. A pulse of something warm and liquid hits me low in my belly, and my breath catches.

When we reach his car—a black luxury crossover probably worth more than my parents’ house—he holds my door open before getting in the driver’s side.

His clean, masculine scent hits my nose, and my eyes almost roll back. He smells incredible, and being in a confined space with him was a huge mistake. My gaze slides over to his hands on the steering wheel as we exit the parkade.

He has big hands.

God, Pippa. I tear my gaze away and stare out the window as he drives.

“That’s why I moved home,” he says quietly.

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