Game of Love (37 page)

She gasped for air, writhing and whimpering. Her chest was on fire. She couldn’t focus anymore. Her vision blurred as the room spun, and the lines disappeared. Only primal hunger raged with clarity. Unlike anything ever in her life, she needed him.

His warm mouth devoured her neck then found her ear. Her hands slid down, below the small of his back, squeezing in until the towel snapped loose and dropped. Her nails dug into his flesh. His body tightened.

He reached behind, grabbing her hands, then pushed them up and above her head, holding her there momentarily when he swiftly peeled off her shirt. He worked her lips, bit her chin, kissed her throat and down her chest, and hovered over her navel.

Kneeling in front of her, he glanced up into her eyes. Her knees bounced when he unclasped the skirt and the garment slid down slightly. She ran her fingers through his hair. His hands on her skirt, he kissed the flesh just above her waistline, then slowly tugged the garment and underwear down. She trembled. With each inch, he kissed the newly exposed skin, down her hips, over her thighs until she was completely bare.

He rose and slammed his mouth onto hers. She threw her arms around his neck, then wrapped her legs around his hips. The world spun as he carried her into the bedroom. He lay her down but then stepped away. When she heard the tearing of foil, her heartbeat quickened. Moments later he slid next to her. The sheets were soft, his body hard, damp, on fire. As they kissed, he rolled on top of her, his weight, presence, and warmth enclosing her. He bore into her eyes, communicating without words.

She answered him.

Their bodies melted into one.

In that instant, lightning illuminated the skies, thunder rolled, and hail covered the streets of London.

The tap-dancing of the rain against the window was therapeutic. The room’s lighting cast a glow on Gemma’s skin. She slept, at peace. Andre lay on his side, memorizing her smooth skin, the dimple below the small of her back, and her curves. He wanted to remember everything about her.

Without touching, he traced the tattoo of the graceful black bird on her shoulder blade. As if by the suggestion of his touch, she stirred. He moved in and held her tight, her soft flesh against his. He nuzzled her hair, the faint smell of jasmine still detectable. She faced him. Only a whisper of air separated their lips.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” he said, and kissed her.

“I better call Glen,” she said, her voice barely audible. She covered herself with the bed sheets then sat up. She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped toward the pile of clothes sprawled across the suite. She found her phone, then entered the restroom.

He lay back and watched the ceiling, daring to imagine a life of happiness, when distant thunder growled.

He could hear her soft voice. A few moments later she came back, the pile of white sheets still engulfing her like clouds embracing a rainbow. She crawled into bed.

She was a young girl now. Joy, innocence, and uncertainty transformed the face of the fierce competitor and shrewd athlete. She was a different person, and he had to protect that innocence from the people in her world who tried so hard to break her.

She scooted tight next to him, inches away from his face. He held her gaze. They remained silent, the sounds of breathing, accompanied by the percussive rhythms of the rain infiltrated the room.

“I don’t want this to end,” she said, her voice strained, “but I’m afraid it will. Like all good things in my life, this will end too. Don’t let it end.”

He pulled her to him and held her face. “Why do you talk that way?”

“I inadvertently made a pact with the devil. I think. Professional success at the cost of happiness. I’m cursed and destined to be alone forever. So this–this dream we’re sharing now–will be over and I will be alone. Again.”

“You do know you’re full of shit, right?”

“Well, that’s very sweet,” she said, chuckling.

“This dream ends when both you and I say it’s over. No witches, doctors, or managers will tell me what I can and can’t do. This thing we have is completely in our hands. No one else. I have no plans on withdrawing from this game. You?”

She was silent, looking at him. Then she moved up and kissed his lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her fingers caressed his healing chest burn, then traced his abdomen, down below his navel. A wave of heat traveled along his skin.

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled in return.

As she kissed him, she rolled on top, still kissing him. “I told you,” she said in a warm, sultry voice as she straddled him. “Tonight ends well.”

A flash and the rumble of thunder woke Gemma. She sat up in the strange bed, confused at her surroundings.

“You okay?” a man asked.

No!
She snatched the bed sheets and haphazardly tried to cover her exposed body, while at the same time she tried to scurry away from the voice.

“What’s wrong?” the same man asked.

She whirled to the voice and focused on his face. It was Andre. She was fine. It was Andre. She tried to control her reaction, even tried to smile, but it was no use. She was trembling now.

“What’s wrong, Gem?” He sat up. “Why were you scared?”

She didn’t speak.

He scooted next to her and gently placed his hand on her head, looking into her eyes. Her tears welled up.

“Christ, Gem. Who hurt you?”

One simple question and the floodgates opened. Her head collapsed on his bare chest as tears flowed freely. He cradled her in his arms and held tight. His fingers slid through her hair, a gesture she had come to adore.

Why was she still hurting over the past? She had put that episode behind her. She was a strong woman now. Back then, she had been a child. She hadn’t known how to handle life and its challenges.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. I can’t. I love you.”

Her eyes opened wide, but she didn’t move a muscle.

He lifted her chin and peered into her eyes. “I love you.”

Her expression didn’t change, but inside she burned.
He loves me.

“Together, remember?”

The best she could do was nod and burrow into his chest.
Andre loves me.

Some moments passed before she was able to meet his gaze.

“I was sixteen,” she said. “A newly minted pro who had just stunned the tennis world by reaching the semis in my first Wimbledon Grand Slam. My agency organized a celebration in my honor.” A smile flitted at the distant memory. “I was finally a pro. I would earn a living doing what I loved. I would repay my parents for their sacrifices, and pay my way through my professional career. It was a surreal feeling.

“The party was a madhouse. Loud music, alcohol, heat. I was given one cocktail after another until the night became a blur. At sixteen, it didn’t take much to intoxicate me. There was another tennis pro there. He was nineteen and had just broken into the top twenty. He was talented, handsome, and I had been crushing on him for months, but he never paid me much attention. That night, he asked me to dance.

“We danced, more drinks, and then… he told me I was pretty. After that, like a daft child, I stuck to him like fur on cat. I had been hoping for him to notice me for months. And there he was, interested in me. We found a secluded place and kissed. It was fantastic. I was already imagining a future with him. Until he lifted my skirt.”

A burning tear slid down her cheek.

“I felt his hands, his body, his breathing. It hit me then. I realized what was happening, but I was too drunk. I could barely stand, much less fight. I told him to stop. He didn’t or couldn’t hear me. I asked, then said, then yelled. The stench of mixed drinks was on his breath. I was helpless, without strength. I tried to stop him. Instead, I lost my footing and landed on the floor. Like a fuckin’ animal he was on top of me. I remember tears. Maybe from the pain, but mostly from the humiliation.”

A few moments ticked away.

“I was on the floor, tears were smeared on my face, and he asked if I had enjoyed it. I did the best I could, I spat at him. He laughed and said he had taken pity on me. That I looked like a little boy with my flat chest and muscular shoulders. Next thing I knew, someone was peeling my fingernails from the bastard’s face. It was Wesley who found and rushed me out of there. I will never forget how he came to my aid.”

“Was Georg arrested?” Andre asked.

She straightened. His voice had an edge that exhilarated her, but how had he figured it out? “No.”

“You didn’t press charges?”

“Wesley advised me not to. He told me Georg would most likely claim I was a willing participant. Everyone saw us dancing and drinking. Many knew I had been after him for months. It would have been my word against his. Also, my tennis career would have been forever marred. Wesley, like always, was thinking about the long-term impact.” She paused, tried to force a smile, but she didn’t have it in her to pretend.

A solid hand raised her chin. “I’m not Georg. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. You are sharp, beautiful, gifted, and powerful–you are perfect. You were taken advantage of by an asshole. Simple as that. That was five years ago–a lifetime ago. You’re not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore. You are amazing. You have so much to offer this world. Don’t look at the world through the eyes of that sixteen year old.”

Gemma said nothing. Instead she absorbed his words. His eyes held no judgment. She had been right about Andre. He did understand, and he didn’t blame her either. Years of apprehension and distrust lifted. The air seemed cooler, fresher.

His eyes said it all. He kissed her lips gently.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m perfect,” she said then kissed him.

She held him as tightly as she could. She had found the one. The only one. They leaned back as he kissed her head, little pecks that soothed her heavy heart. With her cheek on his chest, she listened to his deep and rapid heart rate. With that rhythm, she drifted off to sleep.

The server has two opportunities to place the ball in the designated service box. The first missed shot is a fault. A second consecutive mis-hit is a double-fault. Although the aggressive serve can generate winning points (Ace), a double-fault is usually a sign of mental and physical fatigue―both conditions which will contribute to eventual defeat.
~Tennis Basics