Game, Set, Match (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (Love Match) (30 page)

While Nick headed for the shower, Jason went on the search for Izzy. Six or seven people could get lost in the house and not find each other for at least half an hour.

After searching all the likely locations, he headed out to the balcony. Over the rail, he had an unobstructed view of the tennis court. In the same tank top and linen pants she’d been wearing when he left the house, hair in a ponytail and sweat drenched, Izzy slammed ball after ball over the net.

He trotted down the stairs and grabbed a spare racket as he joined her across the net. He used the racket like a broom to clear the spare balls off the court and turned off the ball machine.

Izzy scowled at him. “I wasn’t finished yet.”

“I figured you’d get more satisfaction out of putting a face to the ball.”

Arms akimbo, her scowl didn’t dissipate. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Who said anything about talking?” He moved back to the baseline. “Shut up and play.”

That was the only warning he gave her before he sent a topspin serve her way. As he knew she would, she chased it down and returned serve with a grunt-filled backhand. As he anticipated the trajectory, he took three trotting paces and sliced an overhead drop shot behind her head.

She made an attempt to chase it, but slowed as the ball bounced for the second time. “Aren’t you supposed to be injured?”

He shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to be good?” He bit back a grin as she displayed an elegant middle finger.

“Shut up and serve.”

“Fifteen—Love.” His next serve wasn’t as fast, but Izzy’s return was quicker and more controlled. She still had it. As he ran after her forehand, he calculated the next set of logical moves.

But Izzy didn’t play by the rules. As soon as she returned his forehand, she ran up to the net. His next shot made it five inches beyond the net before she returned it clean and fast to his right side. Shit. He’d never be able to return it. He watched it fly by, knowing the pain that awaited him if he put too much pressure on his knee.

“What’s the matter, Jase? Your knee acting up?” Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of competition.

Fuck, I’m screwed.

They went on like that for the rest of the game. Izzy hit shots to his right as often as she could. Some he returned, most he didn’t.

As she wiped her face with a towel during one of their breaks, she sliced him a look. “Cut it out, Jason. I can beat you on my own. I don’t need you giving me points.”

He took a swing of water. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Trotting into position, he prayed she stopped hitting to his right. He didn’t know how much more of it his knee could take.

Lining up her serve, she sliced it over the net. His return was clear and sure. Hers was more wobbly, but it still hit its mark. He drew on the weaknesses he remembered from her playing days and took into account she might not be in
as good a shape as she was, he ran her around the court. When she hit her final shot to his right, he gritted his teeth as he watched it go by. 
Damn it
.

She ran up to the net and motioned him over. Wiping at the sweat on his brow with his forearm, he had no choice but to obey.

“What’s going on?”

His narrowed eyes tried to focus on her face and not the way sweat molded her t-shirt to her breasts. “What do you mean?”

Her elegantly arched eyebrow traveled a path up her brow. “I can see what you’re doing. If you want to keep playing, cut that shit out.”

“I assure you, I’m not doing anything on purpose.”

“Bullshit.”

“Watch your language, sweetheart.” He grinned.

“You expect me to believe we’re tied? I’m not that dumb. Stop giving me all the shots in your right pocket. I’m sick of it. I’m not going to drop my undies for you just because you let me win.”

He ground his teeth against the vivid image in his mind. “If you think I’d give you a win to see you naked, then you underestimate me.”

“Then learn to chase down a ball or two because I’m not going to sleep with you if you let me win.”

Her voice joined the likes of
his own, Aaron’s, Brian’s and Michaels. The roar of doubt and insecurity drowned all other sound from his brain. All he could hear was Michael’s voice telling him he’d never make another major tournament without the assistance of some serious drugs and a miracle.

“Fuck, Izzy. Don’t you think if I could return on that side I would?” He tossed his racket and ran his hands through his hair. “I would love to chase down your returns and see what you’re really made of. But I can’t. I’m done, Izzy. Shit, at this rate, I’ll be lucky to get a job as
a tennis pro.” When she still stared at him in confusion, he repeated himself. “I’m done. I’ll give it another month, but in all likelihood, I can’t play tennis anymore.”

Izzy considered Jason for several moments before speaking. “Can we get back to the game now that you’re done feeling sorry for yourself?”

His brow furrowed as he blinked several times. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you.” She shrugged and added, “I just don’t believe in wallowing.”

“Wha—”

She splayed her hands to stop him. “Before we get into another full blown fight, let me ask you this. Since you’ve been back at physical therapy, what have you focused your brain power on?”

“Getting better so I can get back to what I do. My livelihood. My life.”

“Since when did you make tennis your whole life? My father was like that, and it nearly killed me.
The need to be perfect. What everyone will think. It doesn’t matter.”

“This from the woman who spent the last thirteen years hiding from a racket.”

She cringed as the jibe hit. “You have a point.” She looked around at the scattered balls. “But at least I can face the demons, thanks to you. You plan on hiding behind your injury for much longer?”

“This should be good.” He crossed his arms. “I guess you have a theory.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to another. “Just this. You’re an amazing player. Outside of all this fame bullshit, you’re terrific. They used to call you the Tiger of tennis. When did you give up being that? If you’re still in recovery, then fair enough. But what I’m seeing in your eyes, every time I hit to your right, isn’t pain, at least not all pain. It’s fear. What do you plan to do about it?”

He stared at her and wondered why she saw to his soul when everyone else skimmed the surface. Why, she
, of all people, could see him so clearly. The answer wasn’t one he was ready to swallow. At least not yet. He picked up his racket, moving back to the baseline. Tossing her a ball, he called out, “Forty—thirty. Advantage, Connors.”

****

“Are you sore?”

Izzy’s eyes snapped from the page of her book to peer at Jason in the balcony doorway.
“A little. I’m sure it’ll be worse tomorrow.”

“I can guarantee it. You want a massage?”

She barked out a laugh. “Is that a tried and true Jason Cartwright seduction tactic?”

He grimaced. “Would you hold it against me if I said yes?”

“Well, at least you’re honest. I’m choosing to look at it as flattery.”

“I owe you a thank you.”

“Yeah well, I owe you an apology. I’ve been a royal bitch.”

“I’ve seen worse.

She put her book on her lap and eyed him up and down. “How’s the knee?” She watched as he rotated his leg.

“Truth?
I’m a little sore, but I feel great. First time anybody’s forced me to use my knee in weeks.”

“Everyone let you get away with feeling sorry for yourself, huh?”

He rubbed his jaw. “Everyone except you.”

She grinned. “Glad to be of service.” She sobered and added, “You’re better than that, Jason. You never used to let anyone dictate to you what you could and couldn’t do. You shouldn’t start now.”

“I think I’ve had enough self-reflection for one night.” He eased himself onto a stool. “What prompted you to play today?”

Her heart beat a rapid beat in her chest as she considered her answer. “I just needed to hit a few.” At his raised eyebrow she sighed. “I’ve been like a pressure cooker for years. Today, my little whistle sang.”

“When I gave you the racket earlier, you looked scared. What changed?”

She figured she might as well tell him the truth. She’d forced honesty out of him. He deserved a little reciprocation. “I realized today I’ve been hiding most of my life. Make that
all
 of my life. I’m carrying around a lot of resentment about it.”

“
This have to do with your dad?”

“The day he died, I had a fight with him. I was pitching a fit because I was hurt and didn’t want to play. I’ve never lost my temper like that before. I ended up playing. But as I did, Dad had a heart attack in the stands.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Izzy.”

“He died that night. I’ve carried that blame around for years.
Until today.”

“His death wasn’t your fault.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I’ve always known. Didn’t stop the guilt. Afterward, I lost it. I couldn’t function for weeks. The press was there, the whole team saw it, saw my meltdown.”

“That’s why the press makes you so crazy now?”

She nodded. “Once I sold some photos, I spent years praying no one would put the pieces together and ask questions.”

“Now I get the name Z Con.”

“It’s silly, I know. But once I hired Simon, he thought it would be a great way to build in anonymity and buzz all at once. Great marketing he called it.”

Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back on the stool. “While we’re on the subject, what in the world were you thinking going out with that douche bag?”

She dropped her head in her hands to stifle the giggle and scrubbed her hands over her face. “I know. We only went out a few times. Going out with him just seemed like a good idea at the time. You know I broke up with him, and he refused?”

“Smart guy.
I wouldn’t let you go either.”

Not sure how to take the blatant flirting, Izzy changed the subject. “You got a phone call earlier, is everything okay?”

Faint color tinged his cheeks. “Why would you think anything’s wrong?”

“Your energy.
You’re still tense around the mouth. If it’s none of my business, just tell m—”

Mischief hugged his words. “You spend a lot of time staring at my lips?”

Shit
. “Yes. I mean no. I mean, with the photo shoots, I—uh, in the past few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time looking at you, capturing your moods etc.” She was glad she’d put on long sleeves before coming out onto the deck. Despite the warmth of his embrace, cool air danced across her skin, and her hairs rose in response. What were gentle summer breezes in Pasadena were magnified tenfold at the beach. She moved from the settee to the railing and stared up at the stars.

“No need to worry about me. It was just something I had to take care of.”

“Sorry for prying. My first thought when someone has a problem is how I can fix it. What’s the solution?” She shrugged and turned back to look at the surf. “I know that’s a typical male response. Most women want to talk it out. Not me. I prefer action, something solid.”

“You like to take care of things.
Nothing wrong with that. But who takes care of St. Izzy?” As he asked the soft question, he moved behind her to envelop her in his masculine warmth.

Warm liquid pleasure flowed through her muscles and eased her tired joints into a languorous state.
 
You can take care of St. Izzy anytime
. Pulling the air brake on her runaway train of thought, Izzy cleared her throat and tried to think clearly.

She tried for cheery. Cheery meant she could pretend he didn’t have an effect on her. “Whatever’s got you bummed, maybe I have a solution. And if not a solution, I have a shovel or two.”

“You would really help me move a body?” His sexy smile was evident in his voice.

“Izzy Connors, problem solver at your service.” With every loosened muscle, she tried not to moan with the pleasure zinging over her synapses. “Picture the marketing logo, me with a shovel and a grin.”

His thumb traced circular patterns along the column of her neck and paused at the nape of her hair. If she’d been in the mood to lie to herself, she would pretend the shiver was a result of the chill, not the pleasure patterns Jason’s hands wove on her neck and shoulders.

“I can see the campaign now. I’ll keep you in my rolodex for the paparazzi.
”

“I never really thought about how all the trappings of fame must affect you. They’re a major pain in the ass huh? I can’t even imagine it.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to imagine it.”

She turned to face him. “It doesn’t ever get easier, does it?
The people hiding in the bushes, coming up to you during dinner. I mean a normal life is hard enough without cameras following you everywhere.”

Even though she’d turn
ed to face him, he didn’t release her. He drew nearer, warming and mingling the air they breathed. “The whole world watches and waits for you to screw up. It’s a lot of pressure.”