Love. Set. Match. Page 6

  She balled up her fist and started to draw it back, but Zoe quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back a few steps. At the same moment, a set of broad shoulders appeared in front of her, blocking Kole from her view. She’d recognize those shoulders anywhere. And if she didn’t recognize the shoulders, she’d definitely recognize the butt. Whatever the man’s faults, he had an excellent ass.

  “What do we have here?” Rob asked. “Surely you aren’t harassing these ladies in a public place, Naumov. A public place with several members of the press within earshot.”

  “Mind your own business, Ashton. You know what a bitch she is,” Kole retorted.

  Rob drew himself to his full height, and Emerson had to step to one side to see Kole’s reaction. Rob had a good four or five inches on Kole, and Kole was smart enough to back up a step or two.

  “The only bitch I see here is you. A woman broke up with you. Big deal. You’ve got enough ball bunnies stashed all over the world that you’ll have no trouble finding comfort. I suggest you leave now before I get one of my new friends from the tabloids to run a story about you and a nasty STD you picked up from a brothel in Thailand.”

  Kole and Rob had a stare down worthy of the OK Corral for a minute or two longer before Kole walked away, muttering some colorful words in Serbian under his breath.

  “Thank you,” Emerson said as Rob turned to face her. “I had it under control, but I appreciate you keeping me from spending the night in an Australian prison.”

  “They’re supposed to be fairly nice, but I think we all prefer that you’re not behind bars.” Rob’s smile wasn’t his usual easy grin, mostly because of the worry lurking in his eyes. Plus something else she couldn’t put her finger on. “You okay?”

  Something caught in her chest and fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t let him in, no matter how nice he was being. “I…yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Zoe. Always nice to see you.” With a nod to the redhead, Rob strolled away with his hands shoved into the pockets of his designer jeans.

  Zoe and Emerson returned to their seats, Zoe’s eyes pinning Emerson with a thousand questions.

  “What was that all about? Is there something going on between you and Rob Ashton that I should know about?”

  Emerson shook her head. “No. Definitely not.”

  “Are you sure? The way he looks at you…if I didn’t know you two fought like cats and dogs, I’d swear you were—”

  “That we were what?” She kept her tone nonchalant, but her heart pounded.

  Zoe frowned and sighed. “That you were lovers. Which is ridiculous. Heaven knows I’ve had to keep you two from fighting often enough.”

  Not so ridiculous. Her heart clenched as she remembered what it was like to kiss him. He was the first man she’d kissed, instead of letting him initiate the kiss.

  She still remembered every detail of it, probably because she saw it so many times in her dreams. The twelve-inch height difference had made the maneuver a little challenging, but Emerson had surged to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Rob’s mouth. She’d meant for it to be a soft, sweet kiss, over as fast as it started, but he’d followed her as she lowered to put her feet firmly on the ground. Extending the kiss, his lips had moved over hers, gentle but insistent, teasing and coaxing until she opened her mouth. As their tongues twined and danced, his hands had moved over her, his body pressing her into the rough stone wall of the alleyway they’d ducked into.

  Every inch of her went up in flames at the memory of how it’d made her feel. That man, that beautiful, strong, talented man had wanted her—little Emerson Grace, the mutt that everyone loved to tease. The power of it had made her a little drunk and a lot turned on.

  Later that night, she’d agreed to go to bed with him. Even after all these years, that same feeling still ghosted through her whenever he got too close. Despite everything, she was still glad he’d been her first. Rob had been sweet and considerate and passionate. Everything a girl could want in a lover.

  “Rob and I aren’t anything. We don’t even like each other, like you said.” She opened her book again.

  Zoe put her hand on Emerson’s wrist, drawing her attention up to the green eyes that had been seeing through her bravado since the day they’d met. “A bloke, especially one like Robert Ashton III, does not step in and defend a woman like he has twice in one week if he doesn’t like her quite a bit.”

  Shifting uncomfortably, Emerson looked away. Zoe saw too much and said too much. Emerson didn’t want to believe that Zoe was right. The stuff he’d said on the panel could be explained away as human decency, but stepping in today? When he didn’t have to? That old fluttery feeling came back in full force, and she had no idea what to make of it. Not that it mattered. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to see him again for at least a month or two, and by then everything would be back to normal.

  ****

  Rob couldn’t believe his luck. During his conversation with Emerson and Zoe, he happened to get a glimpse at Em’s ticket. She was going to be on the same flights to New York as him. A little flirtation with the desk agent and a story about him and Em being old friends who wanted to sit together and spend the trip catching up, and he’d arranged his seat so he was sitting next to her in business class.

  He boarded the plane first and got himself settled. Travel was a part of the tennis lifestyle he hadn’t really missed. Stuck sitting in a big metal tube for hours on end was not his idea of fun.

  He’d rather be moving, exercising, doing anything but sitting still. Stretching his legs out as much as he could, he dug his book out of his carryon and tried to focus on it, all while glancing up so he wouldn’t miss Em’s face when she boarded and found him in the aisle seat beside her.

  As soon as he spotted her dark head over the backs of the seats, he pretended to be absorbed with his book.

  “Excuse me.” Em’s tone was only mildly annoyed—a promising sign.

  He glanced up, his most charming smile firmly in place. “Oh. Em. Hi. Fancy meeting you here. Is this your seat?”

  “Yes, apparently we’re seat mates. Now can you move your giant legs so I can get to my seat, or do I need to step on you?”

  “I’ll move.” He pulled his legs in, enjoying the full-on view he got of her leggings-clad ass under the long tunic-style top as she slid by. “And my legs aren’t giant. They’re perfectly proportional for someone my height.”

  Em tossed her short hair to get the swing of it out of her face as she tucked her carryon away. “Yeah, and you’re a giant.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re short.”

  They’d had this little argument so many times during their short relationship, usually when they were sharing a bed and his legs were hanging off the end. He hadn’t minded then, because he had her in his arms, naked and satisfied. To be honest, he didn’t mind now. It was a far cry from the hostility she’d lobbed at him a week ago in the hotel bar.

  While he’d hoped she might at least attempt to make conversation with him, she immediately pulled out a book and didn’t even glance up during the pre-flight briefings. Her knuckles got a little white during takeoff, but she still didn’t look away from the book. Remembering a conversation they’d had on their first date, he waited until the plane leveled off before speaking.

  “Still a little afraid of flying?” he asked softly.

  Dark brows furrowed as the sun from the window glinted off her golden skin. She held the book up a little higher, but she still responded. “I’m not afraid of flying. Just of takeoffs and landings and really big bumps. And falling. The whole mom dying in a plane crash thing will do that to a girl.”

  She talked to him—fifteen-love to Ashton. “Understandable. What are you reading?”

  “Why is it,” she said philosophically, her nose still buried in her book, “that people feel the need to ask someone what they’re reading when they’re in the midst of reading? The book in the face should be a universal signal th
at the person is not in the mood to talk.”

  He grinned. Nice to know the encounter with Kole hadn’t knocked the sass out of her. Sassy Em was his favorite version of her. Well, except for maybe Naked Em. “Maybe, but it’s still polite to answer the question, grumpy.”

  “If you must know, I’m reading Persuasion.” She turned briefly to show him the cover of the slightly tattered book.

  “Is that the same copy you had when we were in London?” he asked, the words coming out before he could stop them. He could kick himself for bringing up London.

  She stiffened a little, but she relaxed on a sigh. “Yes. I’ve had this copy since I was twelve. Zoe brought it back from a trip to England.”

  “Right. It’s your favorite book, isn’t it?” Unlike a lot of women who hung out in the players’ lounge who spent their time reading magazines or messing around on their phones, Em always had a book with her.

  “Yes.” Turning the page, she glanced up, her eyes meeting his. “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I just like how you look when you’re reading.”

  Deciding not to overplay his hand, he let her return to her book, and he returned to his. George R.R. Martin wasn’t as intriguing as trying to figure out whether or not Em’s feelings toward him were thawing out, but he managed to focus for the better part of an hour. When the flight attendant came by, Em was so engrossed that she didn’t look up from her book, so he ordered her a glass of wine Maren liked and himself a scotch and paid for both.

  “Here you are, ma’am,” the flight attendant said, holding the wine glass out to Em.

  She blinked up, startled. “Oh, I didn’t—”

  Rob took the glass and set it on her tray table. “I got it for you. Didn’t want to pull you away from Captain Wentworth and Miss Elliot if I didn’t need to.”

  “Thanks, that was…nice of you.” She stared at the wine, the frown back in place.

  “It’s a glass of wine, Em, not poison,” he said, sipping his scotch.

  She looked up, her eyes clearing a little. “No. Sorry. Thank you for the wine. I’m…well, I’m confused.”

  A loaded statement if he’d ever heard one. “Confused about what? I’m a nice guy. I know you like your book, so I ordered your drink for you so you could keep reading. Simple as that.”

  “If it were only the wine, then yes, it would be simple, but it’s not.” She set the book down and turned toward him. “Why did you step in with Kole at the airport?”

  Ah. He’d hoped they could wait until they were halfway to LA before that was brought up. “Because Naumov is an ass. Owen told me a bit more about the problems you’d had with him, and when I saw him bugging you, I wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

  “And what about the post-match panel? Thank you for that too, by the way. I’m…sorry I jumped all over you without seeing the whole segment.”

  Rob’s heart tightened a little, finally hearing her acknowledge that he was on her side, seeing the softer look in her eyes. He wished she knew he’d been on her side all along; he’d been an idiot for letting her believe otherwise. She hadn’t looked at him as anything other than an adversary for so long; it was nice to see the shift starting.

  “You don’t need to thank me.” He closed his book and set his scotch down, locking eyes with her. “No one, man or woman, deserves to have their private lives thrown out there as part of the criticism of how they do their jobs. And no woman should get blamed for trusting her guy to take private pictures of her.”

  She glanced down at her hands. “But I chose to have the pictures taken. I bought the lingerie and agreed to model it for him.”

  A white-hot wave of jealousy hit him, but he tamped it down. She wasn’t his, and it was his own damn fault. She had every right to let Kole take those pictures, but God, he wished it had been him and not Naumov behind that camera lens. He would have protected those pictures better than Scrooge McDuck protected his gold.

  “So? That’s your right. You’re a sexy woman with a body any man would give his left nut to touch. Any boyfriend with half a brain would want to have pictures of you to keep with him.” He shrugged. “It’s not like they were that dirty or explicit. They’re no different than those boudoir shots or whatever some women pay to have taken. That doesn’t make you a slut or a whore or whatever else they want to try to call you.”

  For a second, he thought she might be tearing up, but she looked away before he could tell.

  “That’s…not many guys would say something like that and mean it.”

  “It’s the twenty-first century. If guys can go around snapping shirtless selfies and dick pics all over the place, then I don’t think any of us have room to criticize or look down on a woman for taking sexy pictures for her man. I’d say the same thing if it were anyone because I would hope that someone would have the guts to say that if Maren were the one in your position.”

  He let the words hang between them, part of him hoping that she would read between the lines, the other part of him scared of what he’d do if she did. He wanted her. Wanting her, caring for her, that had never been a problem. He hadn’t stopped wanting and caring even after he ended things with her. But so much had passed between them since then, so many snipes and barbs and so much animosity.

  “Well, either way. Thank you. I needed to hear that this week, even if it was from an unexpected source.” She shifted around in her seat. “I think I’m going to try to catch some shut eye.”

  “Sweet dreams,” he murmured after she’d stretched her seat out to form a little bed.

  Once he was sure she was asleep, he let himself study her. So much had changed since they first met. She’d still had the air of innocent girlishness about her that first day; it’s what drew him to her. Even at twenty-three, he’d been a little jaded when it came to women. He’d been with his fair share of women, older and younger, until they all felt the same. Em, with her pretty eyes, golden skin, and long dark hair, had called to him. He shouldn’t have asked her out when he did; they were in the middle of the fucking Olympics, but he couldn’t help himself.

  That same feeling had hit him today in the airport, that compulsion to be with her and damn the reality of their situation. Being with her now was even more stupid than it had been then, especially considering his producer’s warning and her current notoriety in the press, but he didn’t know if he cared.

  Eventually, he nodded off too. By the time they were both awake, the plane was coming in to land in LA. They didn’t speak as they gathered their things and exited the plane. Em took off at a quick stride, leaving him in the dust as she sped through customs. He thought about trying to catch up to her, but she’d find out soon enough that he was her seat mate again on the LA to JFK flight.

  The look on her face when he boarded the flight and took the seat next to her was priceless.

  “You’re really cute when you’re annoyed. Has anyone ever told you that?” He settled into his seat, noting that she’d put on a little makeup during the layover and grabbed a brown bag full of something that had his nostrils flaring and his stomach rumbling.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes. My grandpa and Owen when I was five. Grown women aren’t cute.”

  “Sorry, angel, but annoyed you is cute. Deal with it.” He pulled out his book, then stashed his bag. He watched her take a familiar-looking food out of the bag and spotted the golden arches on its side. “Why Ms. Grace. Those aren’t French fries, are they?”

  “Shut up.” She took a bite. “They’re my weakness.”

  He laughed. “What would Zoe say if she saw you? It’s competition season. You’re not supposed to have junk food.”

  Munching on another fry, she shrugged. “She’d say pass the ketchup, you heathen. One thing of fries isn’t going to kill me. I’m pretty good at my diet most days, but when I get on a plane, especially with a layover, I treat myself.”

  “Fair enough.” Quick as a kid stealing from the cookie jar, Rob reached in and too
k a fry, scalding his fingers a little in the process. “Ow. Those are hot.”

  “Serves you right, thief.” She closed the bag and held it close to her chest. “I wait until just before boarding, then run to get them. And what are you doing stealing my fries? Shouldn’t you be watching your girlish figure? I hear the camera adds ten pounds.”

  A grin tugged at his lips. He’d missed this side of Em. The funny, playful side. The side that made him fall for her to begin with. Most of the world saw the cool, collected exterior her grandparents and Zoe fostered in her, but when they were together, the walls fell down, and the real Em started to come out.

  “My girlish figure is fine, thanks. My shoulder may be jacked up, but I can still go for a run to keep in shape,” he said, surprised the usual internal wince didn’t come when he mentioned his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry about the shoulder. I didn’t get a chance to say that or see you after it happened.” She held out another fry, which he took. “Although from what I hear, no one got much of a chance to see you—not even Maren.”

  He munched on the fry to buy some time. “Would you want a bunch of people around if you found out you’d ended your career two points before you won the top seed?”

  “Fair point.”

  The pilot came over the speaker and announced they were preparing for takeoff. She settled back in her seat, tucking the bag beside her and grabbing her book.

  “I’m pretty sure the story hasn’t changed from the last fifty times you read it.” He deliberately needled her, not wanting to lose her to her book again.

  She didn’t look up. “Doesn’t mean it loses any of its effect on me. Distractions are key to me not flat-out freaking out on a plane.”

  His mind drifted back to the elevator, to how scared she’d been. He was surprised that her mother’s death still affected her so much, but he couldn’t blame her.

  “If I promise to distract you better than the book, will you give me a few more fries?” He stretched his legs out and rested his arms on the armrests so his shoulder was a hair’s breadth from hers.