Love. Set. Match. Page 7

  “No. Your producer will thank me later.”

  He left her alone until the little bell dinged and the fasten seatbelt sign went off. “You need to work on your second serve, you know.”

  Her jaw tightened, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she tried not to take the bait. This had been their relationship for the last seven years. He picked at her, while she tried not to respond until she ripped him a new one.

  “My second serve is just fine, thank you very much. What needs work is your ability to read a woman’s tennis game,” she hissed, eyes still on her book.

  “No, pretty sure it’s your second serve. I know that everyone thinks it was the whole picture fiasco that cost you the tournament, but it wasn’t. Your second serve went to shit while you were out with your knee injury. I noticed it in your earlier matches.”

  Rolling her eyes, Em closed her book. “Bullshit. You, the king of the sucky second serve, wouldn’t know a good one if it bit you in the ass.”

  They argued like that through the flight attendant bringing them drinks and snacks and kept going until the captain came over the P.A.

  “Sorry, folks, it looks like we’re about to hit some bumpy air. We’re getting close to JFK, so we’re going to ask everyone to prepare for descent a little earlier than expected.”

  Em paled under her golden tan as she fumbled with her belt.

  Rob fastened his own belt, then took her hand in his. “Don’t worry. Just a few bumps.”

  “Right. Bumps. Thirty-thousand feet in the air bumps.” She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he tightened his grip. Her chest moved up and down as she took deep breaths, mild panic in her eyes.

  One thought went through his head—fix it.

  Make it better.

  Seeing her worried or panicked tore at his gut, especially when it involved something neither of them could control. She’d been like this in the elevator in London, palms sweaty, her heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. So he did what he’d done then. Keeping their hands linked, he leaned over and kissed her.

  Chapter 5

  Holy. Shit.

  Those two words blared across Emerson’s brain as Rob’s lips settled on hers. They were bright enough to be a billboard in Piccadilly Circus or Times Square. She froze, unable to react or move or breathe.

  Robert Ashton III, the man who’d broken her heart and then used it for serving practice seven years ago, was kissing her. On a plane. That was going through turbulence.

  How many sleepless nights had she spent reliving his kisses? Whatever idiocy he might be guilty of, the man could kiss, and he’d only gotten better with age. After the first few seconds of complete and utter shock, her body responded like the shameless slut it was when it came to him. Even after they were at each other’s throats, her body always responded when he was within three feet. It’s part of the reason why he infuriated her so much. She didn’t want to feel anything for him, let alone desire.

  But damn him, he tasted so good—a little salty from the fries he’d snitched from her and something a little darker than just Rob. And it felt so good for him to touch her, even though the only contact between them was his lips on hers and his fingers laced with hers.

  She gave herself over to the kiss for a few moments, savoring it. This was better than she’d remembered. Her body went off like a wild fire, sparked and ready to go in zero seconds flat. Kissing Kole had been good, really nice even once they started to get to know each other, but this was—holy shit.

  She pulled away, but only far enough to meet those silver eyes, full of masculine pride and unfulfilled desire. She opened her mouth to yell at him, to ask what the hell he was thinking, but all she could say as the plane shuddered a little was “Holy. Shit.”

  “I was thinking wow, but that works too.” A smile tipped up his slightly swollen lips. God, why did he have to be so attractive? They’d been on a plane for almost an entire day, but he might as well have stepped out of hair and makeup five minutes ago.

  She loved his hair—she’d always loved the old-gold color and how he kept it at the perfect length for her to run her fingers through it without getting tangled. Those eyes, though, they were the real panty-melters. The dark silver flecked with light blue bore into her, the smile reaching his eyes, a little wickedness entering the mix. She knew that look. He meant to keep her off-kilter. Damn him.

  “That didn’t just happen. You—you had no right to do that,” she said, keeping her voice low. God. This was a disaster. The last thing she needed was for somebody on the plane to take a picture of Rob kissing her and spread it all over the Internet. Amir and Zoe would murder her, and Owen would murder Rob.

  Rob’s smile didn’t falter. “Sure, I did. You were freaking out about the turbulence. I got your mind off it.”

  Anger bubbled up in her, hot and potent, melding with the lust to have her temper a few seconds from completely blowing. “Of all the arrogant, assholish things—you kissed me to distract me from turbulence? Who does that?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want a beautiful woman freaking out when she doesn’t need to. It worked in London, so I thought it’d work again now.”

  Her heart skipped a beat then. He remembered their first kiss? Why did that make her so swoony?

  No, she couldn’t let herself get sucked into his crazy. She had enough of her own to deal with.

  Emerson rubbed her forehead. “I don’t get you. I will probably never get you. You live on Planet Rob, and no one here on Earth will be able to understand the fucked-up processes of your twisted brain. Kissing me in London when we’re trapped on a goddamn elevator is nothing like kissing me now. We were two completely different people then. I’m not that girl anymore.”

  “Uh-uh, Miss Priss. You don’t get to go all frosty on me now.” He took her hand again so she couldn’t hide her face. “You kissed me back. And what’s more, you liked it and want me to do it again. And if you deny it, I’ll kiss you again to prove that you’re a dirty rotten liar.”

  For a second, she thought about testing him on that. She didn’t want to admit she’d kissed him back and liked it, but she also didn’t want to risk more pictures getting leaked. It would be ironic if the guy who’d defended her from being slut-shamed contributed to the next wave of slut-shaming.

  “Fine. I kissed you back. Whatever. It doesn’t mean you had the right to kiss me. Any right you had to do that went out the window a loooong time ago, pal. You gave it up the second you broke up with me.”

  “Who broke up with who is debatable. It’s not like you were begging me to change my mind during that phone call.” Challenge flashed in his eyes. “So maybe my right to kiss you was just dormant, not gone, because I can’t get you out of my head.”

  What the hell? What was going on with him? For seven years, he’d picked at her and antagonized her, and she’d given as good as she got. Neither of them had acknowledged that they went beyond frenemies at one point. Now here he was, being nice to her, defending her on international television, and kissing her because she got seriously wigged out by planes doing anything but flying in a straight line. None of this made sense.

  The part of her that still had hot, steamy dreams about him when she was really, really tired wanted to take the challenge and kiss him again. She wanted to revel in this new-old side of him, the return of the Rob she’d fallen for faster than her best ace serve. But she couldn’t do that. Her life was chaotic enough without adding Rob Ashton and the Titanic-sized baggage that came with him. Why hadn’t she pretended to sleep again? Why did she let him pull her in? At least on the plane from Melbourne to LA he hadn’t known how much she wanted to talk to him, to spend time with him even though he drove her batty. Pretending to sleep, she could try to ignore how good he looked and smelled and how it felt to sit next to him for hours on end. Now all she could think about was how easy it would be to take the bait and make him put his money where his mouth was. If he really wanted her back, she could make hi
m prove it.

  “Beg you? Seriously? Why? Because you’re the great Rob Ashton, scion of the legendary Ashton family?” She snorted. “What good would that do? I know what it’s like to be part of a family where someone doesn’t want me around. I got enough rejection from my dad. I sure as hell didn’t need more from you.”

  “Rejection?” His brows furrowed. “What—? Look, I think we need to talk about what happened between us.”

  “No. This…just no. It’s in the past. No use picking at old scars now.” She pulled her book out and ignored his attempts to re-engage her. Captain Wentworth sent Anne his wonderfully romantic note when the wheels touched down.

  “See? Told you everything would be okay,” Rob said as they gathered their carryon items.

  Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Emerson fixed into place the neutral mask she’d forced herself to wear for the last seven years. “Don’t try to explain a mild phobia. It’s not supposed to make sense.”

  “Do you need help getting your bags?” he asked as they shuffled down the aisle.

  “It might have escaped your notice, but I’m a big girl. I’ve spent the last ten years traveling all around the world. I can manage my own bags.” She didn’t care if she sounded a little bitchy. She needed to get away from him before she did something really stupid—like kiss him again.

  She pushed through the crowd, tugging her duffle bag and purse higher on her shoulder. Getting away from him as fast as she could was best. Being so close to him after all these years was doing crazy things to her head. Seven years of working really damn hard to forget how he made her feel could not go down the drain after one plane ride—a really, really long plane ride but still.

  Thankful for having gone through customs in LA, she sped down to baggage claim. As she walked, she prayed her bags came quickly so she could get out without risking another run-in with Rob.

  Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through her messages while she waited for her bags. There were several texts from Amir, mostly giving her the details of the photo shoots and meetings she had scheduled in New York. He mentioned in one a few media requests for interviews, but she didn’t plan to acknowledge those.

  Out of a long-established habit, she pressed her grandma’s name on her favorite contacts list.

  “Is that my girl?” Gran’s voice warmed Emerson’s heart and eased some of the leftover anxiety from the flight.

  “Of course it’s me, Gran. What, did you think an alien stole my phone and was calling you?” she teased. Her grandmother, while a brilliant CPA, still didn’t understand her smartphone.

  Gran chuckled. “Cheeky. Did you have a good flight, sweetheart?”

  “It was…fine, I guess.” She sighed, keeping an eye on the carousel, impatient to retrieve her bag. “You know me and planes.”

  “Well, it’s good to at least be in the same time zone as you again,” Poppy said. “When will you be home? Your brother’s plane got in a few hours ago.”

  “I’m stuck in New York for a few days, but then I’ll be home. I promise to bring you some bagels from that place you liked the last time we were up here.” The baggage belt started to move, and she focused her attention on the chute.

  “You’re so good to me. I want you to have fun while you’re up there, Emmy Anne. I don’t want you to worry about what those silly reporters are saying.” Gran’s voice took the tone she used when Emerson first started playing competitively. She wouldn’t let her granddaughter wallow in losses or mistakes.

  Emerson took a deep breath, still keeping her eyes on the bags coming out. She spotted her racket case, followed by her roller suitcase. “I promise I’ll try to have fun, Gran, as long as you promise you’re still taking it easy. I don’t want to send Owen over there to make sure you’re not trying to attend every garden club and bridge club in three counties.”

  As her bags came by, she reached out to grab the strap of the racket bag, wedging her phone against her shoulder. She pulled it over easily enough, but when she went to tug her roller suitcase, she couldn’t get it over the edge.

  “I’m being good, Emmy. I swear. Ask your uncle Tommy if you don’t believe me.” Poppy’s voice took on an officious edge, which meant she was lying through her teeth.

  “Uh-huh. Sure, Gran.” She followed her suitcase, tugging at it. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too, sweet girl.”

  The phone call disconnected as Em tried again to get her bag over the edge of the carousel, her racket bag swinging down to bang into her side. She was about to give up until the next pass when a pair of hands shot out and easily lifted it off for her.

  She turned to find Rob standing right behind her. He towered over her, her head barely coming to his shoulder.

  “I almost had it,” she said.

  He chuckled ruefully. “Would it kill you to accept help? I couldn’t stand to see you fighting with that monster bag anymore.”

  “Yes, it would kill me to accept help, at least from you.” The wounds were too close to the surface in this place. “What are you doing, Rob?”

  “Helping a pretty girl with her bags.” He grinned, making her knees go a little weak, damn him. Being this close to him wasn’t good for her peace of mind—or her libido. “Do you want a ride to your hotel?”

  She rubbed her forehead. God, why did he make her so muddled? She was a strong, confident woman, for fuck’s sake. One of the best strategists on tour. But the second he got within five feet of her, all of that went out the window, and she reverted back to the silly girl she had been before that awful day.

  “Um. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I usually take a cab. It’s easier than trying to coordinate a driver.”

  “Ride with me.”

  Chapter 6

  Rob held his breath as he waited for her to answer. Asking her to ride with him probably qualified as a dumb move. A really dumb move considering where they were. He hadn’t fully processed the fact that they were in this airport together. He still kicked himself for not having the courage to face her that day.

  Yet here they were.

  They’d spent more than twenty hours together on a plane, but he didn’t want to let her go. Not yet anyway, not after all the time he’d spent over the last year wondering what might have been.

  A helluva lot of tension sizzled between them, and they had to get past years of anger (well, her anger and his stupidity), but something had shifted, even before that kiss. Once she left the airport, he didn’t know when he’d see her again, when he’d get a chance like this. The woman had spent seven years honing her ability to avoid him, and testing it didn’t top his list of good ideas.

  “What? Rob, seriously, what is going on? None of this makes sense.”

  Those chocolatey brown eyes of hers stared up at him, clouded with emotions he couldn’t name. Her brows furrowed, strands of black hair falling out of the high tail she’d pulled it into at some point during the plane ride. Damn, but she looked cute like that, the little tail bouncing when she moved her head. He’d liked her with long hair, but the shorter hair also worked for him.

  She wanted an explanation, but he didn’t have one. Nothing had made sense to him in the last eighteen months except the fact that he felt alive when he was with Em, and he was an idiot for letting her go. He also wanted to kiss her again and do all the things he’d spent the past year dreaming about.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense. I don’t think this, whatever it is between us, is supposed to make sense. So can we stop questioning it? Can we just go with it? It’s not a crime for me to want to help you with your bag or offer you a ride. Think of accepting the ride as being environmentally conscious.” Arguing with her was getting old, but he also liked that she wasn’t going easy on him. His Em was a firecracker, and he liked that she didn’t look as defeated as she had that night in the hotel bar. He was honestly surprised not to see photographers lurking around the airport, but then again, they probably expecte
d her in Miami, not New York.

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” she asked, rearranging her bags.

  He shoved his hand through his hair, biting back the niggling frustration. “It’s a ride, Em. It doesn’t need to be a good or bad idea. You’ll be with me for all of thirty minutes, maybe forty-five if traffic’s bad. Please?”

  Suspicion and calculation flickered through her warm brown eyes. She looked out the window, likely scoping out just how insane the line for cabs was. Finally, her shoulders sagged, and her grip on the handle of her suitcase tightened.

  “Fine. For the environment.” She tossed her head, defiance in every line of her face.

  God, she was gorgeous. Even after almost a day on an airplane, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She had this way about her, how she held herself, how she moved, that grabbed a guy by his balls and made him pay attention.

  “But no talking,” she warned.

  A bark of laughter escaped him as he motioned for her to follow him. He knew better than to offer to take one of her four bags, even though he only had two to maneuver. “No talking? Come on. That’s not right. What would be so bad about talking for a little bit longer? We could argue the merits of the Harry Potter movies again.”

  “Why? I’ll win. The books are better than the movies. The end.” Her words came in little pants, and he looked over his shoulder to see her struggling with her bags.

  “You don’t know you would win, Ms. Stubborn.” He spotted his usual driver, Frank, waiting outside the sleek black limo. He preferred driving himself, but in New York it wasn’t always practical. His father had an account with the same limo company for thirty plus years, so they always had a car waiting when they visited the city. Rob easily handed his luggage over to Frank.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Ashton. Here, let me help you with those, miss.” Frank’s voice boomed over the noise of the crowd, his smile lighting up his dark face.

  Rob nodded to the older man. “Careful, Frank, she might take your arm off if you try to help her.”