Strike to the Heart

by Malia Mallory

Zane hesitated and then responded, “That I do. Okay, I get it.”

  “Darcy is like family to me.” I rarely saw my family. My mother hadn’t traveled with me since I graduated from playing in junior tournaments. Darcy was closer to me than my own sister.

  A shadow crossed his face, and then it was gone. “You need fuel for tomorrow. Let me take you out.”

  I shook my head. “No, I have what I need here. My plan is to eat a light meal and work out in a while. After that, I’ll load up on some carbs. I love any excuse to eat pasta.”

  “I can help you out with that workout.” Zane waggled his eyebrows.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Jo

  I increased the speed on the treadmill and my ponytail whipped me in the neck. I glanced over at Zane. His speed was faster and he’d set the incline higher. I was surprised to feel the urge to match him. I usually saved my competitiveness for the tennis court.

  Zane caught my glance. “I want to take you out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Out, out. For a meal.”

  I pushed the button that controlled the speed and amped it up a notch. “I told you already. I’m going to load up on pasta and go to bed.”

  “I didn’t mean tonight.”

  “Oh.” How weird that I felt disappointed. I expected him to insist more, but if he had, I wouldn’t have liked his pushiness. I wasn’t comfortable with the mass of contradictions Zane was causing inside me.

  Sweat broke out on Zane’s forehead. “Another time?”

  “Thursday. I don’t have any matches Thursday. I have practice and coaching in the morning, but I could do a late lunch.” Maybe I didn’t have to back off. Maybe I could keep it light.

  “A late lunch it is then.” He flashed a smile at me.

  We ran side by side. The minutes ticked by on the console. Zane’s feet thumped against the belt. A sheen of sweat covered his skin. I wanted to lick it off so badly. I wanted to bite and nibble every square inch.

  I shook my head and forced my eyes forward, trying to bounce the distracting thoughts out of my mind. My face tended to give away what I was thinking, and I hoped Zane wasn’t looking my way.

  My program ended and the treadmill slowed. I walked for another minute to cool down and hopped off after the belt stopped. I headed over to the mat. Spreading my legs, I stretched.

  “That’s a nice view.”

  My heart lurched as Zane’s voice sounded behind me. I swung around to face him. “I’m trying to stretch.”

  “Don’t mind me at all. I am totally into you stretching. A lot.”

  My face heated and I knew I was blushing. I never blushed. But my irritation couldn’t make it past the burning arousal heating my body. “Zane!” His name was almost a hiss. I glanced around, but we were alone in the gym.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Zane

  Jo had one fine ass, and those yoga pants didn’t hide a thing. I wanted to tackle her to the mat and rip the sports tank right off her. Then I’d pull her waistband down and—

  “Zane!” Jo hissed. It was a hissing whisper. How did women manage to be loud and quiet at the same time? I’d never figured that one out.

  “Do you want to go back to your room? We could finish your workout there.” The question hung in the air. Jo looked torn.

  I shook my head. What was I thinking, interfering with her training routine? I knew better than anyone how important it was to go through the routine—to prepare not only the body but the mind, too.

  “Jo, I’m—”

  “Yes.”

  That was it. A simple yes. My cock was iron hard against my leg. I grabbed her hand and hustled her to the elevator. The doors opened and no one was inside.

  Jo slipped her key card into the slot and hit the button for her floor.

  I took her hands in mine and pushed her to the wall, stretching out her arms. My body pressed into her and I kissed her. I let all my hunger out, devouring her lips and grinding my hips against her.

  The elevator dinged and came to a stop. I moved away as the doors opened. An older couple stepped on.

  I stared at Jo. Her face was flushed and her lips swollen. Strands of escaping hair from her ponytail stuck out in every direction. She looked beautiful. Ripe. Mine for the taking.

  The elevator stopped again and we exited, hustling down the hallway. Jo jammed her key card into the lock, but the lights stubbornly refused to turn green. Her hand was shaking.

  I took the card from her and unlocked the door. We pushed inside and the door slammed shut behind us.

  We stumbled toward the bed, stripping on the way—our clothes flying in every direction.

  Jo crawled onto the mattress and I was right behind her. She went to flip onto her back, but I held her in place on her hands and knees. I rubbed against her ass. “I can’t wait.”

  Jo wiggled her ass. “I don’t want to wait, either.”

  I pulled her pants and panties down to her knees in one motion, then fished in my pocket for the condom I knew was there. I opened my pants and ripped open the packet. I rolled it on and nudged between her legs. Reaching up, I pulled out the band holding her hair. Blonde strands spilled over her shoulders and back. My hands grasped her inner thighs and pushed her legs apart.

  Within seconds, I was inside her and she was pushing back against me. I stroked my palm up her back and wound a handful of her hair around my fingers. She was beautiful—the curve of her shoulders, the roundness of her ass.

  I teetered on the edge so I pulled out of her tightness. I stretched out on my back. “Get on top of me.”

  Jo smiled, a wicked, wanton smile filled with promise. She pulled off her clothes and straddled my hips.

  Chapter 5

  Jo

  I looked into Zane’s eyes. The intensity of his gaze burned every self-conscious thought right out of me. There was no thinking about whether my breasts were too big or too small, my lips too thin, or my hips too narrow. His every touch conveyed his scorching desire to touch me everywhere and fill me completely.

  Zane reached for my breasts, caressing the sides with his fingertips. I trembled. His touch was gentle—almost reverent. “I want to be inside you again.”

  “Yes.” There was a pulsing ache deep within me and at this moment, only he could satisfy it.

  Zane’s hands slid over my skin, down past my waist to my hips. He released one hand and grasped his shaft, positioning it between my legs. Shifting his hips, the head of his cock entered me. He gripped my ass and pulled me down, impaling me on him.

  I closed my eyes and my head fell back. Pure sensation poured through me as I pressed him deeper—slowly, so slowly, until we were skin to skin. My breath escaped my lungs as he throbbed within me. When Zane was buried to the hilt, I paused, savoring the fullness of him.

  I lifted off and pressed back down, sending waves of pleasure through my body. Zane’s fingertips dug into my hips and I raised myself again. He wanted faster, but I wanted to draw out the delicious friction. Orgasm teased deep inside where the tip of his erection nudged against me. It was growing, heating me with tendrils of tingling delight. I twitched around him.

  Zane thrust up into me. “Oh yeah. Do it again,” he commanded.

  I did, and the shivery flicker of orgasm burst into an inferno. I smiled with satisfaction as the pleasure crested and ebbed.

  Zane moved underneath me, holding me in place as he drove himself into me repeatedly until he lost himself. After he came, Zane pulled me down onto his chest and I relaxed against him, boneless and gratified. His arms reached around me and I burrowed into his chest, seeking warmth. The languid aftermath of completion stole over me and I slipped into a deep, satisfied sleep.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Jo

  I paced back and forth in the locker room. My morning match had gone well. Straight sets. I wasn’t tired, simply tense. I’d played doubles with Darcy a million times, but somehow I couldn’t mentally settle for this match.

  Darcy sat in a chair, a f
rown of concentration on her face. It wasn’t her usual mode before a match. Usually, she joked and fooled around, and that relaxed us both. We’d walk out onto the court loose and ready to play. Something was occupying Darcy’s thoughts, but she didn’t seem ready to share.

  I couldn’t take it. “Darcy, what’s up?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing. Feels weird today, doesn’t it?”

  “We need to get our head in the game. Gachev and Nikulin are no joke. They knocked off the tops seeds in the first round at Wimbledon.”

  Darcy picked up a racket and bounced it from hand to hand. “You’re right. I know you are. I guess I feel more confident with you beside me. You make me stretch. You make me a better player.”

  “Darcy, you are a good player.”

  “I don’t have what it takes to make it to the top and we both know it. When I play with you, I want to make sure I hold up my end. I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want to be the cause of us losing. It makes me play better. When I play singles, there’s no fire. I don’t have your drive, and it matters.”

  I sighed. There was truth to what Darcy was saying. She was a better doubles player. I’d never attributed it to her mental game though. “Some players have a real talent for doubles. Maybe you’re one of those players. You can have a successful career playing doubles.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think it would be the same with anyone else. We know each other so well. We’ve played together for so long. I can anticipate exactly what you’re going to do. It’s what makes us work.”

  “You’re probably right about that.” I hadn’t teamed up with other players often for doubles, but the few times I had, there hadn’t been the ease that I experienced partnering with Darcy.

  “And you can’t do this forever,” Darcy added.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Darcy’s gaze darted away. “You’re about to break through. You’re about to hit the top. I think it will be now, but if it isn’t this tournament, it will be soon. I’ll just be an anchor.”

  “Lots of players compete in both singles and doubles.” Admittedly, not so many top players did both anymore.

  Darcy’s lopsided smile held regret. “Yes, but everybody says it’s a bad idea. It saps your singles performance.”

  “I don’t care what everybody says. I like playing doubles.” I made my own decisions and, as far I was concerned, playing singles and doubles hadn’t hurt me. If I ever felt differently, I’d have to deal with it at that time. What I would do, I didn’t know. The idea of abandoning my partnership with Darcy brought a lump to my throat.

  “Let’s discuss this later. We’re about to play.”

  “I agree. I don’t want to think about it, but there isn’t anything to discuss unless you don’t want to be partners anymore.”

  “You know that isn’t true.”

  The stadium outside erupted. The match before ours was over. It was time to play.

  Chapter 6

  Jo

  I bounced from foot to foot, ready to receive. Darcy’s words cycled through my head on a loop. It’s a bad idea. It saps your singles performance. It’s a bad idea.

  The serve came, racket connecting with ball, but I read it and my body was in motion. All thoughts about anything besides the match fled my mind.

  My return was good, pulling Gachev wide off the court. The ball came barreling back over the net and Darcy put it away with a well-placed volley. We touched fingertips as we returned to our positions.

  Darcy and I played like a single unit. We weren’t crushing our opponents, but we were ahead by a comfortable margin. On the changeover, I glanced up at the box again. Zane wasn’t there. He hadn’t made any promises to show. I knew he had meetings to plan promotion and hammer out his training schedule. But still, part of me hoped. I didn’t want to be hoping. I didn’t want my performance to depend on whether some guy I was seeing showed up to my match. That would be foolish.

  I still felt a pang whenever I thought of the French Open. My first appearance in a quarterfinal of a big tournament had been at the French Open. Instead of watching, cheering me on, and offering support, Alex decided he’d pop over to Monaco with friends—since it was so close and all. That was one of about a hundred reasons why he was an ex-boyfriend now.

  At the time, I’d let it hurt my performance. I wasn’t going to set myself up like that again.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Jo

  The taxi zipped downtown. The driver had a knack for finding the smallest opening in the traffic, slipping between cars with ease. We held hands, content to be quiet during the ride.

  The buildings spun by in a blur—shades of gray and brown interrupted by trees and intersections. I didn’t often get to see much outside my hotel and the tennis center when I was in New York these days, despite growing up here. If I lost, I’d have time for shopping and sightseeing. If I didn’t, I’d be off to the next tournament right after the final. I didn’t want to end up shopping.

  I hadn’t asked Zane where we were going, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I thought Zane’s choice would give me insight into him. I still didn’t know if I wanted insight into him. I liked him—at least what I knew, but I sensed there was so much more. No one made it to the top of any sport without drive and determination, and I’d only seen hints of those in him. What wasn’t I seeing?

  The cab pulled to the curb across from a small park. Zane passed a folded bill to the driver and opened the door. I slid across the seat and Zane offered his hand to help me out. A few steps across the sidewalk and we were inside.

  The smell of yeasty dough tickled my nose. On the heels of that came the fresh herbs and sizzling meat of a pizzeria.

  We wound our way through the tables to a tiny booth for two in the back. The bench was hard and the tabletop chipped. The surface had been cleaned so many times that the faux wood grain pattern was worn off in spots.

  Zane took my hand. “Do you trust me?”

  “What?” His question caught me off guard.

  “Do you trust me to order for you?”

  “Oh, sure. No olives. No anchovies. Anything else is probably fine.”

  Zane tapped the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  I snuck a look at his ass when he turned. He filled out a pair of jeans in a mighty fine way. I’d held that ass in my hands, and I liked touching it even more than I liked looking at it.

  Zane returned quickly, a couple of bottled waters in hand. “Water okay or do you want something else?”

  “You called it. Water’s good.”

  “I ordered the works. Should be up soon.”

  “I can’t wait. I’ve been looking forward to some good New York pizza.”

  “I know, right? Nothing like folding over a melting slice and biting right in.”

  Zane’s statement brought to mind all the places I wanted him to bite me. My face heated.

  Zane smiled. “I would love to know what you’re thinking right now.”

  I glanced away. “I’ll tell you later,” I responded coyly.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the match. It would have been great to see you and Darcy play.”

  Just the subject I wanted to avoid. “It’s cool. You have commitments. I hardly expect you to drop everything. It’s not like we—”

  “It’s not like we what?” Zane’s water bottle thunked on the table.

  “This is a casual thing, right? So, I have no expectations of you changing your plans or anything.” Expectations led to disappointment.

  Zane frowned. “Why not?”

  I sat back in the booth. “Why not? Because you’re busy. You have stuff.”

  “The US Open is one of the most important tournaments you’ll play all year.”

  What the hell? Why wasn’t he agreeing with me? “I don’t expect you to do anything different.”

  “Maybe you should.” Zane scratched his jaw, his fingers rasping against his early five o’clock shadow.

  I shrugged. “We’re n
ot really involved.”

  Zane’s eyes narrowed. “It feels like we’re involved.”

  This conversation made me twitchy. “Zane, knock it off. Let’s just enjoy our lunch.”

  He hesitated and then simply said, “I think our pie’s up.” He scooted out of the booth and made his way back to the counter.

  What was his deal? If he wanted me to admit this was more than a fling, I wasn’t going to do it. It was a fling. It was staying a fling.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Jo

  Zane took my duffel from my hand and matched his stride to mine. I don’t know how we’d fallen into this routine. He’d meet me after my match. We’d go back to the hotel together, rest, relax, and have hot sex. It was comfortable. Too comfortable. I could get used to this, even though I didn’t want to.

  Zane nuzzled my neck. “What’s on your mind?”

  It was disconcerting how he could tell. “The match was tougher than I thought it might be.”

  “She played above her game. Merkel’s good, but she hasn’t had time to develop your power.”

  I don’t know why I was surprised by Zane’s observation, but I was. For someone who said he didn’t know much about tennis, he’d picked up a lot. He was spot on. My opponent had probably played the match of her life today, but she’d just turned sixteen. In a couple of years, she’d be an opponent to be reckoned with.

  My cell phone rang. “It’s my mother.” I had a special ringtone for her.

  “Are you going to answer it?” Zane asked.

  “I know what she wants. She’s going to remind me about her party.”

  “Her party?”

  “My mother always gets friends and relatives together while I’m in town. I’m kind of obliged to stop by.” I needed to put in an appearance, but I had a choice. I could go alone and field nosy questions about my love life or I could bring Zane and field nosy questions about my love life. It simply depended on what type of prying I was in the mood for.

  “When is this thing?”

  “Uh, tomorrow.” I hadn’t wanted to think about it. I’d been floating in the moment for days, and I didn’t want that to change.

  “So is the problem that you want me to come or that you don’t?”