She leaned against the wail, her expression settling once again into that knowing smile, an image that was popping up in his mind's eye far too often lately. That he was thinking about her at all troubled him, which was why he needed to talk to her. Now that the tournament was about to begin, not to mention the fact they were all residing under the same roof for the duration—albeit a vast roof—there had to be some ground rules. And he was prepared to do whatever it took to make her take them seriously.
"You know what I think," she said, sparkly green eyes crinkling at the corners as her smile grew.
He supposed some people thought that was cute. He knew it was totally calculated, and he'd be damned if he'd fall for it.
"Maybe the younger girls like me because even though I was clearly and quite publicly not perfect, I still managed to achieve some pretty good success doing this. I've done a lot of things other tennis players only dream of, but at the end of the day, because I'm not perfect, I'm human. So I'm approachable." Her grin could only be described as cheeky. "But I will never claim to be a saint of anything. Even I don't have that kind of moxie.''
"Will wonders never cease?"
"So what's got your boxers in a twist this time?"
He just looked at her.
"What? Don't tell me you're a briefs man?"
He sighed.
"Boxer briefs? I could live with that. But could you be that hip?"
"Can we go up to the players' lounge?" He nodded past her shoulder to the alley behind her. "I've had enough of your wolf pack for one day."
"My wolf pack?" She folded her arms. "Gee, that's funny. I don't recall being the one who summoned them. I'm pretty sure that was, wait, yes, your sister. And if I'm not mistaken, I was the one who said we should lie low, let the resulting publicity just blow over. But no, you had to march her out here and make her face the music. I happen to think now that you were right and it wasn't a bad thing to do. But you can't have it both ways."
"You should have stayed at Wexley. I had this under control."
"Oh, right. You wouldn't have had the first clue how to deal with that crew. I know them, most of them, anyway. We've been doing that dance for years."
"They only queued up and descended on us, en masse, when you showed up."
"You're kidding yourself if you believe that. Once the word got out we were working together, they were here sniffing around for the story. And of the two of us, they stood a much better chance of getting something quotable and juicy from the rookie than they did the veteran. Especially seeing as she was the one that let it slip to Fionula in the first place."
"It must be a slow news day, then, if this rates as the top breaking story."
Tess's smile was desert-dry. "Yes, I am yesterday's news, thanks ever so much for pointing that out. But the tournament hasn't started yet and nothing juicy is going on. They need to fill column space. So yes, for right now, this is news."
"Is that why you showed up?"
She opened her mouth to respond, then paused for a moment, her expression turning to one of consideration. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly? Are you questioning my motives?"
His eyebrows shot up. "When haven't I been?"
"Exactly what are you accusing me of now?"
Max paused. She looked indignant, yes, as one would be when called out on the carpet. But if he wasn't mistaken, there was more than indignation in her expression.
She cut him off before he could speak. "If you think I'm a press junkie, you are sadly misinformed. Remember, none of this was my idea. You and Aurora cooked this whole thing up and I got dragged into it."
"I didn't see you resisting that much."
"That was mostly just to piss you off."
"What?"
"You heard me. I had no more intention of doing this than, well, than I had any intention of ever coaching anyone. I didn't come to London for this. But then you were being all holier-than-thou and tight-assed about me and my supposed horrifying impact on the younger generation of tennis players and, well, you pissed me off."
"You're saying you're only coaching Gaby—"
"I'm not coaching her!"
She'd raised her voice just enough to alert the hounds. Max took her gently but firmly by the arm. When she instinctively went to pull away, and given the hard muscle he felt beneath his fingers, he wasn't so sure she wouldn't have, he leaned in. "We're attracting attention none of us needs. Smile nice and walk with me to the players' lounge."
Tess immediately relaxed and smiled at him as if he'd just told her they'd gotten a first-round walkover. It was scary how good she was at that. Like flipping a switch.
"Don't look so impressed," she told him, all perky smiles and bubbly body language. Her eyes, however, which suddenly looked ancient and weary, told the real story. "You get used to it after a few years. Gaby will, too. She's already good at it."
When he didn't move right away, she covered his hand still on her arm, and pulled it through. Outwardly, all chummy and good buddies. He was still hung up on what he'd seen in her eyes.
"Come on." She leaned closer. "You're right," she murmured for his ears only, sounding as weary of the whole process as she'd looked a moment ago. "The wolves have seen enough."
Max let her lead them inside, where, as he suspected, she dropped his arm immediately and hopped up the steps in front of him. He didn't like what he'd just seen in her eyes, heard in her voice. More to the point, he didn't like the response it had jerked awake inside of him. He didn't want to feel any empathy toward her. She'd willingly been a subject for the media all those years, using them to her own advantage as much as giving them what they wanted. She could hardly bitch now at the toll it had taken, or the price she might be paying.
And now was definitely not the time to be noticing the way her perky little white shorts clung to her backside, either. Christ. He needed a beer. Or three.
They entered the players' lounge, which was glassed in on two sides and looked down over a broad section of the grounds. The qualifying rounds were going on, so there were a few players, some coaches, a few agents, and other player personnel milling about, but in comparison with what the place would be like tomorrow, it was sparsely populated now. Neither of them spoke as he motioned them to a table in the center of the room, where the press below couldn't spot them through the soaring windows.
He pulled out her chair. When she raised an eyebrow, he pulled his own chair out with a bit more force than necessary. "I do have manners, you know."
She said nothing, merely smiled at him in that way she had of hers, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Which was a rare feat since he didn't even know what to think at the moment. About anything. Certainly not her.
She folded her arms on the table. "So, what horrible tenet of moral decay am I being accused of flouting this time?"
"Will you cut that out?"
She leaned back, letting her hands fall in her lap, and snorted. "How can I when you keep reminding me every two seconds."
"I said nothing of the kind." So what if he was thinking it?
"You don't have to," she said, reading his mind again.
Was he really so obvious? And even if he was, why did that matter? He wasn't exactly hiding his feelings about her or her reputation. "I simply thought that you coming here today only served to escalate things, when if you'd hung back at Wexley House like we'd agreed, this would have just blown over faster. The first round starts tomorrow and they'd have had fresh meat to suck the life from. When Gaby showed up the following day for her first match, we'd already be yesterday's news."
"I initially agreed about letting Gaby face the music, but then I realized it was highly possible that you, or she, could make it into an even bigger story than it had to be. Inadvertently, I mean."
"So, let me get this straight, you're saying you came here to deflect the press from Gaby? To reduce the spotlight on the two of you?"
Tess's eyes narrowed and they took on a darker green tint th
at even he knew, after limited exposure, was a dangerous sign. "Are you insinuating I came here to do anything else? That I had some sort of personal stake in any of this?"
She was really good, Max thought. Really good. But he'd been in the world of highly competitive sports for too long not to recognize what he was really seeing here. A good offense was always the best defense. He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table, very directly holding her gaze. "Are you saying you don't?"
She didn't back down, didn't even blink. She matched him action for action, until their faces were almost inches apart. "If you're accusing me of something specific, then come out with it. Otherwise, I'm only going to say this once: I don't give a good goddamn what you think of me, my past, my rep, or anything else. But I'm not going to sit here for the next week or two and be your punching bag, either. So unless you can specifically tell me something I've done to harm you or your sister, you need to back way the hell off."
They sat there, staring each other down, neither one wanting to back off first. Finally Max said, "My one and only concern has always been Gaby. I don't care whether you like that or not."
Tess shoved back her chair, hands braced on the table as she pushed to a stand, and in doing so, moved her face even closer to his, until he could see the pupils in her eyes shoot so wide they almost swallowed all that electric green. "As hard as this might be for you to believe, she's my concern now, too, and I don't much care what you think about that."
They both seemed to simultaneously realize that the room had fallen silent. Tess eased back slightly and allowed a slow smile to curve her mouth. That electric green now took on an entirely different hue, And damn if Max's entire body didn't stand up at attention. He was only human, after all. He knew it was for show. And if only half the press about her was to be believed, she was as good at this little game as she was at painting the lines with little green balls. But even knowing that, in that split second, he was powerless to do anything about it.
"I haven't done anything to hurt her, or her chances here. I'm not going to do anything to hurt her, Max," she purred. Her voice was so low now, her words didn't reach anyone but him. He was quite aware that they were giving off another impression entirely than the one that was really taking place.
Part of his brain questioned the wisdom of playing this particular angle. Which story would look worse in the press? That Gaby's brother-slash-manager was battling it out with her mentor-slash-coach—the bad girl of tennis, Tess Hamilton? Or that there was something else going on between Gaby's manager/brother and that very same bad girl of tennis? But even though he knew it was false advertising, the part of his brain that was ruled by the bulge currently growing inside his shorts was dominating this particular argument.
Which was the only reason he gave in to the impulse to do what he did next. Fully cognizant of several sets of eyes on them, he leaned in even closer, then reached up and slowly slid an errant piece of hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened momentarily in surprise, and those pupils of hers shot wide again, only this time for an entirely different reason.
And he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the little rush of purely male power that moment gave him. Probably why he pushed just a bit harder, letting his fingers trail along her jaw before dropping away. Two could play at her dangerous little game. Best she knew that about him now, before this got any further out of hand.
"Just make sure," he began, his voice so deep, so soft, she had to turn her chin just slightly to hear what he had to say. And there was a moment, when presented with that soft spot of skin along the underside of her jaw, that he wanted almost desperately to lean in and press his mouth there, where he knew he'd feel her pulse. Vibrant and alive, just like she was. The swirling fog of pheromones was quickly clouding his judgment. Before he could hoist himself on his petard—which at the moment was quite… hoisted—he knew he better finish what he intended to say and end this little game. "Just make sure that while you're fulfilling your own agenda here, and you and I both know you have one, that you stick to that vow. Don't do anything to hurt Gaby, her reputation by association, or her chances here." He closed the gap and put his lips right next to her ear. "Or I will make certain that whatever little game it is you're really playing backfires in the most spectacular fashion possible."
She smelled good. Like lemons and oranges. It was the worst possible time to notice that. He pulled back, taking no small measure of satisfaction in the fact that she didn't. When she said nothing, he said, "I'm going to go have a talk with the trainer, then take Gaby back to the house." He didn't ask her what she'd be doing or what her plans were. He'd played with the fire that was Tess Hamilton quite enough for one day, thank you. If he quit right now, he could escape with only a few singe marks. A win in his column, as far as he was concerned.
Carefully not looking at any of the other occupants of the room, who, judging from the sudden rush of bustling noises and sounds of chairs scraping across the floor, had all suddenly returned to whatever it was they'd been doing before their little soap opera had played out, he exited the lounge. He was three flights down before his body finally settled. And he was no longer sure who the winner was.
Do Not Pass Go, he thought. And most definitely, Do Not Play with Tess Hamilton again.
Chapter 16
"Thank you, I really appreciate you going to the trouble to do this for me." Tess took the stack of morning papers from Sir Robin's majordomo and balanced the unwieldy pile in her arms. She grinned up at the taller, older gentlemen. "You da man, Phil."
She almost thought he might have smiled, It was hard to tell. "No problem at all, miss." He sketched a curt bow, then pulled the door to her suite closed before leaving.
I could get used to this, Tess thought as she spread the newspapers across her bed. Right next to the breakfast tray she'd had sent up earlier. So what if she'd done so because she wanted to avoid any kind of close encounter with Max at the breakfast table this morning? Call her a coward, she didn't care.
One thing was for sure. She was definitely getting spoiled, being waited on hand and foot like this. Even five-star digs didn't have this kind of personal touch. She wasted a second revising her opinion on having staff, and wondered if she'd have been able to afford a Phil or two, had she managed her money better. She snorted. "Oh yeah, you who couldn't keep an agent or manager on payroll for more than a few months at a stretch."
There came a tap on her door before she could unfold the first paper. Sighing, she shoved them under a pillow—in case it was Max—and padded back to the double oak doors. She had a fleeting thought that she had serious bed head, her mascara from the day before was probably smudged around her eyes, her flannel pajama bottoms were ancient and baggy, and her T-shirt had seen better days. Years, even.
"Why in the hell do I care what he thinks about how I look?" she asked herself when she found herself checking her reflection in the glass on a framed print by her bedroom door.
Scowling now, more at herself than at the untimely interruption, she opened the door a crack and started to stick her head out.
"Tess, thank God you're here!" Gaby pushed past her, almost knocking her down as she sailed into her room, crossing all the way to her bed before flopping heavily across it. She was wearing her whites—the predominant Wimbledon dress code was almost a religion in Britain—and her long, thick hair had been slicked back into a tight ponytail. Her makeup was perfect. If you were sixteen and favored smokey eyeshadow.
"Dress rehearsal? Your match isn't until tomorrow morning."
"Didn't Max tell you at breakfast? They had a walkover and moved us up to this afternoon." Gaby rolled to her back and flung her arms out wide. "I'm so sick, Tess."
Tess quickly crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" She put her hand across the teenager's forehead, much as her mother would have done with her, only the skin was cool and dry. "You don't have a fever."
"It's my stomach."
"What did you have t
his morning? Have you even eaten breakfast?" And where is your brother, Tess wanted to know. Why was Gaby in her room, complaining to her and not to Max? She had zero experience with this kind of thing. Sure, she'd played big sister to Bobby his whole life, and surrogate mom, too, since their own had passed away, but that was easy. Bobby called for advice. Giving advice was essentially the same thing as giving opinions. And she had plenty of those. He never needed her for illness. He had trainers and managers and girlfriends for that. He had a wife now, come to think of it. Wow, that was so weird to think about, put like that. So… grown-up.
"Tess?" Gaby's long-suffering tone—what Tess's mom had called a "Camille dying scene''—pulled her from her wandering thoughts. "What if I can't do it?"
"Do what?" Tess's eyes widened, then narrowed immediately as her meaning sunk in. "You mean, what if you can't play? Of course you're going to play." And not just because Tess needed her to, of course. Her cell phone had lit up first thing this morning as requests for interviews started to come in. She was glad now she'd thought to pass around some of her personal business cards—complete with her direct cell number—at those corporate shindigs she'd gone to, making sure that one or two found their way into the hands of the press covering this event or that. Just in case.
It looked like all her hard work might pay off after all. She hadn't returned any of the calls yet, wanting to see what exactly had made the print editions first. Obviously something from their little impromptu press junket yesterday during Gaby's practice session had made it into print. She'd screened the calls just enough to know that the outlets wanting her now weren't just the little rags and gossip pages. No, it was network level now, baby. BBC Radio and USA Network, to name a few. She was on her way to… well, to something. Something that would surely lead her to… something, Something with a nice payout involved.
She'd figure all that out just as soon as she got Gaby in gear. She couldn't very well make a splash on radio and television talking about why she was working with America's newest tennis sweetheart if said sweetheart squandered her first-round opportunity because she was too busy playing drama queen on Tess's bed.
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