40-Love

by Olivia Dade

  Tess slowed at the edge of the waves. “You met him this morning?”

  “He was on my flight here, and I’ve run into him two or three times since we arrived.” Belle scooped up her own towel as they trudged through the sand. “He’s an interesting man. Funny. Smart. And most importantly, hot as hell.”

  Tess stopped right before the path leading back to their room.

  She wasn’t Belle’s older sister or mother or even her assistant principal anymore. Still, she worried. “Please tell me you’re meeting him in public until you’re sure he’s safe.”

  “Of course.” Belle paused. “Although privacy may be required at some point, unless I want to incur significant legal fees.”

  “Gotcha.” Tess started walking again, and her friend kept pace. “Have fun, but be careful. And let me know if you need me, okay?”

  “I’m a big girl, Tessie.” Belle grinned. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Tess laughed. “That’s what all the boys tell me.”

  With a toss of her head, Belle made a show of preening prettily. “As they should.”

  As the two of them entered the open doorway to the hotel and turned down the hall to their room, Belle hooked their arms together. “Listen, I was thinking about what we should do the next few days when you’re not working and I’m not corrupting innocent businessmen. Do you play tennis?”

  “I used to.” When was the last time she’d stepped foot on a court? At least a couple decades ago, from what she could recall. “Why? Did you want to play?”

  “Nah.” Producing her keycard, Belle waved it in front of their door’s sensor until the little light turned green. “Here we go.”

  Tess opened the door but paused in the doorway. “So why did you ask about tennis?”

  “No reason,” Belle said. “No reason at all.”

  Three

  “That was a great lesson.” The final guest from his intermediate class, a twenty-something woman with a long blond ponytail and a shy smile, slipped Lucas a twenty during their end-of-lesson handshake. “I think I’m getting a handle—” She cut herself off, blushing. “Sorry. Unintended pun. Anyway, I think my backhand slice is improving. Thank you so much for your patience. I still can’t believe Lucas Karlsson is giving me lessons!”

  She was sweet and a generous tipper, and she was beginning to get some power behind her ground strokes. A good client, even if he was eager for the arrival of the next one.

  He smiled at her. “You’re welcome, Madison. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Yeah.” She bent to gather her borrowed gear into a neat pile, not looking at him. “Unless you…um, have some free time tonight?”

  Another woman was occupying his thoughts at the moment. But as a rule, he didn’t like to refuse clients’ invitations in direct terms. Not only to avoid hurt feelings and decreased tips, but also because he might change his mind later.

  So he used his standard response for such situations. “I’m not certain. I may have plans, so don’t put your evening on hold for me. But if those plans change, may I leave a message on your room’s voicemail?”

  Her cheeks, already pink from exertion, darkened to red.

  “Sure. That would be…” Hitching her purse on her shoulder, she shuffled her feet. “I’d like that.”

  Then she scurried away, and he made a mental note never to call her room, no matter how the next lesson went. No matter if he went to bed alone and aching for company.

  Madison Warwick was too innocent, and she’d be too easily hurt.

  If he shared his bed with a guest, he made sure both of them understood the situation, both of them enjoyed the encounter, and both of them moved on without any unfortunate consequences afterward. Including emotional ones.

  In fact, he preferred not to involve emotions, period. Bodies and pleasure were enough.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel, he squinted against the setting sun and checked whether his final client of the day had arrived at the tennis clubhouse yet.

  Nope. A handful of people were still milling around the grounds and browsing inside the small clubhouse, but none of them boasted shoulder-length brown hair, pale skin, a round, sweet face, and a truly astounding set of curves.

  Tess Dunn would most likely choose not to arrive at the courts topless, although he’d be foolish not to hope for a repeat performance of their early-morning encounter. Either way, he was eager to see her, whether she was fully clothed or half-clothed or entirely naked. He didn’t even care whether she turned waspish again, or pompous. He’d take it all.

  She was smart and funny and fucking sexy, whatever version of herself she chose to reveal. And interesting. Blessedly interesting, when so few things interested him these days.

  The clock on the clubhouse wall was running slow. Or maybe he was just running hot. Who could blame him?

  Wait. There she was, wending her way through the scattered guests. Fully dressed, sadly, in an oversized green tee, dark leggings, and sneakers. With that now-familiar frown carved between her brows, as if she were confused or disturbed or loath to see him again.

  Which made no sense, since she’d orchestrated both their encounters so far.

  Honestly, her decision to reserve several late-night lessons over the next two weeks had surprised him. He’d believed her protestations of disinterest earlier, despite his teasing. Sure, he’d hoped their time spent glued together, wet skin against wet skin, might change her mind about him, but she’d seemed unswayed by his charms.

  By the time he’d showered at his little studio apartment, conveniently attached to the clubhouse, and accessed the day’s schedule on his cell, he’d managed to banish her from his thoughts. Mostly. The sense memory of those glorious breasts against his back was hard to shake.

  Then he’d seen her name listed on his daily online spreadsheet. Tess Dunn. Room 1249. 7 p.m. Private evening lesson.

  Her sparkly friend, who’d managed a brief but thorough interrogation during their conversation at the shoreline, must have told Tess where he worked. And then Tess must have called for the appointment immediately after leaving the beach.

  Damn, nothing made him feel better than being wanted by a challenging, beautiful woman. Especially when all his other avenues for satisfaction had disappeared months ago.

  That warm glow of masculine pride lasted about ten more seconds.

  Because then she saw him, and her confused scan of the grounds turned into an eyeroll. Her chest heaved in a sigh. Arms swinging at her sides, she strode in his direction, those clear hazel eyes bright with evident frustration.

  Which, again, made no sense. What the fuck had he done, except save her from exposing her magnificent rack to various preteens and report to his job at the time and place she’d specified?

  Most women he considered completely explicable. Tess, not so much.

  “Belle is a dead woman.” Tess was breathing a bit hard, and he tried his best not to check how that would look below her neckline. “I was more than clear with her. You may be charming and handsome, and I may have rubbed my naked boobs all over your unsuspecting back, but I don’t have time for extra socializing on this trip. Especially when that socializing involves lessons in a sport I don’t actually play.”

  Apparently, he’d been right the first time when it came to her. Appointment or not, she didn’t want anything more to do with him. Although she evidently found him charming and handsome, so maybe he should consider that a win?

  He held up both hands. “Don’t blame me. All I did was tell your friend my name and my job when she asked. Next thing I knew, your name showed up on my schedule. I assumed you’d made the appointment.”

  The flare of her nostrils had diminished as he spoke, but the irritation in her voice lingered. “Well, I didn’t. Half an hour ago, Belle suddenly told me to stop working and come here, since she was giving me a tennis lesson as my early birthday present. For some incomprehensible reason.” Her shoulders dropped. “At least, it seemed i
ncomprehensible then. I had no idea you were a tennis instructor.”

  “The tennis instructor.” A stupid distinction, he knew. But his ego had taken enough beatings over the past few years and the past couple of minutes. He needed a sop for it. “Guests can reserve the other courts for matches or practice, but this one is dedicated to my clients.”

  She’d gathered her shiny dark hair into two pigtails, fastened low on either side of her head, near her earlobes.

  They were cute. She was cute.

  Not into him—not like he was into her—but cute. And he couldn’t resist teasing her, just to see those pale cheeks flush at the challenge to her equanimity.

  He let a smirk curve his lips. “And please don’t worry about my back. It may have been unsuspecting, but it was more than willing.”

  She rose to the bait beautifully, just as she had that morning. “I misspoke. My guess is that your back has been suspected many, many times over the years.”

  “More my front, really.”

  She huffed out a laugh, and he felt it like a caress of his chest.

  “Do you want anything other than water to drink?” He ticked off her options on his fingers. “For one-on-one clients, I can supply juice, sports drinks, sodas, beer, or even champagne. Your choice.”

  “I think drinking champagne in your company would be a bad, bad idea,” she said. “After a glass or two, I might forget why I shouldn’t respond to—”

  When she cut herself off, he tilted his head in inquiry. “Respond to what?”

  After a second, she let out a long breath. “That sexy accent and automatic flirtation.”

  Sexy accent? Much as he adored his homeland, no one in Europe really considered Swedish the language of love. Although at least it wasn’t German, a dialect that could make even declarations of undying adoration sound vaguely threatening and phlegm-y.

  That said: If Tess found his accent seductive, he certainly wasn’t going to argue with her.

  Still, he frowned. “My flirtation is not automatic.”

  She raised a slim, dark brow, and for just a second, he could totally see her in front of a classroom, confronting a student who’d blamed his missing homework on his pet chinchilla.

  Not that Lucas had ever used that particular excuse. No, he’d been more partial to his imaginary moose friend, whose appetite had been remarkably vast when it came to school assignments. Or so he’d told his long-suffering teachers.

  He looked at Tess again and shook his head. Dammit, that was one effective eyebrow.

  “Okay, so my flirting is kind of automatic.” Giving up, he grinned at her. “Doesn’t mean it’s not sincere.”

  Another eyeroll. “I’m sure.”

  Automatic instinct or not, he wouldn’t flirt with a woman who didn’t want that sort of attention from him. “Would you like me to keep things completely professional? Would that make our time together easier for you?”

  An impersonal distance between them wasn’t what he wanted, but neither was her discomfort.

  “You mean you’d stop flirting?” She blinked up at him, hazel eyes doubtful. “Won’t that cause you severe bodily injury? Possibly death?”

  He considered the matter. “Maybe. But I’m willing to risk it for your sake.”

  “Well…” After hesitating a long moment, she waved a dismissive hand. “Nah. I’d hate for the resort to lose its star tennis dude because he experienced some sort of catastrophic flirtation backup. I can handle it.”

  Did she actually enjoy his flirting? Or was she merely being polite?

  Either way, she deserved to know how many times she’d be weathering his charm offensive in the future. “Then we’re agreed. But before we begin our appointment, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes, and her dark lashes rested on her cheeks like lace. “What now?”

  “Your friend didn’t just buy you one tennis lesson with me.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut more tightly and groaned. “Don’t tell me.”

  With her face scrunched up like that, her hair in those pigtails, she looked like a kid. He stood there and let himself enjoy the view, content to get his pathetic kicks where he could.

  After he’d remained silent a few moments, she peeked through one eyelid. “What’s the matter? Is it too horrifying for words?”

  “You said not to tell you.” He grinned at her. “I’m just following orders.”

  “Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Karlsson.” She propped both fists on her hips. “What did Belle do?”

  “From what I saw of my upcoming schedule, she bought you several more lessons. Very expensive, private, nighttime lessons. The only ones still available for the next two weeks, probably because they are so expensive.” Another groan was Tess’s only response. “Unfortunately, I have to inform you that the money for those lessons is nonrefundable, due to company policy. Which the concierge would have explained to her before she booked the appointments.”

  This groan was more like a wail.

  There was nothing he could do about it, unfortunately. Because he was a draw for the resort, the company didn’t look kindly upon cancellations made less than a week in advance, whether or not they could easily fill the vacated slots in his schedule. They felt the availability of too many last-minute appointments would devalue his perceived worth.

  Maybe they were right, maybe they weren’t.

  Either way, poor Tess had a simple choice before her: She could waste a shitload of her friend’s money, find someone else to take the lessons…or suffer through several nights of his company.

  They both knew how this was going to play out, at least for tonight. He just wondered how long it would take her to accept the inevitable.

  To her credit, not long. Within moments, her eyes opened, her shoulders straightened, and she gave a firm little nod. “Okay, then. Multiple tennis lessons it is.”

  He should resist. But he wouldn’t. “With me. One-on-one. At night.”

  “Yeah, smartass. I got that part.” She gestured to the court. “How does all this usually work? I didn’t pack a racket or any sort of tennis supplies.”

  “You can borrow what you need from the clubhouse. Part of what you pay for with those nightly resort fees.” He waved her toward the building. “After you.”

  Clubhouse was an overly generous term for the space, which housed tennis equipment and clothing for guests to borrow and buy. Even considering the modest one-bedroom apartment—reserved for the island’s famous tennis instructor—on the second floor, it resembled a small cottage more than anything else. But the resort liked its euphemistic names for amenities, and Lucas went along with it.

  He went along with pretty much everything these days.

  No stress. No mess. No fuss.

  Opening the door for her, he held it until she walked through and then followed behind her. “What sort of tennis experience do you have?”

  At this time of night, guests drifted away from the courts and toward bars, restaurants, torch-lit beaches, and bedrooms. While he and Tess had been talking, the last few clubhouse visitors had made their purchases and left. The closed sign had been placed on the inside of the door.

  The two of them were alone.

  Well, almost. Pat, the woman who staffed the register, was counting her money, putting the correct amount back in the register drawer, and placing the rest in a bank deposit pouch. Soon, though, she too would leave, locking the door behind her and dropping the key off at the security hut.

  Then he’d be the only person with access to both the clubhouse and his apartment, apart from security. It was as much privacy as the resort could offer. Which he knew, since he’d demanded it before taking the job.

  Too bad Tess didn’t want him as a lover. They’d have had all the time in the world tonight.

  “I played a bit as a kid. Nothing official. Just a few lessons and hitting the ball back and forth with friends.” Baby-fine strands of her dark hair flutte
red around her face in the breeze of the overhead fan. “How do you choose the right racket for someone like me?”

  He could have given her the answer in his sleep. “We’ll pick something on the lighter end. Even though heavy rackets help with power, they can give you tennis elbow and are more difficult to maneuver.”

  He steered her toward the borrowed equipment wall and let her consider her options.

  Her teeth sank into her plush lower lip, and her finger stroked slowly down the side of a graphite frame. At the inadvertent taunt, heat bloomed in his belly, swift and unwelcome.

  “Some of the rackets are different sizes,” she said.

  He swallowed hard. Regained control of himself. “How much do you care about improving your technique?”

  “Not at all.” She laughed and turned to him. “Is that terrible of me to say?”

  “Everyone has different goals.” More standard instructor language. “None of them are more right or wrong than others. In your case, I’d choose a big racket head, since it will provide you with a larger sweet spot. Smaller heads are better for working on technique.” He winked at her. “Although I wouldn’t know that from personal experience.”

  “Oh, you have a big head, all right. The one above your neck.” Despite her deadpan stare, her lips were twitching. “I’ll never know about the other.”

  He leaned his shoulder against the wall and grinned at her. “Rest assured, that one is equally impressive.”

  While they’d been evaluating rackets, the cashier had finished her work, gathered her purse from the staff room—more like staff closet—and signed out. Now she headed for the door, shaking her head. “I’m locking up, Lucas. Behave yourself. Or at least try.”

  Poor Pat. She’d expected him to be classier, given his professional pedigree. “What fun would that be?”

  When she shook her head again, her helmet of curls didn’t move. “And fill out your paperwork when you’re done. I don’t want you to get in trouble a second time this week.”

  “Thanks, Pat.” He swept her into a hug, which she returned. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”