Winning Ace: A Winning Ace Novel (Book 1)

by Tracie Delaney

  She tried not to focus too much on what her attending might imply but couldn’t help a tiny flicker of hope. Could she mean more to him than she’d thought?

  She turned over, snuggled under the covers, and closed her eyes, exhausted but excited about traveling with him. Every day with Cash was an adventure, and she couldn’t wait to get started on the next one.

  The mattress shifted as Cash nestled into her side. He nudged her knees apart and rested his left leg between hers. His hand settled on her stomach, and she forced herself not to suck her belly in.

  “Natalia,” he murmured in her ear.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ll never be just another notch on my knobbly headboard.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Tally froze. Shit! He had heard her phone call with Em. But how much of the conversation had he caught? She twisted her head. His eyes were wide open, and he was staring at her expectantly.

  “What?” she said, trying to buy some time to think.

  Cash leaned across her and flicked on the bedside lamp. “I heard you. On the phone.”

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Who’s George?”

  Quite a bit evidently. She needed to think, and fast.

  “And why are you comparing me to a fifty-three-year-old man?”

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, burying her head in the pillow. “This can’t be happening.”

  Cash shifted her onto her back and loomed over her. His lips were twitching with barely contained laughter. He wouldn’t be laughing in a minute.

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s rude to listen to private conversations.”

  “Never did have great manners.”

  She sat up in bed and covered her face with her hands. “George Clooney,” she mumbled, peeking at him from between her fingers.

  Cash chuckled. “George Clooney?” He tugged on his hair. “Not quite going grey yet, sweetness. So what exactly were you comparing? Because if it’s sexual prowess, I win hands down.”

  She hugged her knees to her chest. This was an utter nightmare. There was no way to explain what he’d overheard other than with the truth.

  He was going to freak out.

  “Em thinks she knows why you felt weird earlier.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Does she, now?”

  “You have to understand Emmalee,” Tally said, falling over her words in her haste to try and explain. “She’s an incurable romantic with an overactive imagination based on absolutely no fact. I don’t agree with her. Not at all.”

  “Natalia, you’re rambling. Spit it out.”

  “She thinks that you’re… you’re… that you like me more than you want to admit and that’s why you felt weird. Because it’s never happened to you before.”

  She raised her head slowly. Cash’s face was blank, giving her absolutely no clue what he was thinking.

  “I don’t agree with her, Cash. She’s nuts. That’s where George Clooney came into the conversation. Em was saying even George got nabbed in the end. But honestly, ignore––”

  “Stop.”

  Cash threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. He walked over to the window and leaned both hands on the glass, the muscles in his back stiff and taut. Tally pulled the covers around herself. She’d known this would happen. “Cash, don’t freak out.”

  He stayed where he was, every muscle tensed. She slipped out of bed and rested her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off, and her pain was as real as if he’d cracked open her ribcage and ripped out her heart.

  “Leave me alone, Natalia,” he said, his voice cold and lacking any inflection.

  Agony spread outwards from her chest until she could barely breathe. She’d known that when their time together ended, it was going to hurt terribly, but she hadn’t been prepared for just how much.

  Scooping up her clothes, she shot a hopeful glance over her shoulder, but Cash remained with his back to her. As she left the room, he didn’t turn around.

  Tally dressed quickly. She had to get out of here. Being with Cash was too painful. The rollercoaster of emotions was exhausting—one minute living in a euphoric bubble, the next tossed to the side like trash. As adoration turned to anger, she snatched up her bag and slammed the hotel door, the noise reverberating into the hallway. It closed behind her, and she had a sudden panic attack that she didn’t have her passport, but there it was, mocking her from the bottom of her bag.

  Guess my credit card is going to have to pay for that flight home after all.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The door to the bedroom clicked shut, and Cash rested his forehead against the window. The cool of the glass helped sooth the monstrous headache that had started pounding at his temples. He wanted to run, get the hell out of there and as far away from Natalia as possible. This was getting way too serious way too fast. He didn’t have feelings for women. He appreciated them and treated them well as long as they kept his interest in and out of bed.

  Mainly in bed. But apart from that…

  So why was this one so fucking different? He’d never taken drugs, but this was what addiction had to be like. The pull was irresistible. He needed her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He was shit-scared of not being able to get his fix of her yet even more scared of what would happen when he got it. And if he allowed her in, what if she discovered the truth? He rubbed the dull ache in his chest. The hollow, empty feeling seemed to spread the longer he stood there, and only one thing would fill the space—or rather, one person.

  The sound of the door to his suite slamming was unmistakeable, and he dragged on a pair of jeans and dashed into the living room. “Natalia…”

  She wasn’t there. His eyes fell on the chair where he’d tossed her handbag earlier that night before he’d slowly removed every item of her clothing and buried himself in her. The bag was gone.

  “Shit.”

  He yanked open the door to his suite and ran down the hallway. The display above the lift showed “5, 4, 3.” He sprinted into the stairwell. He couldn’t lose her, would not lose her. He sped down the stairs and burst into the lobby then scanned it. A group of hotel guests were walking into the lift that he assumed Natalia had been in, but he couldn’t see her. He caught the odd weird stare, which wasn’t unusual for him, but in Paris—and this hotel in particular—it was strange. Then he realised he was only wearing jeans. No shirt. No shoes. He spotted the bellman on his way over and cursed under his breath. This he did not have time for.

  He jogged barefoot towards the entrance, expertly swerving the bellman. He spotted Natalia about to climb into the back of a cab, and he sprinted outside and grabbed the door just as it was closing.

  “Natalia, don’t go,” he said, tightening his grip as she tried to pull it shut.

  “Why?” she said, her voice breaking up. “What’s the point in me staying? You’ve made your position very clear.”

  “Come back inside. We need to talk.”

  “Do we? Because you didn’t want to fucking talk earlier.”

  He blanched. In the time he had known her, she’d rarely used hard language—unlike Cash, who used the word fuck more than any other. The pain in his chest increased, and he rubbed his knuckles against his sternum.

  “Please.” He held out his hand, but when hers remained in her lap, he let it fall to his side. “Please, baby,” he repeated softly.

  She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, and in that moment, he hated himself—his commitment fears, his laissez-faire attitude when it came to women, his inability to let anyone get close to him.

  “You’re getting cold.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “I’ll stand here all night if I have to.”

  She stared at his bare feet. “No. I’ll come in. But only to talk.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out of the cab. “That’s all I ask.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. It was not enough to pay for the taxi. He held up a finger to the cab drive
r. “Attendez un moment, monsieur.”

  He ushered Natalia inside the hotel and caught the attention of the bellman who’d tried to stop him earlier. “Can you pay the taxi driver for his trouble?”

  “Oui, Monsieur Gallagher. May I also get you some clothing?”

  If the situation with Natalia hadn’t been so serious, he’d have grinned at the barely hidden meaning behind the bellman’s comment.

  “No need. I’m heading back to my room now. Please add the charge for the cab to my bill.”

  He ushered Natalia into the nearest lift, the silence drowning him as the doors closed. Now that she’d agreed to talk, he didn’t have a fucking clue what he was going to say. She, too, seemed lost in her own thoughts, her eyes fixed on the ground the entire time the lift ascended.

  As he held the door to his suite open for her, she brushed past him, threw her bag on the chair, and headed straight for the window. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the minibar.

  “Here,” he said, holding out a half-filled glass. She took a sip and set it down on the windowsill.

  “Where were you going?”

  “The airport.”

  He shoved a hand roughly through his hair. “You were leaving?”

  She met his gaze. Her eyes were open wide, the deep blue even more accentuated than usual against her pale skin.

  “What did you expect? You asked me what my conversation with Emmalee had been about, and when I told you, you freaked. And what’s worse, I knew you were going to freak. This is too hard, Cash.” She picked up her glass of wine and, tossing her bag on the floor, flopped into the chair.

  He sat on the sofa opposite and dragged both hands through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “You said you wanted to talk. That’s not talking. That’s a statement.”

  He smirked. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “Should I?”

  His smile faded. “No. Look, I’ve never… I mean, I don’t…” He stood up and paced. “For fuck’s sake.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Cash Gallagher tongue-tied. There’d be journalists who’d pay good money to be sitting where I am.”

  “With them I wouldn’t be tongue-tied.”

  Her lips twitched at the corners, but the movement was all too brief. “Just start, Cash.”

  He let out a deep sigh. “I really am sorry, Natalia. Dammit.” He pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not used to doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Explaining myself. However this comes out, I’m not going to come off looking good.”

  He took a swig of wine, hoping if he stalled long enough, she’d let it go, but her face remained impassive, and all he got was a brief nod of what he hoped was encouragement.

  Cash stroked his chin. The repetitive motion seemed to loosen his tongue. “I’ve never had a proper relationship. All the women I’ve been with have meant nothing. Someone to fuck but never let close. Someone to take to parties but never share intimacy with. They’d make me momentarily feel good, yet I was never interested in returning the favour.”

  He walked over to the window, fearful that if he looked at Natalia, he’d see dismay, maybe even disgust. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and jangled the change until the noise got on his nerves and he threw the coins on the sill. Turning around slowly, he met her gaze. Her expression remained blank, and her hands were lying still in her lap. He took a breath.

  “And then you came along. You made me question things that night at the foundation ball and many nights since. When I found out you were a journalist, I was furious. I hated the fact you’d shared personal details about my life, details I’d managed to keep private until that dance with you. And I hated that you’d lied to me. I despise liars. But in the end, I had to be honest with myself: I was angry because you forced me to re-examine everything—my beliefs that all journalists were scum, my assumption that the only person I needed was myself, my determination to never let anyone get close. And then when I kissed you the first time…”

  Her eyes softened, the first positive sign she’d given him, and it took every inch of self-control not to take her in his arms and kiss her. But if he didn’t tell her this now, he never would.

  “You’re making me question things that I’ve avoided facing. I’ve never been touched by anyone the way you touch me. I need you. I’m like a drug addict desperate for the fix and struggling to cope with what it’s doing to me at the same time. These are very new feelings for me, and because I’m fighting them, you’re getting caught in the crossfire.”

  Cash fell silent as exhaustion swamped him. He could sleep for a week. As the seconds scratched by, and Natalia remained silent, Cash’s anxiety grew.

  “Say something,” he finally said.

  She shook her head. “You’re not the only one confused, Cash. Look at this from my perspective. You’ve only known me since December, but I’ve known you for ten years. Watched you change from a boy into a man. Celebrated every success right alongside you, even though you were completely unaware. And now here I am.” She looked around the hotel room and then shrugged. “And because I have no idea how long it’s going to last, I’m seeing the negative in every situation. Hence my slight overreaction,” she added with a wry smile.

  Consumed with relief, he held out his arms. “Come here, baby.”

  She scrambled out of the chair and folded herself into his outstretched arms. He kissed the top of her head. “None of us start out with an idea of how long things will last. All we can do is live in the moment. I can’t promise I won’t fuck up, Natalia, but I’m trying.”

  “I know. I’ll try too.”

  Her fingers feathered the back of his neck, and tremors of desire made him shudder. He grew hard. With her around, when was he anything but?

  “Cash?” she murmured in his ear, her breath soft and warm.

  “Yeah?”

  “Take me to bed. I need you to make me feel good.”

  Now, that was language he understood.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Oh my God. It’s fabulous. I feel like a Bond girl.”

  Cash smiled at Natalia’s reaction to the Aston Martin DBS he’d had delivered to their hotel. He’d ordered it with her in mind. Instinct told him she’d love it, and he’d been right.

  “Which Bond girl?”

  “Pussy Galore,” she said quick as a flash. “Loved her in Goldfinger.”

  He laughed and closed her door then climbed in the driver’s side. “Ready?”

  “Definitely.”

  He pulled away from the kerb, and they headed out of Paris on the A1. He usually hated leaving his favourite city, but this time, he couldn’t wait for Natalia to see his real life, although a bite of nervous tension chewed at his insides. What if the reality wasn’t up to her fantasies? The life of a sportsman wasn’t a glamorous one. How would she react when she realised the amount of hours he put in on the practice court? Not to mention the punishing gym workouts, which would leave little time for them to spend together.

  And then there was Kinga. Her constant calls and texts trying to apologise were so over the top he’d eventually blocked her number. Her grovelling was more than a little nauseating. And if she turned that sharp tongue of hers on Natalia, he’d cut the fucker off.

  They stopped on the outskirts of Antwerp for a light lunch, and as they walked back to the car, he dangled the key in front of Natalia’s face. “Want to drive?”

  She glanced up, excitement flickering in her eyes. “Really? The Bondmobile? Hell, yeah.”

  He dropped the key into her outstretched hand, smiling as she ran around to the driver’s side. She took her time setting up the seat and the mirrors. Finally satisfied, she turned to him. “I’m going to give you the drive of your life. Are you ready?”

  He gripped the sides of the seat and stared at her in mock horror. “What have I done?”

  She stuck her tongue out and turned the key in the ignition. The low grow
l of the Aston’s idling engine rose to a loud roar as Natalia pressed the accelerator. The car shot forward, and she laughed.

  “Wow, this engine’s got a lot of power.”

  “And I’ll have whiplash if you do that again,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  She pressed the accelerator a little more gently the second time, and after about five minutes, she had the measure of it. As Cash watched her, a wave of pride raced through him. There was something so fucking sexy about watching her master the supercar.

  As they filtered back onto the A1, Natalia glanced sideways at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “How fast can I go?”

  “How fast do you want to go?”

  “Breakneck,” she said with an impish grin.

  “Road’s yours, baby. As is the speeding ticket, so keep watch for the blues.”

  She turned the radio up, dropped the clutch, and opened the throttle, and the Aston sprang forward. He twisted his body to the side and watched her howling with laughter as the speedometer topped one hundred and sixty kilometres per hour.

  “This is wild!” she yelled.

  Seeing her carefree excitement made his skin tingle. Another dull and boring activity refreshed by experiencing it through Natalia’s eyes.

  They reached the outskirts of Rotterdam just before one, and he directed Natalia to the apartment building they’d be staying in. She’d barely put the handbrake on when the valet opened her door and helped her out.

  Cash cursed under his breath and jumped out of the car. “I’ve got this, thank you.” He glared across at the valet, who immediately dropped his hand from Natalia’s arm and inclined his head as he stepped away.

  “Mr Gallagher, sir. Of course. Welcome back.”

  He walked around to the driver’s side. “Is everything here?”