GrandSlam

by Lily Harlem

  I decided to take Austin up on the invitation to use the academy’s gym on my lunch break. I was tired, yes, but the thought of getting the restlessness out of my legs was very appealing. Maybe I was overtired and that was why they felt so agitated.

  After slipping into the correct changing room and pulling on Lycra shorts and a crop top and swapping my stilettoes for trainers, I headed into the workout area. My mind was set on finding a cross-trainer, or elliptical as they called them here; that way I could work upper and lower body, a double whammy.

  The place was half full, mostly girls and a couple of guys on the weights. I looked twice. The guys were Travis and Peter.

  Damn. I’d do my best to ignore them. Didn’t want Travis thinking I was stalking him. I seemed to be everywhere he was the last twenty-four hours and in a big place like this, that was getting kind of suspicious.

  I found a cross-trainer at the far end of the long gym, flicked my iPod to a workout playlist and slotted the earphones in. After hitting start I set to my task, hoping it would settle my equilibrium.

  I quickly built up speed and a sweat, staring out the window across the L.A. skyline and thinking about the cool surf splashing over Santa Monica Beach in the distance. I imagined I was running there, my arms and legs working hard to take me to the ocean. Once there I’d sink my body into the coolness, be at one with nature. It was a relaxing visual when I was building up a burn but it hit the spot and I steamed onward and forward—and it certainly did the job of distracting my thoughts from Travis Connolly.

  Or at least it did until a movement on my right caught my attention. I glanced sideways and saw Travis stepping onto a cross-trainer two down from mine. Peter was fiddling with settings, chatting as he did so. Travis was waiting patiently, not adding to the conversation. He looked across and caught me staring.

  I gave the briefest of smiles and turned away, wishing a bead of sweat hadn’t been balancing on my nose at that very moment. Not a good look.

  But he hadn’t bothered to smile back anyway. His mouth just stayed in a tight, serious line, his body held stiffly as though his muscles were pumped up after the weights.

  My music quieted between tracks and the rhythmic grind and swish of the machines filled my ears. I risked another glance. Travis was gaining speed, his arms and legs power demons as he pushed and pulled. His skin shone with a sheer coating of sweat and his hair was shoved back, messily spilling over a black headband.

  “Hey, Marie. How you doing?” Peter stepped toward me, harnessing my attention.

  “Oh Peter, er, hi,” I said breathlessly and a little too loudly. Quickly I slowed my pace. I’d done nearly twenty minutes, that should just about do it. “I’m good, thanks.” I pulled out my earphones and let them hang around my neck, making sure to reduce the volume of my voice.

  “Have you recovered from the journey?”

  “Well, not really, but hopefully a workout will help.”

  “Always does.”

  I smiled and glanced at Travis. He was staring straight ahead, a frown creasing his forehead. He’d obviously been training hard and was ready for it to come to an end too. He hadn’t bothered with his iPod, his earplugs hung around his neck.

  “So,” Peter was saying, “if you’re up for it that would be great.”

  “I’m sorry, up for what?” I glanced back at Peter, feeling bad that he’d been speaking and I’d taken no notice. He’d think me incredibly rude.

  “Going to the pier later.” He pointed out the window. “It’s a good place to start orienting yourself and I know an awesome seafood place down toward Venice Beach called Lobster Lagoon. You like seafood?”

  “Yes, I love seafood.” Was he asking me out on a date? I recalled our conversation yesterday when we’d been introduced. He’d said something then about taking me out and showing me the L.A. sights. I was pretty sure I’d more or less agreed to it already.

  “So shall I pick you up at eight thirty?” he asked, flashing me his all-American white-teeth smile again.

  “Can we go earlier? I’ll likely want to do nothing but strip off and go to bed by that time. I’m still on a UK clock.”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t have a problem with stripping off and getting into bed.” His grin broadened.

  Bloody hell, me and my stupid big mouth. I glanced at Travis, who was staring straight ahead, pounding on the machine harder than ever, apparently lost in his thoughts and not in the slightest bit interested in what was going on around him. He had that focused, determined expression I’d seen on his face many times when he’d been stacking up the points. Only one thing counted, and that was the physical.

  “Six would suit me just fine if you can manage that,” I said, looking at Peter and slowing my machine right down so I was barely having to work at the movements. I hoped my ignoring his saucy comment had given him the hint.

  “Six is awesome, I’ll pick you up. Are you staying in the academy residentials?”

  “Yes, 876 Garfield.”

  “I know it.” He rubbed his hands together, still smiling. “See you then.”

  “Yes, okay.”

  He turned, walked over to Travis and, with his back to me, started to fiddle with something on his cross-trainer. I studied his wide shoulders, his Los Carlos Tennis Academy t-shirt stretched across them creating three creases between the points of his scapula. His hips were narrow and his legs, since he too was in shorts, showed tan skin and blond hairs. He wore pristine white trainers.

  It seemed I’d got myself a date for tonight with a hunky tennis coach. Hadn’t taken me long. Impressive by anyone’s standards. Though really I was too tired. But I had to eat, and the pier with the big wheel at the end had been beckoning me to explore it every time I glanced out one of the academy windows. A trip out would do me good. I’d enjoy it once I was there, and certainly a nice-looking tour guide couldn’t do me any harm at all.

  I hit stop and after the machine had gone through my workout statistics, I headed to the changing room. It was time to shower, put on my office clothes again and see my next client, Nadia Gorlando, seeded number nineteen in the world.

  *

  I was just closing down my laptop when Austin knocked as he walked through my open office door.

  “Marie, how was your first day?”

  “Great, I’ve seen two players, met a ton of people, probably all of whom will have to tell me their names again, and I’ve started reading through departmental policies.”

  He smiled. “That’s why we hired you. Most folks would have pleaded jet lag and stayed home after the journey you did yesterday, but I sense you’re a woman who likes to get things done.”

  I flushed a little at the compliment. “Well, yes, I don’t like to sit about when there are players I can help.”

  “That’s a girl.” He paused. “How did you get on with Travis Connolly?”

  “Okay, it was just a getting-comfortable-with-each-other session really.”

  Austin nodded. “Yeah, that’s the best way to start with him. He can be a bit prickly around the edges.”

  “He can?” I wasn’t surprised, but any extra information I could glean on my most famous player, and most handsome one, was definitely welcome.

  “Yeah, he wasn’t really up for the clause in his rehabilitation contract that said he had to spend time with a psychologist, said he’d,” Austin held up his hands as if in surrender, “and I mean no offense by this, he said he’d been through that mumbo jumbo psychobabble crap in the past.”

  I laughed. I could just imagine Travis using those exact words, and it certainly explained why he’d appeared to only just tolerate being in my office. He clearly thought I had nothing to offer him, no way of helping him get back to competing to keep his top spot in the world of tennis. But he was wrong. I had lots to offer, if he just gave me the chance. “That’s fine, in fact I’m glad you told me, Austin. It means I’ll adjust my approach with him.”

  “Good, because he’s going to need some
help. That was one hell of a knock at the height of his tennis career, not just physically but mentally too.”

  “It will all be fine and he seems to be getting his fitness back up pretty quickly.” An image of him on the trainer, hammering away, flooded my mind. His athlete’s body was an elite engine. Powerful and fast, his reaction speed second to none.

  “It arrived.”

  “Mmm?” I said with a frown. “What did?”

  “Your car. Just now.” Austin held up a set of keys.

  My heart did a little skip and I grinned. “Oh great.” I took the offered key ring, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. The letters BMW smiled at me. This was what I’d been looking forward to. A company car was part of my package and I’d only gone and negotiated myself a convertible M3 in snow-white. Boy was I looking forward to cruising around the California highways. Perhaps I’d even do the Pacific Coast up to San Francisco once I had my bearings.

  “It’s in the lot,” Austin said. His face turned serious. “But drive carefully, won’t you? It’s fast and flash and you, Marie, are precious to us.”

  A little piece of me melted for my new boss. He was sweet and kind and a bit of a father figure. It made me miss home less to see his concerned face and hear the words my dad would no doubt say when I spoke to him later on the phone.

  *

  The sunshine was blinding as I walked across the sweltering car park, searching for my new wheels. As the heat settled on the top of my head, I rummaged for my shades and slipped them on, twitching my nose at the smell of melting tarmac.

  Ah, there it was beneath a big cream-colored gazebo. Sleek and cute all at the same time. Spotless and shiny, crying out to be driven to cool locations. No trips to Tesco or the launderette in this baby, it was made for destinations like San Fran, Vegas, San Diego and Monterey to name but a few. There was no doubt about it, we were going to be the best of friends. Me and my M3 could take on the world.

  I dropped my bag on the passenger seat and walked slowly around the hood, sweeping my hand over the hot metal. For five years this had been my dream car. The specifications were superb, the leather interior beautiful, the performance, well, I was itching to see if all of its boasts were true.

  “Nice car.”

  I spun at the sound of a deep male voice behind me.

  Travis stood not ten feet away in jeans and a gray t-shirt, leaning against a big black wagon. His hands were shoved into his front pockets and he stood with one leg crossed over the other. He wore black wraparound shades.

  “Um, thanks,” I said, trying to act as though I hadn’t just been drooling over my new mode of transport.

  “It’ll be quick.” He slotted the shades onto the top of his head and strolled over to me, eyeing up my car as he did so.

  “I hope so.” Damn, he smelled good. He must have been fresh from the shower, that woodsy scent of his was stronger than ever. Trouble is, when it’d been faint it did funny things to my stomach, making it flip and flutter. Now it was so intense that greedy sensation for more headed straight between my legs.

  Was it even legal for one man to be so gorgeous?

  “You driven one of these before?” he asked, striding around to the other side, tilting his head as though inspecting it from all angles.

  “I’ve test driven a couple, yes.”

  “Back in England?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been on the roads out here before?”

  “No, but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it. It’s just a case of going on the other side of the road.”

  He laughed, but not with humor. “It’s a bit more than that.”

  A flush of irritation rose up my spine. I might be a woman but I was a bloody good driver and it annoyed the hell out of me that blokes thought I should have a safe little housewife car. I liked speed and I liked flash, and if I wanted a convertible BMW I would damn well have one and, what’s more, I would drive it as fast as I liked, anywhere I liked. “I’ve driven in Europe plenty of times so I’m pretty sure I’ll manage.” I clicked the fob and the car beeped to life. I couldn’t help a little smile even though he’d hit a nerve.

  He raised his eyebrows and watched as I climbed in. He then strode around to the driver’s side and wrapped his hand over the top of the door.

  I gripped the steering wheel and was thankful the car had been parked in a shady spot. The leather smelled new and creaked slightly as I sat. The dash was so shiny I could see my reflection.

  I adjusted the seat and reached for the door.

  Travis kept tight hold of it. “So you’re going out with Peter tonight?” he asked, using his other hand to drop his shades back over his eyes.

  What was it to him? I hesitated, unsure of what to say. “Well, yes, he’s taking me to the pier.”

  “And then for dinner.”

  I shrugged, tried to pull the door but he didn’t let me budge it. Frowning up at him, I said, “Everyone’s got to eat.”

  He pressed his lips together, flattening his mouth into a straight line. If I was to go by body language clues, I’d say he had a problem with me going out with Peter. But that was ridiculous. Why the hell would Travis Connolly care if I went out with his coach?

  “So it’s a date?” he asked.

  Okay, now I was really puzzled. “No, not really, we’re just friends. Well, I hardly know him.”

  He did that laugh again, the one that wasn’t really a laugh, more a burst of scorn. “Friends, yeah, right.”

  “Yes, right. What’s your problem anyway?”

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Well I haven’t, you’re both free agents.”

  “Yes we are.” I hesitated, sensing he had more to say. “What’s bothering you?”

  “It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  He frowned and tugged at his bottom lip, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to tell me something. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “What of, Peter or driving on the scary other side of the road?” I spoke softly, smiled a little, wondering if that would get me a truthful answer.

  “Both.” He suddenly slammed my door and stepped back.

  Chapter Four

  I watched Marie screech out of the car park in her brand-new BMW like a bat out of hell. I didn’t blame her to be honest. She probably thought I was a total arsehole—speaking to her as if she were a child and all but warning her off a man neither of us knew particularly well. I sounded like an overbearing father.

  I sighed—what the hell was wrong with me? I was acting like an overbearing father. Though I didn’t feel remotely familial toward her—more like I wanted to know her in the biblical sense. But it was more than that—I was growing more attracted to her every time I saw her, even when she was in those sweaty gym clothes. I wanted to spend more time with her—outside the mumbo jumbo appointments, of course—and get to know her better.

  Peter, on the other hand, seemed more interested in getting into her knickers. The way he’d spoken about his ex, Penny, made me think he was a bit of a twat when it came to women. I was far from perfect, obviously, but I had respect for women, treated them the best way I knew how. Even when they didn’t belong to me. Plus he was a bit young for her—what was he, late twenties? I was much nearer her age, there couldn’t be more than five years between us.

  I pushed thoughts of belonging, thoughts of Elle firmly out of my head before they had time to fully form, to consume me. Just before they relented and scurried to the farthest recesses of my mind, they left me with one lasting notion.

  You have no right to lay a claim to Marie. Just like with Elle.

  I moved away from the canopy Marie’s car had been parked under and went back to my own truck. Got in and lay my cheek on the steering wheel, resisted the temptation to bang my head against it. It was true, of course, I had no rights to Marie.

  Elle was different—she was a true sexual and lifestyle submissive and
relished the idea of “belonging” to someone. The trouble was, that someone wasn’t me. The lucky human being to have that privilege was my friend Kevin Bourne who also happened to own a BDSM club, Satiate, which was where we’d both met Elle all those months ago. As experienced Doms, we’d both seen the submissive side in her straightaway, but Kevin was in a position to own her fully and I wasn’t. It was okay for me to dip in and out of the BDSM world—particularly as Satiate was so discreet and would protect my privacy no matter what—but I couldn’t do it full time. For one, I wouldn’t want the full-on lifestyle, and also, if the media ever found out about my alternative lifestyle choices, they’d have an absolute field day with me. And who knew how that would affect my career?

  Kevin though, knowing how much I liked Elle, was gracious enough to let me share her on occasion. The trouble was, each taste of that delectable body, her willingness to please, left me wanting more, wanting something I couldn’t possibly have—for so many reasons. So when the opportunity arose to make a fresh start in America, I grabbed it with both hands and held on tight.

  Now my much-needed fresh start was already becoming tainted. When I’d left England, I’d vowed to leave all my Dominant shit behind too. Become a different man, a better one. I’d been doing so well—I hadn’t come into contact with a woman who interested me beyond a chaste appreciation of her looks, and because of that, because of my self-imposed chastity, I didn’t miss being a Dom. If I got horny I’d wank and that was the end of it.

  Deep down though, I knew that if I got involved with a woman, my dark side would reemerge in the bedroom. And what were the chances that said female would be into that kind of thing? If she was, it would be a fucking miracle. If she wasn’t, I could end up with a slap in the face—or worse—and my name and kinks would soon be plastered all over the American media, which I knew was just as hungry for scandal as the British equivalent. Inevitably the news would also make its way across the pond to my home country, bringing my well-kept secret, the life I’d built, crashing down around my ears.