by Lily Harlem
Travis and Peter were knocking a ball around. Each working hard, sweating, grunting, dashing to reach the other’s hit. Neither appeared to notice my arrival.
I watched Peter scoot for a net shot and realized what a damn good player he must be, returning the super-fast hits Travis was pounding him with. He was certainly giving his famous partner a good runabout and bloody hell, what a partner to be up against—the twice Wimbledon champion.
Travis wore his trademark sweatband on his head. His face was flushed and shiny, his mouth set in a determined line. The white tank top he had on showed his damp black underarm hair whenever he extended for the ball.
Taking a seat on one of the benches around the court, I prepared to wait. I figured Travis had to walk past me to get back into the changing rooms so there was no way he could ignore me or my request for him to come up to my office and complete his session.
I reached into my bag and slipped on my shades. I was glad my hair was up again today because of the heat, but at the same time I hoped it didn’t give Travis any ideas about pulling it.
Or did I?
Damn, why had that thought slipped into my mind again? All evening memories of that moment had pinged like an annoying jumping bean around my brain.
Sure, it had been hot as hell to be in his embrace like that. What woman on the planet wouldn’t enjoy being mashed up against Travis Connolly? Feeling his strong, tennis player arms around them and breathing in his cologne, his breath…his desire?
And it had been desire. There was no doubt about it. But whether it was desire for me or desire for some kink I couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just an urge to dominate his psychologist and control the sessions he didn’t want to attend. Make our time on his terms so the control was back in his court.
Whatever it was, he’d picked the wrong woman. A sexy athlete with come-to-bed eyes wouldn’t turn Marie Sherratt into a simpering schoolgirl.
Or were they come-to-my-dungeon eyes?
I stared at him now as he dashed left to right, throwing all his power behind his hits and moving his big body around the court the way a dancer would—light on his feet, in perfect command of each maneuver.
In the middle of the night, when I’d woken from a dream about running through black tunnels and searching for the light, my predominant thought had been Travis is into BDSM.
I knew it as fact. He’d more than hinted at it, he’d shown me. I’d be blind to not realize it, plus it would make me the most ridiculous psychologist on the planet.
Which was a pity, the BDSM thing. It was subject I knew very little about. I’d have to get online and do some research as soon as I had a minute. Just so I knew exactly what I was dealing with. From a professional point of view, of course.
He ran past me, flicking the ball over the net as he moved. His top lifted around his lean waist, giving me a glimpse of the golden skin on his lower back and as he spun, the tantalizing line of hair on his abdomen came into sight, just for a second, just long enough for me to be able to imagine what it would be like to nuzzle my nose there.
Stop it, Marie. He’s your client.
“Let’s call it a day,” Peter shouted. “I think you’ve worked your backhand enough. Any more and it will be overkill.”
“Yeah, I agree.” Travis wiped his wristband over his nose and cheek, looked across at me and stilled, his racquet falling to his side and hanging there, just touching his knee.
It was the first time he hadn’t been moving in the ten minutes I’d been sitting there.
“Marie,” Peter called, jogging up to me, a grin spreading across his face. “How are you?”
I tore my attention from Travis. “Fine thanks, Peter.”
“Hot enough for you today?”
“It is out here.”
A drip of sweat seeped down his temple and he dashed it away with his palm. “I’ve got us tickets for the Kodak on Saturday, there’s a premiere on. Only a low-budget movie with an unknown director, but still, the red-carpet will be out, it will be fun. Give you a real flavor of what it’s like to be living so near to Hollywood and all its glamour.”
“Wow, that’s great. How did you manage that?”
“Ah, I have contacts.” He tapped the side of his nose and raised his eyebrows.
Travis grabbed a white towel, buried his face in it for a second and then slung it over his shoulder. He stepped past Peter, his gaze to the ground.
“Travis,” I said, standing, “wait.”
He turned, his dark eyebrows pulled low and his brow creased in a frown.
“We need to finish our session from yesterday,” I said, hoping the flush seeping up my cheeks could be blamed on the sunshine. I really wasn’t picturing us pressed up against each other, my hair in his fist and strange sexual urges zipping ’round my body. Really I wasn’t.
Travis glanced at Peter, who was spinning his racquet in his hand over and over with little flicks of his wrist.
“That session came to a natural end,” he said, looking back at me. His lips were a thin, flat line.
“Before time.” I folded my arms.
“Does it really matter?”
“Well yes, I—”
“I’m going to leave you guys to figure this out,” Peter said. “The shower is calling me. But I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday, Marie, for our date.” He winked and stepped past Travis, placing his hand on his shoulder as he did so. “Great training, buddy, you should be proud of yourself.” He disappeared down the corridor and I heard the hiss of the automatic entrance as he went inside.
“So that session?” I asked again. I wouldn’t back down on this, it was my job and it was for his own good.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, “you’re really not going to let it go, are you? This session thing.”
“You did fifteen minutes out of sixty, so no, I’m not going to let it go.” I took off my shades and folded in the arms. “I’m not going to be much good to you if I let you bunk off your time with me. We have things to work through, get you prepared for the Open next month.”
He tugged on his bottom lip and tipped his head. “So how about a compromise?”
“I’ll consider that.”
“You come out with me now, for lunch, and we can talk then. Make up those forty-five minutes while we eat.”
“Lunch?”
“Yes, you know, sit down with food in the middle of the day.”
I tutted. “Yes, I know what lunch is. It’s just not normal procedure.”
He grinned and his face softened. He always looked handsome but when he smiled he was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
“Okay, lunch could work,” I said.
“Of course it will. Give me ten minutes to shower and then I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
I nodded. “Ten minutes. Okay.”
*
Travis drove us in his black wagon with its tinted windows to a small restaurant in Beverly Hills called Roots. The frontage was discreet—two dark arched windows with wooden blinds and a glossy red door with four neat topiary trees in the shape of giant lollipops outside.
We were seated at the back of a long, thin dining area in a wooden-paneled booth that gave us privacy from other customers. A single round lampshade hung on a brass chain creating a muted evening light and was a treat after the harshness of the day’s sunshine. The table was set with fine, polished silverware and a thick, white tablecloth. Linen napkins were folded into crystal glasses in little fan shapes and red leather-bound menus were stacked at carefully arranged angles.
“Do you like it?” Travis asked, opening his menu.
“It’s lovely, a bit posh for lunch though. I thought you meant a sandwich or something.”
He looked shocked. “A sandwich? Marie, I’m trying to maintain muscle.” His face softened. “I need protein and this place does the most amazing Pacific blackened cod. It’s just delicious, the best I’ve ever had.”
“Oh, well, okay.” I’d never had blackened cod, I thought it
was generally served white. “Maybe I’ll go for that too, if you recommend it.”
He smiled as though pleased with my decision to go along with his suggestion. “Good.”
The waiter poured still water into two tall glasses and I raised mine, took a sip.
“We’ll have two blackened cods,” Travis said, handing over his menu and reaching for mine to also give to the waiter, “and two glasses of your finest champagne.”
“Travis, we can’t. I’m supposed to be at work.”
“And I’m supposed to be on a strict healthy program.” He leaned forward and the light shone on his face, brushing over the strong angles of his forehead, nose and chin. “But come on, it’s not a whole bottle and where is the fun in life if you don’t break the rules occasionally?”
“What, like you did yesterday?” I set my gaze on his.
He sat back, folded his arms. “Well, that didn’t take long to come up, did it?”
“Of course not. It’s something we need to discuss.”
“My lack of attendance or the incident?”
“Both, but why don’t you start with defining the incident.”
The right side of his mouth twitched. I wasn’t sure if it was a micro-expression that indicated humor or irritation. “The incident.” He paused. “I suppose we could define it as me showing you how pain can be good when administered in the right way, by the right person.”
“It hurt, Travis, and you had no right to do it.”
“You gave me permission.”
“Not to hurt me.”
“I apologize then, for the misunderstanding about consent. It won’t happen again. I take consent very seriously.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“But I won’t apologize for what I did.”
“So what’s the point in apologizing at all?” Damn, he was exasperating.
The waiter returned with two flutes of golden liquid, the bubbles forming a fine spray above the surface. He set them in front of us.
Travis nodded his thanks and when the waiter left he leaned forward again. “If I made you feel uncomfortable then I regret that, Marie.” He paused and rested his hand on the table with his fingertips only a centimeter from mine. “But I don’t regret making you feel something you’ve never experienced before. That was beautiful, in that moment you were beautiful and I’d defy any red-blooded man to not react to the feel of your body going all pliant and soft in his arms.”
I wanted to pull my hand away. He was looking at me as though I were completely naked, as if my soul were laid open for him to study. But I didn’t, I kept my hand there and considered my answer. “What makes you think I’ve never experienced going soft and…and pliant in a man’s arms before?”
He smiled and moved his hand so our index fingers connected.
It was as if a sizzling current had traveled through my hand and up my arm, settling in my chest and speeding up my heart rate. But still, I willed myself to remain calm, outwardly at least. Inside my head was spinning, my body was on high alert.
“I wasn’t just holding you, Marie. I’d taken control, I was feeding you something you didn’t even know you wanted, and I’m damn sure that’s never happened to you before.” He moved his hand, reached for his champagne and raised it. “We should toast you finding out something about your sexual desires you never knew existed.”
“Okay, so now you’re really overstepping boundaries again, Travis. I’m your psychologist, not some pet you can tease and torment.”
“That’s a shame.”
“For crying out loud, grow up, will you?”
He laughed, a great big guffaw. He slapped the table, making my flute of champagne wobble dangerously. “It’s been so long since anyone said that to me.”
“Well, it’s true. You’re behaving like a kid in a playground who’s trying to shock the new girl.”
His grin broadened. “Come on, pick up your glass. Let’s toast a new start to our relationship.”
I didn’t reach for my champagne. “You’d better explain this new relationship so there are no more misunderstandings.”
“Fair enough.” He dipped his head, his smile dropping. “A new relationship where honesty, trust and openness are key.”
“That’s a good start.”
“But it has to work both ways,” he said.
“I agree.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“So you’ll be completely honest when I ask you a question, not just about all your psycho stuff, but about you, Marie, and what’s in there.” He nodded at my chest.
I hesitated.
“It’s only fair,” he said. “If I’m going to tell you intimate things about myself I need to know who I’m telling.” He paused. “Which means I need to understand certain things about you.”
Okay, he had a point. “I can do that then,” I said. “Within reason.”
“Within reason.” He flattened his mouth. “I suppose that will have to do, for now.”
I reached for my drink. This was a highly unusual method of dealing with a wayward client but then again, so far there was nothing in any textbook that could tell me how to deal with a man like Travis. I was taking it one step at a time.
“One more thing.” He held his flute just out of clinking range.
“What’s that?’
“Absolute discretion and confidentiality.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Good.”
“Whatever we discuss will stay just between us, I promise,” I said. “Apart from anything else it’s in my contract to respect your privacy one hundred percent.”
He held his glass aloft. “Here’s to us then. Travis and Marie and all the things we can learn and enjoy together.”
As I touched the rim of my flute to his, a sudden sense of anxiety slipped over me. Had I just made a deal with the devil? No, he was too bloody gorgeous to be the devil. Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to find out exactly how likely I was to get burned. I should just pose the question that was on my lips and had been since the day before. It was gnawing away at me, butting into my thoughts and skipping out to perch on the end of my tongue.
I set down my glass. Lowered my voice. “Can I ask you something then, in our new relationship that’s all about honesty?”
“Of course. Is it as a professional or as a woman?”
“As a professional.” Damn, that was my first slip in our new relationship.
“Go on then.”
“Have you ever explored how you feel beyond doing a bit of hair-pulling? You know, in the bedroom?”
He took a big slug of his champagne, set the glass down and stroked his fingers down the stem. “That’s a big question, Marie, and a very intimate one. Why do you need to know?”
“So I can help you with your career.”
He huffed. “Don’t give me that crock of shit.”
“It’s not.”
“Of course it is, just like you said you were asking the question from a professional point of view. I might have a lot of brawn, Marie, but I also have a brain.”
The waiter set down a china bowl full of strips of warm bread, saving me from responding. I knew Travis was sharp, there was no doubt about it. Quickly I took a piece of seeded roll and tore it in half. “I was asking from a professional point of view.”
“No you weren’t.” He captured my wrist just as I was about to pop the bread into my mouth. Held me still. “Ask me as a woman and I might just tell you the truth.”
His grip was tight and firm, he’d squeezed his fingers into my flesh, reminding me of how small I was compared to him.
“Marie,” he said, his black gaze boring into mine.
What choice did I have? The woman in me did want to know the answer. And I wanted more than anything else to understand what had happened to me in his arms yesterday when he’d pulled my hair. If it was something he did regularly. If it was something he was planning on doing again, to me. “Okay,” I
said, holding his unblinking stare. “As a woman I want to know if you’re into BDSM.”
He released me and sat back with a satisfied twist to his mouth. “Now that was an honest question and I appreciate it.”
“So answer.” I finally popped the bread into my mouth.
He dipped his attention to my lips as I searched for stray crumbs with my tongue.
“Yes, Marie,” he said quietly, “I’ve been a member of a London-based BDSM club for many years.”
The bread seemed to clog up my mouth and sat thickly in my throat, going nowhere.
“And the truth is,” he said, “I miss it.” He paused, shook his head. “God, I miss it so much it hurts.”
I took a sip of water, trying not to look shocked at the revelation. “What is it you miss?”
He glanced down at his lap then looked back up at my face. Leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “When I’m off the court, away from the crowds, the fans and the press, what I miss most is having a beautiful submissive woman to share that dark, sensual aspect of my life with.” He steepled his fingers, pressed his index fingers to his lips and spoke onto them. “Having someone trust you with their body, their sexual pleasure and, most importantly their safety, is one of the most wondrous experiences I’ve ever had. So yes, yes I miss it a lot.”
Chapter Eight
I bit back a smile as she reacted to my words. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, then closed it again without speaking. Twisted her attractive features into an expression that showed she was thinking hard. Finally she picked up her glass and drank a good few mouthfuls of her water before putting it down with a sharp intake of breath.
A couple more seconds passed and she eventually spoke.
“I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to say to that, Travis.”
“What? You had all that time to think of a response and that’s the best you can come up with?” I laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t bother me, dark discussions over lunch, but the last thing I wanted was for the beautiful woman in front of me to start stealing glances at the door and checking her watch.
“This isn’t a game of wits,” she said.
“True. But I’d like to know what you’re thinking now that I answered your question.”