“Why would I want to stay there when you are here? I asked the manager to call me a cab as soon as you hung up the phone but then I got lucky – a cab pulled up dropping off some guests so I just hopped right in.”
He stood tall, a power horse in front of her, arms bulging from his tight white dress shirt. The new physique of today’s tennis player. Gone were the wiry bodies of McEnroe and Bjorg and in were the muscles of endless training sessions. He pulled off the navy dickey bow and stuffed it carelessly into his pocket. Then he undid some buttons on his shirt.
“Glasses?” he asked.
Sandra was rooted to the spot. She had watched this man so many times on TV. His temper on court was legendry. He hated to lose. His energy was electric.
“This way,” she managed as she tugged the clips from her fringe and, licking her fingers discreetly, patted it down.
“Shit, it’s cold in here, isn’t it?” He shivered.
“I’ve only just put the heating on and it’s very inefficient anyway.” She’d leave it on now all night and let Tom foot that bill.
“Sorry, I’m in the middle of moving out so excuse the mess.” She reached into the press and took two wineglasses down.
He unscrewed the cap and poured. “Red okay, I hope? It was all I could manage to steal off the tables.”
“What are you like?” she laughed.
“Ah, Max won’t mind – he’s a very close old friend. It was touch and go whether I could make it to his wedding. I really didn’t want to let him down but I’m playing a tournament in London all next week, I leave first thing in the morning so I didn’t fancy too late a night.”
His eyes never left hers and she knew he fancied her. A lot. There were plenty single girls at the Brophy-Burrows wedding, sure she knew half of them, so why on earth did he want her? And want her he did, she knew that. She was more nervous than flattered for whatever reason.
“Jamie, before you waste your time here, let me get something perfectly clear. I just literally came out of my marriage a few hours ago.”
He sat up at the kitchen island and she did the same, her legs dangling like a child’s and his flat on the floor.
“What happened?”
“You know, I haven’t a clue. I married too quickly, I married someone I didn’t really know, so it’s over just like that.” She laughed now even though she didn’t feel like laughing.
“Are you still in love with him?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to propose to you!” he laughed. “But, listen, I’m sorry it fell apart for you. Though I can’t say I understand because I’ve never been married.” He gave an unconscious shiver.
“No shortage of offers though, hey?” she said, stating the obvious.
The radiators were warming up the house and the alcohol was warming her up. He was unbelievably sexy and he wanted to be with her.
“Yeah. I have had a serious girlfriend on and off for the last few years but never actually proposed to anyone and, like I said, you won’t be the first.”
“Piss off!” She tilted her head and stuck out her tongue at him. “So is it on or off right now?”
“Oh, it’s off. Do you think you will marry again?”
“I hope so, I really do.”
“You are stunning,” he said and filled up their glasses.
“Stop it, will you, it’s wasted on me.”
He stood now and circled the kitchen. “You like tennis?”
She wasn’t going to lie. She wasn’t going to be one of those girls who stood in front of Brad Pitt and said, “So what do you do for a living?”
“I do, Jamie, I love it. I love watching you play,” she admitted.
“Really?” he smirked. “Why, thank you!”
“Must be a fantastic lifestyle – all that travelling, the glorious weather, not to mention the outrageous prize money.” She tipped her glass to him.
“Well, I’d beg to differ. Here’s how it really is. Training. Really, I train all the time and it’s mind numbingly boring. My father coached me from the time I was five. I have never had a life. He never let me just be a normal kid. That’s why my temper gets the better of me on court sometimes. I’m angry with tennis. Actually, Sandra, I hate tennis!”
“No, you don’t!” She banged her glass down. “Do you?”
“Hate, hate, hate it. Hate it with a passion. I can’t wait to get to thirty-five so I can get the hell out of it. It was never my choice, you see – it was always my dad’s dream.” Sandra had read all about Albert Keenan, a force to be reckoned with. The Guru, they called him.
“The Guru,” she said now.
“The Grinch,” he answered.
“So what is it you really want to do then?”
“Well, mainly get out of the constant pain I am in. My knees ache every second, my back aches every second – it’s all too much for me sometimes. The pressure to win. I do have a plan though. I’d love to get into the restaurant industry. Well, something like that. I’m a mean cook. I’d love to run my own kitchen after I’m done with all this.
“Wow, that’s nuts!” She sipped more wine and knew she was drunk.
“Why?” He came closer to her. “Gordon Ramsay did it – he was a footballer – it can be done.”
“I don’t know – I suppose I feel you have this god-given talent but yet you don’t appreciate it,” she answered truthfully.
“I do appreciate it but it’s far from god-given, Sandra, it’s bloody hard earned.”
She stared into his brown eyes and realised that for one night she wanted to forget her life. She wanted to be free. No worries, no hassles, no desperately wanting what she couldn’t have. As she once was. Sandra Loughnane.
“Go for it, Jamie Keenan,” she said. “I know you can be whatever you want.”
He stood in front of her now and she knew it was wrong but she reached over and took his hand in hers.
“Really?” His innocence appeared in his eyes.
“Yes, totally, you are special.”
“So are you . . .” he took the come-on line and ran with it. “I think you are so beautiful, I really do.”
He kissed her then. Softly. It felt so strange. Like trousers that didn’t fit but you really wanted them to. His tongue felt too long for her mouth and she couldn’t get her arms around his back. He was not Neil. But she would never do this with Neil again. It was time to break the mould.
“I really shouldn’t do this . . .” She pulled away.
His eyes were heavy with desire. “Why not?” he breathed heavily at her.
She couldn’t answer that. She stood now and he stood close. She could do whatever she wanted, she was a free woman. He smelled of mild aftershave mixed with wine. “Come,” she said and turned and headed for the spare room.
She took each stair slowly and he followed. In the bedroom she stood in front of him and peeled off her uniform before his eyes. He stood illuminated by the moonlight through the bare window. She was horny as hell for him – as wrong as that was, it was the truth. She stood in her black bra and pants.
He took her all in. “Holy shit, you have a body to die for!” He kicked off his shoes and removed the belt from his suit trousers.
She unbuttoned his shirt very slowly, remembering in vivid details Jamie Keenan’s body at the side of the court every time he changed his shirt, the girls whistling in the stands going wild. She removed it slowly. The body of a professional athlete. Torso to die for. Somewhere deep inside she felt like giggling. It was like a teenage fantasy. He kissed her hard and she kissed him back harder. He no longer felt so strange. She squeezed those ace-serving arms with all her might and he unclipped her bra. The passion was exceptional, those first touches that can never be recaptured. It lasted forever and she was not unsatisfied when he flopped beside her, sweat on his forehead and upper body.
“My but you are fabulous altogether, Jamie Keenan!” She rubbed at his face with her hand as he pulled her in clos
e. It was fantastic raw unabashed sex and she had loved it. She felt free and sexy and wanted and she wanted him just as much.
“Sandra!” he whispered.
She should have videoed it, got a fortune for this sex tape. She laughed out loud now and he mistook it for a reaction to her previous pleasure.
“Oh I know!” he agreed. “Come with me to London tomorrow morning, you can watch me play from my player’s box and I can take you to dinner and treat you like a princess.”
“Oh, I’d love that, believe me, but let’s be realistic here.” She counted each point out on her red-painted fingernails. “One: I live in Knocknoly. Two: I’m about to go through a divorce. Three: I have no home to live in –” She suddenly stopped, hand in mid-air and folded down each finger, one at a time. She thought about every word she had just said. “Actually, Jamie, I have the week off work. I’d love that – let’s do it!”
“Really?” He leaned up on one elbow and smiled widely at her. “You’ll come with me?”
“I will and here is the deal. I don’t want anything from you except some fun for a week. I need a week off, a week off my life and a week to just have fun before I have to join all the dots back up again.”
“You’re a wonder.” He kissed her again “To be honest that’s all I am capable of. That’s what happened with Carolina Valenticka, you see – she wanted more, I was happy the way we were. She wanted both of us to retire and for us to start a family. Marriage isn’t for me, Sandra.”
Sandra understood Carolina only too well. Funny that deep down, no matter how famous or how rich you are, deep down most women just want the same things from life. Must Have Husband, Must Make Baby, she chanted in her head. It’s embedded in some type of computer program in women’s brains. She pictured the fantastically stunning Russian blonde pro-tennis player and thought again: I hear you, Carolina!
“Do you miss her?” She rubbed at his chest – she just couldn’t help it.
“I do sometimes but not enough to beg her back. She’s very, very stubborn. She hates the game too. She won’t come back to me until I agree to what she wants.” Sandra couldn’t believe it: these athletes put their total lives into this game and they hated it.
“I’m starving.” He sat up.
She couldn’t believe this but she wanted to have sex with him again. Right now.
He got up and she got up after him and both stood naked in the room.
“Hang on there, Mr Tennis Pro, I’m feeling a little –”
“Sandra!”
She jumped out of her skin and turned to see Dermot standing in the doorway, his face ashen.
“Dermot!” She grabbed for the duvet and pulled it off the bed, wrapping it around her naked body.
“What the –?” Jamie grabbed for his trousers.
“Jesus! I’m so sorry!” Dermot turned on his heel.
“Dermot, wait!” she called, her face burning red with embarrassment.
He turned back but didn’t look her in the eye. “No, sorry – it’s just that Jonathan said you sounded really upset so I was worried – I knocked but you didn’t hear me and I didn’t want to keep knocking or ring and wake you if you were asleep . . . but I didn’t want to leave without making sure you were okay . . . and then I found the key under the mat . . . I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have come in . . .”
He ran down the stairs and slammed the hall door shut.
“I’m confused,” Jamie said. “I thought you said your marriage was over?”
Sandra dropped her head into her hands. “That wasn’t my husband – he’s just my friend.” She was horrified. What was she doing? So what? a voice in her head cried out. What’s it got to do with Dermot?
“Oh? So you are okay – like we haven’t just been caught doing something really dreadful?”
“Dermot saw my boobs,” she answered him.
“And that is lucky for Dermot, is it not?” He was pulling his trousers off now and climbing back into bed.
She couldn’t think about Dermot now, she couldn’t add him to her guilt list. Her head would explode. Sandra wanted a week off guilty and that was exactly what she was going to get.
Chapter 24
The Four Seasons in London at Canary Wharf was out of this world. The magnificent ten-storey hotel was located in this vibrant section of London and it had views of the River Thames that Sandra couldn’t take her eyes off. It was a superb hotel, she thought, all the staff attentive and smiling, all the guests happy and the hotel shining. Jonathan would love the atmosphere here. It almost smiled at you, it was so happy. She was sitting in reception, her small suitcase by her feet, sipping a white wine spritzer as Jamie waited on his entourage to check them in.
“This way, please.” Jamie’s exceptionally tall and pretty PA Nicola Pawley politely directed her boss and his flame of the month towards the glistening lifts. Nicola was all business, in a deep purple suit, blinding white shirt, flesh-coloured tights and black patent flats.
The doors opened and Sandra placed her small case on the brown carpeted floor. She fixed her pale-pink silk blouse and tugged up her black Karen Millen trousers. She knew she looked good. She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn killer heels.
The lift stopped on the tenth floor and Jamie stood back to let her out first. The Executive Suite. Sandra actually said the word “Wowser!” and then bit her lip hard as she entered the suite. It was incredible. The huge window framed London like a painting. A soft grey couch ran the whole length of the window. The king-size bed was scattered with fresh rose petals and the chaise longue was of the deepest, softest reddest velvet she had ever seen. She sat deep into it and it embraced her tired bones as she kicked off the heels.
“So I’ll be back in half an hour,” said Nicola. “Jamie, you have an interview with Sky News at three o’clock and then an interview for The Daily Mail at four o’clock and then . . .”
He lifted his hand and her voice trailed off. “Please don’t depress me, Nicola – just come and get me and tell me on a need-to-know basis.” He gave her a weak smile as he flopped his huge frame onto the bed and Nicola left the room.
He patted the bed for Sandra to join him.
Reluctantly she peeled herself off the chaise longue. She should have felt a little dirty in front of Nicola but she didn’t. She was starting to feel happy. She was past caring about other people’s opinion of her right now.
She was hungry, she realised, as her tummy rumbled. Jamie had made the most amazing fluffy cheese omelettes with onion and tomatoes in her kitchen this morning.
“Damn, you are good, Keenan,” she had muttered through a full mouth, savouring the tastes. “If you could make anything with the ingredients in my kitchen, what a man you are! In fact, I am completely gobsmacked that there are ingredients in my kitchen!”
“Well, I did have to use tinned tomatoes but needs must.” He’d blushed with pride. “I’d spend all day in that kitchen. I love it.” He’d cut into his omelette and folded it into his mouth.
She had made a mad dash to her parents on their way to the airport and dropped her big suitcases off. Her mother looked aghast as the words spilled from her mouth, unable to absorb the situation with Neil, and now Sandra running off to London with a professional tennis player. That was until her father pitched in. “Does he play golf? Usually these tennis players are fantastic – will you ask him what he plays off?”
Her dad had craned his neck to get a look at Jamie who was playing a video game on his iPad in the waiting taxi. She knew her dad would have loved to meet him but she wasn’t getting into all that. It was still hard to accept that her parents loved a stick and a little white ball more than her these days. Piss off, she thought in her head. Golf off! I hate golf. Suddenly she realised how much she did hate golf. Golf had stolen her loving parents. She knew it was immature and that she shouldn’t think like this now she was a grown woman but she did. She found it difficult to understand their obsession and that was why she had married Neil.<
br />
It hit her like a bolt of lightning.
She had been spending all her time at home alone. He wanted to spend time with her. She had sat in her parents’ home on her days off and nights off alone as they played golf. The home she once loved was now cold and lonely and she hated it. The clubhouse was their new home. She wasn’t of interest to them any more. They had a new life, their job as parents pretty much completed as far as they were concerned.
She got it now. Neil had just appeared at the right time in her life and she had wanted to be wanted. She wasn’t blaming her parents by any means but at least it had clicked in her head now exactly why she had rushed into a marriage so fast. Her parents had changed their lives so she guessed it was time she changed her life too. Well, she was over it now. Other people did want to spend time with her and they should be the people she focused on. Good luck to her parents and their life with golf – they deserved to be happy, they had done enough for her. It was time to let go.
Jamie dragged her back to the moment by kissing her face with soft butterfly kisses that made her want to grab him and kiss him so hard. She didn’t. She let him take over and they made love again slowly and tenderly.
“Jamie?” Nicola’s Jersey lilt came eventually through the door.
Jamie looked tired. He was hitting thirty and he’d had enough. The wear and tear on his body and mind was now visible on his handsome tanned face.
“Why don’t you go and explore, Sandra?” he said. “I don’t know if you had time to get cash and all that but here’s my credit card – and don’t look at me like that – it’s not Pretty Woman. Like you said, prize money is tops and I am a millionaire – so go out and buy yourself some things if you want? If not, just chill and order room service and drink some wine. I can’t drink as I’m on court at ten in the morning but I can have a nice relaxing bath with you later.”
“What time do you think you might be back?” Already she knew she couldn’t be married to an athlete.
“Impossible to say.” He painted a half smile on his face, grabbed his leather jacket and left.
The Other Side of Wonderful Page 27