Love. Set. Match.

  “I swear he was channeling your dad or something. He went on and on about how shameful it was, and how he expected better from me. How I should have thought about my brother’s career, how I should care more about my family’s reputation.” She looked down at her toes, fighting back the tears of frustration. “For a man who spent my entire childhood traveling from one war zone to the next to take pictures, he was really good at laying on the parental guilt. He even talked about how ashamed my mom would be. How Papa Vic’s heart would be broken if he were still here.”

  Rob got up then and drew her into his arms, his body enveloping her like a warm bath. For a second, she let herself nuzzle into his shoulder and breathe him in. The pain and heartache she’d been carrying around since she got the call four days ago eased but didn’t fully go away. It could never go away.

  “Your mom wouldn’t have been ashamed, Em. Any parent worth their salt would be upset for you, not at you. Your grandpa sure as hell would have been pissed off for you. He’d be ready to rip someone limb from limb, just like your brother and I were. Don’t let him get to you.” His hand stroked her hair.

  She hoped that was true. She had no memories of her mother, but she knew she’d grown up in a conservative Chinese family in San Francisco and rebelled by marrying the hotshot American photographer.

  “Michael is Michael. But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t put myself in a position to open my family up for more scrutiny because of my private life.” She pulled away and walked to the open window. On the other side of the glass, the world was alive and bustling. People moved up and down the stairs of the New York Public Library. Yellow cabs wove their way through the streets like snails. Gray, overcast winter skies warned that it’d be bitterly cold when she went outside later, a stark contrast to the warm Australian summer she’d enjoyed the last few weeks.

  “I get it, Em. I really do.” Rob came to stand by her, a big hand resting on the small of her back.

  A pang of sadness struck her to the core. This was it. She wanted him to agree to leave her alone, but it didn’t mean she liked it. That lost little nineteen-year-old still wanted the most beautiful man she’d ever seen to sweep her off her feet, but she couldn’t let him. Years of experience told her to stand on her own two feet, and the last few months had taught her that opening her heart only led to more pain. “Then you understand why this can’t happen again? This can’t be anything more than a one-night stand.”

  When he didn’t respond right away, her thoughts began to race. So many scenarios played through her mind. Him getting mad and taking it out on her by telling the world how easily she’d jumped into bed with him. Him walking away and never speaking to her again outside of a professional context. All of it would hurt, but it would be bearable if it happened sooner rather than later. She took a step away, wishing she’d taken the time to pull pants on. Suddenly, she was very aware of how exposed she was.

  “No. I get why you’re worried, but I don’t agree that we can’t make this work.” Big hands turned her to face him, cradling her jaw with a gentle hand. “I want more than a one-night stand, Em. You have every right to be gun-shy after what you’ve gone through, but I’m not Kole, and I’m not the guy I was when we first went out.”

  “Damn straight you’re not. You’re even more wrong for me than you were back then.” She pushed his hand away and walked over to grab her jeans out of her suitcase. Damn it, why was there not a dignified way to put on a pair of skinny jeans? His eyes followed her every move. Irritated at how sexy he looked bracketed by the morning light, she grabbed his shirt from where it’d been tossed the night before and threw it at him. “Put that on and leave. Please.”

  He pulled the shirt on but made no move to leave, a storm brewing on his face. “We could make this work. All I’m asking for is a chance. I…walking away from you last time damn near killed me. I don’t think I can do it again.”

  Her heart clenched. He hadn’t just walked away—he’d let his father convince him she wasn’t worthy of him. She’d heard it and known even before he began to pull away that their days were numbered.

  “You’re the one who listened to your father. You’re the one who didn’t want to try to make us work because I wasn’t from the right background and I wasn’t well-known enough for the great Bobby Ashton. That was your choice, Rob. This time it’s mine, and I say that there’s nothing for us beyond last night.”

  The words came out colder than she’d intended, but she meant them. She had control now, and a romantic relationship would shift the balance of power. She didn’t need that kind of distraction. She still remembered how unfazed he’d been by their breakup after they returned from the Olympics. He’d played even better than he had before and gone on to win the US Open while she went out in the first round and went home to nurse her broken heart. The memory of how utterly lost she’d felt, how worthless and stupid she’d let herself believe she was, put a little steel back in her spine.

  His temper flared, his eyes more gray than blue now, but he didn’t get angry like she expected. His jaw clenched, and he finished buttoning his jeans. Sitting on the bed, he reached for his shoes, his eyes never leaving her. “So that’s it? We go back to biting each other’s heads off anytime we see each other and forget any of this ever happened?”

  The thought made her nauseous; hating Rob was exhausting and made it more difficult to sort out her feelings. “No. We’re polite, friendly even. We simply don’t have sex or act like we’ve ever had sex.”

  The words sounded weak even to her. Being around him and not wanting to jump him was easier said than done. Half the reason he’d irritated her so much over the years was because even though he broke her, her body still wanted him.

  He stared at her, eyes narrowed a little like they did when he was searching for an opponent’s weakness on the court. She stayed firm, not willing to give him an inch.

  “Friendly? Or friends?” he finally asked, his shoes in place and his expression calculating.

  For a moment, all she could do was stare right back at him, her brain trying to process where he might be going with this. Could she be friends with Rob? A year ago—hell, even a month ago—she would have called bullshit, but now? He was there, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, pleading with her to answer him. The what-ifs plagued her. What if friendship wasn’t enough? What if he wanted more? Would she have the strength to keep telling him no? It would be so much easier to keep him at arm’s length…

  “Um. Friends, I guess…” The words came out before she could stop them.

  Some of the tension in his broad shoulders eased, and his lips tilted up in the ghost of a smile. “I can work with that.”

  Deep down, she knew that should worry her, but she was too worried about what would happen if he stayed much longer to think about what he meant. “Great. Can you leave now? It’s only a matter of time before someone notices you sneaking out of my room.”

  Ignoring her, he walked to the bedside table where her phone was. To her surprise, he unlocked it and started typing on the screen.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Giving you my number and getting yours. If you’re serious about the friend thing, then you’ll use it.” He handed the phone back to her. “And you should really make your passcode a little more complicated than your birthday.”

  She blinked at her phone and then him. He remembered her birthday? Would the wonders never cease? Half the time her own brother didn’t remember her birthday. Before she had a chance to respond, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

  “Good luck on your shoot and meetings today. I’ll text you later.”

  He left, and all she could do was glare at the door, remembering now why she’d spent the last seven years sniping at him. That confidence—arrogance—was enough to drive anyone nuts. The real question was, would she respond when Mr. Sure-of-Himself texted her, or would she let sleeping dogs lie? Rob Ashton had always been more of a complication than sh
e was prepared to handle, but maybe being friends with him would be easier than falling in love with him.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 9

  “Emerson Anne, you sit back down and finish your breakfast.”

  Em rolled her eyes at her grandmother’s order. “Gran. I know you want to take care of me, but I already agreed to stay here last night instead of going to my place. I’ve had as much breakfast as I can without puking it up when I get to the practice courts.”

  “Emmy, don’t you sass me. You’re skin and bones, little girl.” Gran pinched Em’s arm in demonstration. “You need to get a good meal before you go out there and run around all day.”

  She bit back a laugh. She loved her grandma, and it’d felt good to sleep in her old room last night, but she always seemed to forget that Em was twenty-seven, not seven. Her two days post-Rob in New York had flown by. He’d texted her within twelve hours of leaving her hotel room, asking about her photoshoot and meetings, one of which had been with his sister. She wavered between telling him the truth and keeping things light and easy—friendly. The truth was, her body was sore from all the sex, and the stupid photoshoot only made it worse, posing her in awkward positions for “action” shots. But telling him that would only stoke his already massive ego and give him the wrong idea. So she gave him the light, easy answer, and they’d texted back and forth a bit. He’d even told her goodnight with a little kiss emoji.

  The next night, he’d called, even though he’d been busy. She’d been worried that it was a booty call, but instead he’d asked about her day, about how her meetings went—off the record. He’d offered advice on how to maneuver around one of the sponsors’ scrutiny, and they’d ended up watching part of a movie together while they talked, To Kill A Mockingbird, one of her Papa Vic’s favorites. He’d called last night too. She’d been busy with her grandma’s fussing, but she’d texted him. There was a text waiting for her this morning.

  Morning beautiful. Hope you have a good practice today. Don’t forget to work on that second serve ;)

  She’d sent him an emoji with its tongue sticking out in reply.

  “Gran, I love you, but you can’t keep me here all day.” She stood up and went to kiss her grandma’s weathered cheek. It still felt weird not to have Papa Vic there, his eyes twinkling as he silently laughed at Gran’s fussing. “I’ve eaten more than enough, and Zoe will make sure I eat a good lunch. She loves to fuss as much as you do.”

  “Fine. Go practice,” Gran said with a humph. “Just be careful, Squeaker. Those vultures are still lurking around, trying to get a picture of you.”

  She sighed, her heart warming a little at the childhood nickname. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

  By the time she was through the first two hours with Zoe, Emerson was wishing she’d stayed at her grandparents’ house. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “No.” Zoe smirked. “It’s not my fault that you didn’t practice while you were in New York.”

  “It’s not my fault either,” Emerson groused. “Blame Amir. He scheduled a million things for me to do. I barely had time to eat a real meal, let alone train.”

  “We’ll have to have a word with him about that. You can’t afford so many distractions. If you’re going to win a slam this year, we need one hundred percent of your focus on the courts. Come on, give me another set of crunches.”

  Emerson pounded the exercise mat beneath her in frustration but resumed her work out. Between curling her body toward her knees, she said, “It’s not like…I like this…but I had to do damage control…to keep my sponsors…which means…doing what Amir says.”

  She didn’t mention that she may or may not have walked into another massive distraction in New York.

  Not that she would let Rob be a distraction. When she needed to focus on her game, she’d be a laser. But she had to admit she was enjoying his first overtures at friendship or whatever was going on between them, even if her guard was still up. But it was going to be more of a challenge than she’d thought to keep things platonic. There’d been some seriously hot, wet dreams over the last few nights—the one last night felt really wrong considering she was in her childhood bed.

  “Fine. But Amir and your sponsors need to remember that they’ll make more money with that Grand Slam under your belt than they’ll make by pulling you away all the time.” Zoe handed Em her water bottle, which she gratefully gulped. “Let’s grab some lunch, and then we’ll hit the courts and work on that second serve.”

  By the time Em drove her Honda Civic up to her reserved parking spot in front of her town house, her body screamed for a long, hot bath, a big glass of ice water, and the comfy embrace of her couch. But first, she had to check her mail, water her plants, and start a massive load or seven of laundry.

  Stopping at her box, she pulled out the stacks of mail her house sitter hadn’t grabbed while she was in New York and made her way in. The cleaning team had been through yesterday, so there wasn’t a layer of dust to worry about. She dragged her bags in from the car and sorted through the laundry before turning her attention to the piles of mail.

  “Squeaker? You home?”

  “No, O, my car drove itself and parked outside,” she called to her brother.

  Owen appeared, his black hair cropped closer to his head than the last time she’d seen him.

  “Sarcasm. Charming. And here I thought you missed me.” He opened her fridge, pulled out one of the lemon waters she loved, and took a big swig of it.

  “Remind me again why I gave you a key.” She made a face. “I swear it wasn’t so you could pick on me here as well as at Gran’s house and steal my stuff.”

  “Because I’m your favorite brother, and I love you. Did you just get home?”

  She went back to sorting through the mail. “Yeah. Zo kept me at practice longer today since I missed time while I was in New York.”

  “Bummer. You’d think Amir would have scheduled some practice time into your schedule.” He hopped up to sit on the counter beside her. “Any good mail?”

  “Not all of us get nudie magazines in the mail,” she said absently, scanning the return labels of each envelope as she piled the bills in one stack, the junk in another, and the miscellaneous magazines and letters in a third.

  He snorted. “Please. I haven’t gotten one of those in years. It’s all about the Internet, now.”

  “God, O. You are such a guy.”

  Emerson’s eyes flitted over an envelope. The handwriting was the same as she’d seen on two other envelopes she’d tossed in the miscellaneous pile. Blocky, shaky writing, slightly crumpled around the edges. And no postmark…

  Frowning, she picked up the letter opener and carefully slit the top of the first one she’d placed in the pile. Fan mail was all supposed to go to Amir’s office or her PO box. No one except her family and friends had her home address, and she’d never done any sort of interview here.

  You bitch. How dare you betray Kole like that? You deserve to be broken for being such a slut.

  Each letter was carefully cut out of a picture of her or Kole. Then another picture of her, one of the ones from the leak, was carefully pasted at the bottom with Xs drawn over her eyes.

  “Emmy? You okay?”

  Owen’s words cut through her stupor long enough for her to shake her head. She quickly opened the next letter, dropping the first as she went.

  Slut. Whore. Did you accept payment when you spread for those other men? Or do you do it because you can’t keep your legs closed?

  The next one had her whole hand trembling, bile rising in her throat. Her breath came in short, shallow pants.

  Cunt. If you don’t apologize to Kole and admit what a fucking bitch you are, you’ll be sorry!

  “What the hell? Squeaker, where did these come from?” Owen snatched the letters from her.

  She took a step back, rubbing her chest as if it’d make breathing easier. “I don’t know. I…they are in the mail.”

  “Did you bring it in or
did the house sitter?” he demanded, pulling out his phone.

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to shut out some of the distractions. “I don’t know. I think the first ones must have been brought in by the house sitter, but the last one was probably in the bunch I brought in. This is bad. I need to call Zoe and Amir. And Gran.”

  “First you need to call the police,” he insisted.

  He was right. Shit. This was a bigger mess than she thought. Police meant more reporters and stories and more of those goddamn distractions she didn’t need now.

  After she made the calls, she started to pace. Her chest tightened as she moved, her breaths coming in shallower with each inhalation. “Why is this happening? Why can’t I have a moment of peace? I can’t…I don’t know how much more of this I can take, O.”

  Owen, the family peace maker, who took everything in stride, pulled her into a hug. He cuddled her close, stroking her hair and rubbing her back, just as he used to when they were little and something would upset her. She vaguely remembered him holding her like this after their mom died and their dad left them behind. “Breathe, Squeaker. Slow down and breathe. You’re not doing this alone.”

  She loved her brother more than life. He’d been by her side for everything, from their mom’s death to their first time playing tennis to going pro. He supported her and had her back as much as their grandparents did. But a part of her she always held back, always worrying that there might be too much of their dad in him. She couldn’t tell him about Rob, after London or last week, and she didn’t know that he could ever understand what was happening to her now.

  “Tell that to my subconscious. Intellectually, I know you’re here and that everyone has my back, but I’m the only one being attacked. It’s getting real old, real fast,” she said.

  But she let her brother hold her and fuss over her. He even made her some of her favorite tea. By the time Amir, Zoe, and a friend of Amir’s from the local police department showed up, Em had downgraded from scared out of her mind to pissed off.