Love. Set. Match.

  “You okay?” she asked, breathless.

  His grin flashed bright and blinding, his dimple deepening. He took her hand and pressed it against his erection. “What do you think?”

  His mouth moved to trail along the neckline of her T-shirt, kissing and nipping the bare flesh. His hands began to fumble with the buttons on her skinny jeans when an idea struck her. With a few quick movements, she had his jeans unfastened and her hand clasped around the rock-hard shaft. If she was going to do this, she was going to be the one in control this time. If she could keep the power dynamics in her favor, maybe she wouldn’t lose herself completely. Slithering down a few steps, she grinned up at him, an awareness she hadn’t felt in a long time coursing through her blood.

  “Em? What are you—?” Before he could finish his question, her lips fastened around him, sucking and licking until his breath hitched. Working him with both her mouth and her hand, she enjoyed looking at him through her eyelashes, watching the interplay of desire across his face. His hips bucked against her, and her body went up in flames. Her hand went down her own pants, stroking through her panties to ease the ache until it was merely painful instead of completely breathtaking.

  “Please, doll. I don’t know how much more I can take.” His words came out jagged and strained, his knuckles white as he gripped the stair behind him. “Fuck. You’re so hot. I need to touch you. Let me touch you, please.”

  She pulled back, continuing to stroke him as she raked her gaze over him. “Uh-uh. I like you like this. Horny. Needy. Totally at my mercy. Makes me feel…powerful.”

  “From where I’m sitting, you look like a freaking goddess. Let me make you feel like one,” he urged.

  “If you insist.”

  Keeping their eyes locked, she got to her feet, shimmying out of her jeans, slowly, as seductively as she could—no mean feat in skinny jeans. He caressed her body with his eyes, his expression that of a dehydrated man spotting water for the first time in days. She deliberately kept her panties on, knowing how much he’d like them. She hadn’t thought that he’d ever see these, but she’d taken to wearing sexier lingerie because of how it made her feel. Like she was reclaiming the part of her Kole had violated when he saved those pictures.

  “A red lace thong? Fuck, Em. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Do you want to kill me?” He reached for her, but she took a step back. Yes, he wanted her. All thought of messy emotions was gone, and they were back to the basics, back to where they’d never had any problems.

  “Now why would I kill you, when it’s much more fun for me to have you alive?” And God, he was fun, especially to look at. In his current position, the man was so fucking sexy, his cock poking out of his expensive jeans, his hair rumpled, and that mouth-watering V of muscles barely visible over the open waistband. If she unbuttoned his shirt a few more inches, she’d see that delicious tattoo climbing his rib cage. She wanted him now. She needed it hot and dirty and fast. Anger and confusion still coursed through her veins. This man ignited her, both her anger and passion, and she couldn’t stop until she’d had him.

  Reaching into the purse she’d hung on a hook by the stairs when she dropped her bag off, she pulled a condom from the secret side pocket and opened the package.

  “Planning on getting laid at the tennis court?” He raised an eyebrow, his abs contracting a little as he spoke.

  “Ha. No.” She knelt between his legs, stroking him a few times. Taking her time, she rolled the latex over his erection. “I just like to be prepared.”

  “I like that in a woman,” he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand reached out to cup her sex through the silky fabric, his finger teasing along the edges of the thong. Her hips undulated against him of their own volition. He tried to pull her in for a kiss, but she dodged him.

  She took a step back, fighting to regain control. “Uh-uh. My house. My rules.”

  To prove her point, she pushed aside her thong and straddled him, taking him inside her in one slow, easy movement. Her body was more than ready for him, and she loved how he groaned in pleasure. Using the stairs as leverage, she started to move, letting out a moan of her own when his hands cupped her ass. He locked his mouth over hers, their tongues dueling for supremacy as their bodies moved together.

  “Em. So beautiful. So good,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “Rob. God, yes. Right there. I’m close. Harder. Faster.” She urged him on as one hand left her ass to play with her clit. The waves of pleasure started to hit her, and she increased the tempo, wanting more, wanting him to go over the edge with her.

  Even with her in the position of power, this man knew what to do to win her over. Their current position put them exactly at eye level, and when he pulled back from another soul-searing kiss, his eyes were a steely gray storm of emotions. Biting her lip, she muffled a cry as she lost control again.

  “God, doll. You’re so tight. So wet. Come for me again.” He nipped at her ear, sending shivers on top of shivers through her.

  She chuckled, giddy with breathless pleasure. This man. What he did to her body was indescribable. All she could do was crave more of it. “If you insist. You’ve got to come with me, though.”

  Deliberately rolling her hips and grinding against him harder, she met him move for move, moan for moan. His body worked into hers, his hips pounding faster in spite of the less than ideal location, urging them both up and up and up. They both went over the edge within moments of each other, his roar of satisfaction mingling with her gasps of pleasure.

  They both sat there together for several long moments, struggling to catch their breath, eyes never moving from one another. Rob opened his mouth to say something when her stomach let out a noisy rumble.

  Laughing, he raised an eyebrow. “Someone work up an appetite?”

  “Someone was already starving when you showed up.” Em stood, tugging her underwear back into place and grabbing her jeans. “I supposed I should feed you or something too, huh?”

  “Or we could go out,” he suggested. “I know a great little Italian place not far from here. Come on, it’ll be great. A little candlelight. Good food. Good company.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. He looked like some sort of pagan god, sprawled on her stairs, tempting her. She’d already given in once. She couldn’t do it again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to have this much of an effect on her. He should be the last guy that made her this hot, but he did. She didn’t want to feel this. She didn’t want any of this. Except that she did. For the first time in a week, she’d felt safe, and she’d forgotten about the stalker and her career, and she’d just let herself go. Despite that, she had to keep him at a distance. He was too much of a distraction, and he worked for the enemy.

  “That sounds awfully close to a date.”

  “What if it is?” He stood, removing the condom with a tissue she handed him and casually fastening his jeans, then his shirt. “Would that be so terrible?”

  Terrible? No. One date wouldn’t be terrible. It was when one date turned into another and another, and before she knew what was happening, she’d be left alone in an airport again wondering why he hadn’t showed up. Then it would be disastrous.

  “I don’t go on dates with my friends,” she said, keeping her tone light. “But I will make them dinner. If you don’t mind some sort of pasta dish, I could whip us up something here.”

  He studied her for a few moments, his eyes drifting over her face, leaving hot trails of awareness as they went. She could tell he wanted to fight her on the date part of the equation, but he didn’t—smart man.

  “A gorgeous woman cooking me a meal? How could I refuse?”

  She led the way into the kitchen. “Come on. You can be my sous chef.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You sure that’s a good idea?” he teased. “I’m more of a take-out or pre-prepared meals kind of guy. The most I can cook is scrambled eggs and mac and cheese.”

  “What a surprise.
Although if you’re going to cook, those would be two of the most important dishes to have in your arsenal. Come on. You’re a smart guy. I think you can at least be trusted to cut vegetables for the salad.”

  She gave him his task and then went about getting ingredients together. “I would prefer to make pasta from scratch, but between Zoe kicking my ass in practice today and someone distracting me with sex, I don’t have the time or energy.”

  “You can make pasta from scratch?”

  She turned to see him staring at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

  “Yes. Papa Vic’s mother was Italian. She taught Gran, and Gran taught me. I swear Nona rolls in her grave every time I use dried pasta.”

  Emerson used the pot filler on the bigger of her sauce pans and added a healthy dose of salt to the water. She thanked God that, for the moment at least, he was distracted from discussing what had just happened between them. She had no damn clue how to feel about it, and she needed the time it’d take to prepare the meal to gather her thoughts. Cooking always helped her think, even more than playing tennis sometimes.

  The steady rhythm of Rob’s chopping filled the room. “It’s official. I might have to marry you. I don’t know a single woman who knows how to make pasta from scratch.”

  His words were light and teasing, but there was an undercurrent that sent shivers up her spine and a stab of pain through her heart. If he’d met her that day, they would be married. But Rob Ashton and marriage were two things that did not go together. She shook off the confusing emotions, matching his tone as she grabbed a Tupperware dish full of sauce and meatballs out of the fridge.

  “A big pasta fan, are you?”

  “Oh yeah. Any sort of pasta, although gnocchi in pesto is probably my favorite.” He tossed a piece of carrot up and caught it mid-air.

  God, why did he have to look so damn good in her kitchen? She should want to rush him out the door, but instead the slutty, horny part of her whispered that she should feed him, then take him upstairs and have her way with him all over again.

  “Good to know.” She got out the skillet. “Tonight, you’ll have to settle for spaghetti with meatballs, though. Gran sent me home with leftovers from Sunday dinner. Owen was pissed.”

  He groaned. “Okay. This is officially my favorite side perk of this job.”

  His job.

  Shit.

  Why did he have to bring that up?

  Reality crashed back in at full force, and she stared at the pan of sizzling meatballs, trying to make sense of what was going on here.

  “Your job. Right. You’re here because of a story. About my stalker.”

  This was why she could never let him all the way in. He was a member of the press. Even if he had the best of intentions, if she let him in now, he could hurt her on a scale monumentally worse than anything Kole had done. Seeing Rob here in her space, cooking with her, it did something to a part of her she’d buried all those years ago. Something that she couldn’t begin to think about now. She needed to focus on her career. She was twenty-eight years old, and she was tired of being second best—on the court and in relationships with the men in her life. She needed that Grand Slam title, not another complicated relationship that would only end in heartache.

  Chapter 11

  Rob sensed the shift in the room. The air crackled between them, and his temper came back to the surface, albeit significantly more mellowed thanks to her screwing his brains out not fifteen minutes ago. He still couldn’t believe she hadn’t trusted him with that news. As she stirred in leftover sauce to go with the meatballs, her shoulders visibly tensed. He let the silence stretch for a few moments, trying to gauge her reaction, but she didn’t say anything. She just went about sticking the pasta in the now boiling water. Finally, he decided to try to make her see reason and remind her that he hadn’t been the bad guy in this scenario.

  “The stalker you neglected to tell me or any of your friends about,” he said. He dropped the knife and turned to face her. “Em, I get that you’re still getting used to me being back in your life. I do. But this is one of the areas where the more I know, the more I can help protect you.”

  She gave the sauce a vicious stir, the lid clattering on top of the pan so loudly it echoed through the small kitchen. “Protect me? You think you can protect me? How do you figure that one, Sir Galahad? You can do a story but make it slightly less unfavorable to me? Your magic smile will make people forget that everyone sees me as a slut?”

  “You’re not a slut,” he retorted, his words fiercer than he intended. “But if I had known about the story in the first place, I could have thrown Joey off the scent when she gave me the assignment. Suggested another, more interesting story that wasn’t likely to egg this guy on.”

  “Do you really think that would do much good?” she asked quietly. “If Joey’s got a source telling her about it, the other networks or the blogs or papers are bound to find out eventually.”

  “If I throw Joey off the scent, then the others are likely to stay distracted for a while.” He tossed the salad in the bowl she’d given him. “And I have connections with other reporters now.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and she braced her hands on either side of the stove. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she moved to finish the dinner preparations, draining the pasta and mixing it in the skillet with the sauce and meatballs. “I…appreciate that you want to help, Rob. I really do. And if you can distract Joey, that would be great. But I want you to know that I can take care of myself.”

  “Okay,” he said, wishing he had ten years to unpack everything she’d just said.

  Even though the words were conciliatory, tension stretched between them all through dinner. He relished the awareness that always buzzed around him when she was anywhere in the vicinity. This was different; it was like before his injury.

  Fuck.

  He thought they’d made progress. Their little session on the stairs sure as hell had felt like it.

  “That has to be the best meal I’ve had in weeks,” he said, standing to help her carry dishes to the sink.

  “You’re an easy guy to impress.” She pulled out a hidden shelf and brushed the bits of foods into a bin marked “compost.”

  God, she was pretty. He liked her like this, a little rumpled from sex, her feet bare and her hair falling around her shoulders in a black cloud. He especially liked the way her athletic lifestyle did nothing to detract from her natural curves. Her whole body was tight with muscles where it should be, but soft and full elsewhere.

  “Think I can distract you again?” He came up behind her, trailing kisses along her neck, his fingers stealing under the hem of her shirt, a pretty yellow number that brought out the light caramel tones in her skin.

  Sadly, her hands clamped around his wrists and stopped him. “Not so fast.”

  The walls coming up around her echoed between them. Damn it. For every two steps forward, she pushed him back three.

  “What? You don’t want to see if we can make it to the bed this time?” His penis stirred back to life at the prospect of spreading her out on a bed and using his mouth to drive her crazy a few dozen times before taking her again, slow and easy, making it last as long as it took to pull those walls down again.

  “I—” She pushed at his chest until his back hit the island, and she stepped out of his reach. “You can’t stay here, Rob. We can’t—I thought we were supposed to be friends, not friends with benefits.”

  “I won’t lie to you, Em. I’d like us to be more than friends with benefits, but I’ll take what I can get. We both enjoy the benefits. What’s so wrong with that?” he asked evenly. He wanted to scream that he didn’t want to just be her friend. Her pushing him away was starting to piss him off. He wanted to be with her, damn it. To sleep beside her, to wake up making love to her. Hell, he even wanted to make her breakfast in bed. Why couldn’t she let him?

  The laugh that bubbled out of her closely resembled a sob, the sound as
rough and harsh as the surface of a hard court. “It would take an entire five-set match to list all of the reasons that are wrong with that. We’ve been over this, Rob. I can’t—I can’t afford to be anything more than friends with you. My focus needs to be on training, not on whether you’re going to show up for a booty call—and that’s all this was.”

  “A booty call?” His temper spiked again, and he gripped the island behind him to keep from grabbing her and giving her a shake. “Huh. Is that what you think? Because I could have sworn I came down here to check on you since you have a fucking stalker, and I wanted to see for myself that you’re okay. That’s what friends do.”

  That scored a hit, and she winced.

  “Look, I…I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Everyone gets letters like this. It’s not a big deal.” She grabbed her wine glass off the table and chugged the remaining ruby-red liquid.

  “It is a big deal, Em. You need to be careful, and you need to have people around you watching your back.” He caught her hand as she walked by to put the salad dressing in the fridge. “I want to be one of those people.”

  “I know you do.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I—please, Rob. I can’t do this right now. You…you confuse me. There’s so much history between us, and I can’t think straight when you’re around. When I’m not thinking about having sex with you, I’m paranoid that some tabloid reporter is waiting outside my door and is going to catch you or that I’ll be so busy thinking about all the problems you present that I’ll blow a major match.”

  The knot in Rob’s gut tightened, and it had nothing to do with the meal he’d just eaten. The anxiety and worry and need this woman inspired scared the shit out of him, almost as much as he scared the shit out of her. “So, what? You want me to stop caring? To go back to not being your friend?”

  He held his breath as she stood in front of the fridge, her forehead resting against its stainless door. When she finally responded, he barely heard her.