Love. Set. Match.

by Taylor Lunsford

A few times, their texts drifted dangerously close to sexting, especially the longer they were apart. Only her own sense of self-preservation stopped them from crossing that line. If her smoking hot dreams last night hadn’t been enough to convince her that maybe she was ready for them to revisit the “benefits” part of their friendship, that stupid reporter’s comments sure as hell had been. She wanted mind-blowing sex that made her forget everything—all the awful comments and the doubts and the reasons why this was a horrible idea for her to have anything to do with Rob Ashton.

  As she dressed after her shower, she sent Rob a text.

  Hey, handsome. I think it’s time we have that dinner you mentioned. Want to meet me in room 445 for a little room service? ;)

  “Merde, Emmy. You have exquisite taste in underwear.”

  Em jumped and turned. “Jesus. Warn a girl if you’re going to sneak up on her. I thought your match was earlier this afternoon. What are you still doing here?”

  “The men’s doubles match before mine went to three sets with a tie break in every set, so we got a late start.” A towel-clad Dera rubbed lotion on her dark bronze skin, her braids falling in her face, free of their normal band. “What’s with the fancy lingerie? Does someone have a hot date?”

  Wincing, Em pulled on her blue wrap dress. To lie or not to lie. That was the question.

  “No. I have a weakness for La Perla. Everyone knows that now.”

  “Huh. I would have thought that might make you shy away from it. I’m proud of you, cherie. Don’t let them get you down. But red lace underwear like that is clearly meant for someone to look at.”

  Her friend had a point, especially after the damn reporter’s nosy-ass question, but she wasn’t about to let what other people thought about her affect her underwear choices.

  “Yeah. Me.” Em grinned, shrugging. “I like wearing sexy underwear.”

  Dera narrowed her golden eyes. “Sure. Whatever you say. Tell whoever it is to treat you well. You’ve earned some sheet-scorching fun.”

  Em’s phone chimed. Room service, huh? I’m done with work in twenty. Can’t wait to see you.

  A smile tugging at her lips, Em grabbed her bags and hurried out of the locker room before her friend could ask any more questions.

  By the time she got to her hotel room, anticipation surged through her, replacing the adrenaline that had kept her going through the match and the post-match interviews. Agitation lingered, but she channeled that into the sexual energy racing through her blood.

  Zoe, thankfully, had already gone off to have dinner with old friends, and the rest of the team was busy, so she didn’t have to worry about interruptions.

  Checking her phone for the time, she scanned the room to make sure everything was ready. A box of condoms on the night stand. No stray shoes on the floor. She pulled the sheets back, neatly folding the blankets at the foot of the bed. Now the real dilemma. Did she leave her dress on or take it off and wait for him in her underwear?

  A scrap of diaphanous fabric spilling out of her suitcase caught her eye. With an evil grin, she tugged the ties of her dress loose and pulled on the white lace robe she’d tossed in her bag on a whim.

  God, what was she doing? She stared in the mirror. If she’d hoped to keep Rob at arm’s length, this was not the way, but her libido and her pride didn’t give a damn at the moment. That high she’d gotten from making it to the second straight finals in a tournament died in the press room after those ridiculous questions, and she wanted it back. She wanted him—wanted what he made her feel, like she was a beautiful, powerful woman that no one else could touch.

  More than that, she wanted to reclaim her private life. While she didn’t sleep around or have one-night stands, she’d always enjoyed sex. Aside from Rob and Kole, the men she’d dated had been easy distractions for when she had the time or inclination to explore that part of herself. Now that part had been tainted by prying questions, crazy stalkers, and those fucking pictures. It might be insane, but screwing Rob Ashton’s brains out sounded like the perfect step back toward the woman she’d been before this mess started.

  The confident knock on the door sent shivers down her spine, but she didn’t rush to answer it. Taking her time, she slicked on pin-up-girl red lipstick and fluffed her hair.

  “I’m sorry, do you have the right room?” she asked, holding the door open a crack, keeping her body out of sight.

  Rob stood there in his full, masculine glory. He still wore his suit, but he’d lost the tie somewhere along the way. The dark blue of his shirt brought out the blue flecks in his gray eyes, a perfect contrast to the slate-colored suit. His rumpled old-gold hair gave him a rakish appearance that made her weak in the knees.

  “God, I hope so,” he said with a weary grin. “I’m supposed to meet this really gorgeous woman I haven’t seen in a few weeks. She’s about your height, really smart, pretty brown eyes, and a dynamite body. You seen her?”

  Charming man. Fucking sexy man. She held the door open, keeping the door in front of her body until he was in the room. Keeping her back against the door, she rested one foot against it, letting the robe fall open enough to give him a small, unobscured glimpse of the red lace thong.

  The look in his eyes when he turned around made all the day’s annoyances worth it.

  “Careful, handsome, you might scorch my clothes off if you keep looking at me like that.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Biting her bottom lip, she crooked her finger at him, beckoning him closer. As soon as he was within reach, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him to her.

  The second her mouth slammed into his, a fire sparked in her body.

  He didn’t stand there passively; he fought her for control like he had that day in her house. His big hands slapped against the door, his long, lean body pinning her in place. He dipped low, pressing his erection into the crease of her thighs, and she bit back a moan. One hand moved between them to fumble with the tie of her robe.

  “Mmm. Did someone miss me?” she murmured against his mouth, loving how his teeth nipped at her bottom lip.

  “Shit, Em. Are you trying to kill me? Because the robe alone is enough to do it, but this underwear?” Moving away from her lips, he nibbled his way down her neck, along her collarbone to the strap of her bra. Insistent fingers shoved it aside, but the excellent construction wouldn’t budge.

  His growl of frustration sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn’t resist shoving her fingers into his hair. Giving up on the strap, his mouth fastened around her pebbled nipple through the thin lace.

  “There’s a clasp, you know,” she panted, savoring the contrast of wet, hot mouth around lace. “Then you could have the full experience.”

  He grunted, moving to the other nipple. She let him go for another minute before she regained enough brain power to remember that she was seducing him, not the other way around. She pushed at his jacket until he let it slide down his muscular arms. She tried to unbutton his shirt, but that was not an easy task with his mouth all over her breasts and her brains turning to Jell-o.

  Before she knew it, he’d managed to free one of her breasts, and she’d undone half the buttons on his shirt and popped off another two, revealing a delicious expanse of tanned, slightly furred chest.

  “Are you sure about this, Em?” he asked, his breath rough against her cheek as he tugged at her earlobe. “I seem to recall you not wanting to explore the benefits side of our friendship.”

  “God, Rob.” She ran her fingernails over his chest, arching her body against his ever-hardening erection. “Do you really want to talk now? Or do you want to screw? Because I really, really want you in me now.”

  To prove her point, she guided one of his hands into the waistband of her panties—her soaking wet panties.

  He looked like he wanted to say something else, torn between being a good guy and being a red-blooded male with a warm, willing woman in expensive lingerie in his arms. His fingers found her over-sensitized c
lit a moment before a knock echoed through the door behind them.

  “Expecting someone?” he asked, both of them freezing in place, his breath dancing over her heated skin.

  She shook her head, struggling to catch her breath. “No. Shit. Hold on.”

  Pushing him back, she turned to look out the peephole. What she saw on the other side of the door sent her heart into her throat and her stomach to her feet. This couldn’t be happening. They weren’t supposed to be here. Her thoughts went skittering in a million different directions, and instinct kicked in. She had a half-naked man in her room, moments away from sexing her up, and they couldn’t see that.

  “You’ve got to hide. Now. It’s my grandma, and she’s got my dad with her.”

  Chapter 12

  One moment Rob was a second away from watching Emerson Grace explode in his arms, and the next he was being shoved toward the closet.

  “Hide? What? Why—?” He stopped, blinking at her. “You do realize you’re an adult, right?”

  She glared at him, scrambling around for clothes. Pulling a blue dress off the back of a nearby chair, she wrapped it around her body in frantic, tight movements. “Not to my gran, I’m not. And my father? What should I do? Tell them that we’re occasional fuck buddies?”

  Ouch. That stung more than he’d expected. It was the truth, but hearing it put so bluntly hurt when he wanted her to see him as something more than a fuck buddy. Deep down, he wanted her to be excited to introduce him to her grandma. He got why she was freaked out about her dad, but he wanted her to want him there with her to face him instead of wanting to hide him.

  The knock sounded again, more insistent.

  “We’ll tell them that I was here visiting as an old friend.”

  “Please. Sneaking, we can do. Lying? Not so much.” She clasped her head between her hands. “This is so, so bad.”

  “I’m going into the bathroom.” He pulled out his don’t-fuck-with-me voice. “Answer the door. I’ll come out in a minute when it’s not so obvious what we were about to do.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her. “I think the missing buttons will give us away.”

  “Trust me. Go, answer the door.”

  Grabbing his suit coat and vest, he let himself into the spacious bathroom, audibly shutting the door behind him. He waited until he heard Em open the door before he turned on the water, splashing some of it on his face. The muffled murmurs of an older woman’s voice and a man drifted in. Rob took a breath and stared at himself in a mirror. He was really going to do this. Meet a woman’s family. He tried to remember the last time he’d voluntarily done this, but nothing sprang to mind.

  He was both nervous and oddly excited. He’d heard a lot about Poppy Grace from both Em and Owen. The formidable matriarch who played the other half of the mythical grandparents the Grace siblings worshipped. He felt a small pang for Em. When he’d pictured meeting her family all those years ago, it was her grandmother and grandfather he imagined charming. The one hesitation Em had had about eloping was the fact that her grandpa wouldn’t be there to walk her down the aisle. He should be here for this now, to help Rob act as a buffer between Em and her father, but he wasn’t.

  Bracing himself, Rob did up the loosened buttons of his shirt, thankful that the two that popped off were lower down. He’d hide their absence under his vest and coat. With his damp hands, he smoothed down the hair that Em had clutched as he teased her. She responded to him so beautifully, but at the first sign of something beyond physical intimacy, she put up walls higher than the walls of Arthur Ashe Stadium. He’d deal with that later. Right now, she needed backup.

  As he opened the door, a woman an inch or two shorter than Em hugged her, the woman’s white-streaked black hair pulled into an old-fashioned knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a soft gray dress with black buttons and a pair of sensible black shoes his mother would never be caught dead in. Her frame was thin and her face drawn, but there was a glow about it when she looked at her granddaughter. Behind Poppy stood a man that Rob never imagined meeting. He stood a few inches taller than his mother, his hair more pepper than salt. Owen had obviously gotten his build from some other ancestor because while his height was slightly above average, he didn’t resemble his son at all.

  “Emerson? Who is this?” Michael Grace asked pointedly, his undertones clear.

  “Is this your new fella, Emmy?” Poppy teased, and a wave of gratitude hit Rob. She might be a battle ax, but she was a battle ax who wasn’t rushing to judgement.

  Emerson’s cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth to speak, then immediately shut it. The room was silent except for the wheels in her head turning as she tried to come up with a way to explain to her family why he was there.

  No way was he letting her wiggle out. He stepped over, placing one hand on the small of her back, and held out his hand to her father. “Rob Ashton. I’m a good friend of Em’s and Owen’s. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Michael shook the offered hand, but his eyes held a calculating look Rob recognized from dealing with other reporters so much. He was trying to find a weak spot, and Rob couldn’t let him find one.

  “Friend, huh? And you said your name was Ashton? Didn’t realize my little girl was friends with one of the newest sports reporters for TWW. Especially not the one who so vocally defended her.”

  “Rob and Owen have known each other since they were teenagers,” Em said, her voice tight with annoyance. “And Rob and I met during my first Olympics. The tennis scene is pretty insular, so we all know each other.”

  Rob’s hackles rose a little on Em’s behalf. The accusatory look in her father’s blue eyes, the posturing. The last time Michael talked to his daughter had been to lambast her about those damn pictures and make her feel two feet tall.

  “What is this, Emerson?” Michael demanded. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to have a man—a man who works for a sleazy gossip network—in your room alone? Haven’t you made the headlines enough this year?”

  Rob gritted his teeth as Em stiffened beside him. He pressed his hand into the small of her back, reassuring her that he was with her.

  “Dad, that’s none of your business.”

  “Really, Michael. What a thing to say,” Poppy clucked, moving to sit on the nearby sofa. “We’re here to spend time with Emerson, not interrogate her friends.”

  “Owen and Em are my friends first and always.” Rob led Em to sit next to her grandma, perching on the arm beside her. “I’m able to keep my personal and professional lives separate.”

  Still posturing and puffing himself up, Michael raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is that what you were doing when you defended my daughter so publicly?”

  Rob glanced at Em’s grandmother. He wanted to make a good impression on the older woman in addition to not totally alienating her granddaughter, but he had a strong urge to punch Michael, partially because he was acting like a jackass and partially because he’d spent years ignoring his daughter before deciding to pretend he was any sort of father.

  “Would you prefer I had let my colleagues bad mouth her when she didn’t do anything wrong?” Rob asked. “I did what any man with an ounce of respect for women should have done. Em didn’t ask for those pictures to be leaked, but she was the only one paying for it.”

  Michael snorted, standing with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his narrow chest. “Those pictures never should have been taken. What woman with an ounce of self-respect lets a man take pictures like that?”

  “Michael!” Poppy gasped.

  “Jesus. Do you spend so much time in third world countries that you’ve adopted their medieval moral standards?” Em surged to her feet, eyes blazing. “It’s the twenty-first century. Women are allowed to own their sexuality.”

  “Not a woman in your position. Letting someone take pictures like this was asking for trouble,” Michael retorted. “God, what would your mother say if she saw you now? Or God forbid, your grandfather? This certainly isn’t
the behavior they expected. Your mother wanted you to be a lady, a scholar, not some sort of—”

  “Michael. That’s enough,” Poppy snapped.

  Rob ached for Em. She stood facing off with her father. He’d been there, feeling the weight of parental disapproval, but he’d always known that eventually his parents would accept his decision. But Em? She’d been more or less abandoned by her father for years on end.

  Instead of shrinking back, she went for the body shot with the same ferocity she would during a match.

  “No, Gran. Let him get it out. He needs to pretend to be a father once every five years, and I’m guessing this is the criticize-his-daughter’s-life-choices addition. Never mind that he wasn’t around for my first day of school or my first date. He doesn’t know me, and he doesn’t know Rob. He doesn’t get to stand there and judge me for my life decisions.”

  “You’re my daughter. I have every right to have an opinion on what you do with the life that your mother and I gave you,” Michael argued. “I expected so much more from you, Emerson. It’s time you went out and found a real life for yourself. You can’t waste your life on tennis forever. You shouldn’t waste your time hanging around with a guy who is probably only looking for a way to use you and information on you to advance his career. How long before we see the Emerson Grace exposé, Rob? A week? A month?”

  Fury and protectiveness bubbled to the surface, and Rob opened his mouth to speak, but Em cut him off. From his position, Rob caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes, but she didn’t let them loose. That’s my girl. Don’t give him that power over you.

  “Dad, at this point, you are nothing more than a sperm donor. I know you don’t approve of my career or Owen’s. God knows you’ve made that clear enough over the years, but it was not a waste. I may not risk my life taking pictures of starving children in war-torn countries, but I don’t sit on my ass either.” She braced her hands on her hips, a warrior refusing to back down. “Owen and I have a fantastic charity foundation I set up to help inner-city orphans get an education and have enough food. How many people do you know that have their own charity foundations by the age of twenty-three?”