Love. Set. Match.

  “But you’re so cute together,” Maren teased, keeping her voice low enough it couldn’t be heard by anyone not at their table.

  “Be glad you don’t have a little sister,” Rob muttered, unbuttoning his jacket before he took a drink of the scotch a waiter had brought him while they were gone. Another glass of rosé sat by Em’s plate.

  “I’ll trade you one annoying little sister for an annoying slightly older brother,” Em said, forcing a tight smile.

  Owen narrowed his hazel eyes at her from across the table. “Hey. You like me, remember?”

  “Most of the time. I seem to recall you getting me in trouble a time or twelve, and then there’s the whole overprotective thing.”

  “I think I’ll stick with the sister. She keeps the parents distracted better than Owen would.” Rob winked at his sister.

  Em let the conversation flow around her for a few minutes, hoping the knot in her stomach would ease the further she got from the question about going public with her relationship with Rob. When it became clear the knot was there to stay, she stood. Rob got to his feet as well, but she waved him away. “I need a little air. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She left before anyone could stop her, praying none of them followed her. The door to the veranda was near their table, so she slipped out, letting the humid night air wash over her. Despite the thickness of the air, she started to breathe easier without the sensation of hundreds of eyes on her.

  “Ms. Grace.”

  Em jumped at the deep voice coming from the shadows of the veranda. She turned to see Robert Ashton Jr. standing off to one side, staring out at the ocean. She tried to remember the last time she’d seen the tennis legend in person. He’d been at one of her and Maren’s Grand Slam semifinal matches a few years ago. Normally, Bobby Ashton didn’t show up for his daughter’s matches, so that appearance had been a shock to Em and threw her off her game. The last time the man said two words to her had been in London, when he told her she’d never be good enough for his son, for his family.

  “Mr. Ashton. This is a lovely party. You and Mrs. Ashton have really outdone yourselves.”

  Bobby Ashton strolled farther into the light cast from the French doors behind them. Seeing him was like seeing into Rob’s future. As much as Rob detested his father, they shared more than a name.

  Rob had inherited his father’s height as well as his chiseled features and gold hair, although Bobby’s had faded to silver in places. The only things he seemed to have gotten from his mother was his easy smile and his eyes.

  “Thank you. Brigit’s got a knack for these things. I just smile and tell her ‘yes, dear.’ It makes life easier.” Bobby stopped beside Em.

  She instinctively wrapped her arms around her middle, the knot returning full force. “That sounds like what my grandfather would say.”

  “I heard about his passing. I’m sorry for your loss.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, not looking at her directly. “I must say, I’m pleased with the turnout this year. Everyone who’s anyone in tennis showed up.”

  “It’s quite a crowd. But we’re all happy to show up for a good cause.” Her hair stood on the back of her neck and up and down her arms. He was up to something. She didn’t trust the man any farther than she could throw him.

  “It does a father’s heart good to see his children enjoying themselves. Rob looked like he was having a good time out there.” He glanced over his shoulder, back into the crowded room. She followed his gaze, stopping when she saw what caught his attention. Rob was standing near the door, Carrie Webster at his side. The statuesque blonde leaned close, tossing her hair and laughing at something.

  “They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” Bobby turned back. “Corbin and I have always hoped that they’d end up together one day. So much talent in one match. They’d be quite the power couple, although not as much now that Rob’s tennis career has ended.”

  Anger roiled inside Em. “Rob’s talent didn’t get damaged along with his shoulder. He’s still the same man he was before his injury.”

  “True. But he’s wasting himself working as a journalist for a glorified institution of yellow journalism. He could be doing something more worthwhile.”

  She bit her tongue. On some level, she actually agreed with the pompous asshole, which she hated. “Rob’s an adult. He’s made his choice about how he wants to spend his life.”

  “Fair point. My wife mentioned in passing that you and my son have been seeing each other for the last few months. Is this true?”

  “Um. Yes.” She hadn’t known Rob had told his mother about them, but she didn’t think he expected his mother to tell his father. If he knew, then why was he talking about Rob and Carrie Webster like that? “Well, kind of. It’s…complicated.”

  “Really? Either you are or you aren’t seeing each other. That does not seem very complicated.” Bobby’s voice dripped with the same condescension that he’d shown all those years ago.

  She gritted her teeth. “We’re together, but we’re keeping things casual. Nothing too serious. I’m focused on my career right now.” She wanted to believe her own words, but after that dance she didn’t know that she could.

  Bobby didn’t seem to believe them either. “That’s good to hear. You know when I saw the two of you dancing earlier, I thought it might be something more than casual. My wife certainly thinks so. She told me that she’d never seen our son so infatuated with a woman. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started to pick out china patterns and designs for a nursery for grandchildren soon.”

  Grandchildren? Nausea hit her harder than the waves lapping at the beach not far from where they stood. She could barely take care of herself right now, let alone a husband or children. She and Rob hadn’t ever talked about if they wanted children. Had Rob given his mother the impression that they were headed in that direction? God, she hoped not.

  “We’re not anywhere near that stage.” She cleared her throat. “Rob’s got his life and I’ve got mine, and we get together when we can. No need for china patterns or nurseries.”

  “Are you sure? I saw your match against Dera Calvet at Roland Garros. You seemed unfocused. Off your game. Usually when someone plays like that, it’s because something off the court is distracting them.”

  “Did you play poorly when you and Brigit first got together?” she challenged. She really didn’t like this man. How someone like him had children like Rob and Maren flabbergasted her. Then again, from what both of them had said about their childhoods, Bobby Ashton had been a supporting character rather than their main parental influence. He’d been too busy for them, not unlike her own father, following his career instead of being there for his family.

  Bobby snorted. “Of course not. I knew how to keep my personal life off the court. I trained with some of the best, and my coaches would never accept anything less than my complete and total focus.”

  She shook her head. God, this man was an ass. He’d spent so long as the top dog he didn’t remember what life was like before he was the great Bobby Ashton. She doubted he’d been so cool and collected when he and Brigit first met. She’d seen the stories about how in love the Ashtons were. She remembered as a teenager studying the tennis greats and wondering how Brigit could give up her career to follow Bobby around. Now, especially after attempting to have a long distance whatever it was with Rob, she saw that Brigit had made the decision to focus on her marriage and her relationship rather than her career. She’d been a good player, but never a great one, so she’d switched gears to be with the man she loved.

  “Well, Zoe’s one of the best, and even with everything going on, she’s done a good job of keeping me focused,” she said, even though she wasn’t nearly as confident as she sounded.

  “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see. After all, there are only two Grand Slams left in the season.” He plucked a flower from a nearby pot, twirling it in his fingers. “I’m honestly surprised you’ve done as well as you have given the circumstances. Fo
r someone of your background to make it as far as you have with so much media attention and outside stress is impressive. Unexpected, but impressive.”

  She curled her fingers into her hand, her nails digging into her palms. It was really hard not to punch Rob’s father. On the surface, the words were complimentary, but she could read between the lines better than most to find the insults he was too polite to come right out and say. She was used to people like Bobby after all these years, but it didn’t make his words sting any less.

  “It’s probably wise of you and Rob to keep your relationship quiet,” he continued. “I’m sure it would be problematic if he were to announce he was seeing you. I’ve heard a bit about the situation you’re in. A stalker is nothing to be ashamed of, but I can imagine it would only complicate matters if you were to date someone publicly right now. And besides, when you end things, it will make life much simpler for you both.”

  When they ended things. Like it was a foregone conclusion. Em glanced back inside to see Rob still talking to Carrie, looking as at ease as he did talking to any other woman. The fears and worries she’d confessed to her grandmother came flooding back to her, but she couldn’t let Bobby see them.

  “Like I said, we’re keeping things casual and quiet,” she replied, the words hollow to her own ears.

  He patted her shoulder as he turned toward the doors. “Smart girl. I should get back before Brigit has my hide. Lovely chatting with you.”

  She stood there, colder than she should be on an early June evening. Thoughts swirled around in her head, battering her heart and sending her deeper into the well of panic that had started during her dance with Rob. As much as she loathed him, Bobby Ashton had made some valid points. With Wimbledon only days away, she couldn’t afford any distractions.

  Telling the world about her and Rob wasn’t even remotely an option, but for some reason that made her inexplicably sad. Dancing with him had been…nice. Being out in public with him still felt odd, like she was committing a crime in broad daylight. He obviously wanted to take that next step, and she wished that she could, but his father was right. Going public wouldn’t only draw more media attention than she wanted; it would taunt her stalker and likely make him worse.

  Em braced her hands on the stone balustrade of the veranda. What scared her most about the thought of agitating her stalker wasn’t the idea that he would come after her. She’d accepted that as a possibility a long time ago. No, what now haunted her was that Rob could be in the line of fire too. The image of him getting hurt because of her made her want to curl up in a ball in the corner and sob.

  Oh God.

  She was falling in love with him.

  She was falling in love with Rob Ashton.

  Again.

  Shit.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to stay easy and casual and not remotely in the realm of something that would involve love. Love was what left her devastated last time. Love left her vulnerable to heartbreak. She knew Rob had said he wanted more, but she didn’t trust that, especially not after her little chat with his father. At the end of the day, Rob was an Ashton, and he’d follow the Ashton party line.

  She had to keep things between them the same as they were until she figured out what to do. And that would have to wait. She had to focus on Wimbledon. She wouldn’t let Bobby Ashton be right. She was going to kick ass and win the tournament in spite of the mess that was her life, just to piss him off.

  Chapter 15

  Em stood in the corner of the refurbished warehouse, sipping a club soda and watching Amir work the room. Outside, London stretched around them, shrouded by gray clouds she hoped went away before Monday. Wimbledon was only two days away, and she really wanted perfect weather. She’d worked her ass off for the last few weeks, had another tournament win under her belt, and she was ready to take this Grand Slam.

  At least she thought she was. The vague sense of confusion that’d settled on her during the Ashtons’ charity gala still lingered, only fueled by the rumors swirling about Rob and Carrie—no doubt planted by his father. Her feelings for Rob and her indecision on what to do about them made it hard to concentrate, but she was determined. She’d told Zoe to push her harder than ever and not let up for a moment. Rob had tried to come visit her before she left for London, but she’d managed to put him off. Talking to him every night was one thing. She could keep her distance when she didn’t have to see him and those blue eyes of his and that body that sent her libido down a dangerous path. It would be harder to keep him at arm’s length here. She only hoped that the network kept him so busy he wouldn’t have time to see too much of her until the end.

  “You look nice tonight, Emerson,” an accented voice said in her ear.

  She whirled around to see Kole standing close behind her. He looked good—his ice blue eyes were accentuated by the deep blue designer shirt that had obviously been tailored to fit him perfectly. The same could be said for his medium gray suit. Emotions hit her harder than a battering ram. So much had happened since they last talked. With distance, she remembered what she’d first seen in him, but she still hadn’t forgiven him for what he did. It might be easier if she did, if she could still care for him instead of for Rob who came with so many complications and mountains of emotional baggage.

  “Kole. Um. Thanks. You look nice too.”

  “I always liked you in blue.” He took two flutes of champagne from a passing server. “Although you do seem a little bored.”

  She tugged on the top of her strapless sheath dress before accepting the champagne. “I hate these things, but Amir bullied me into coming.”

  “Yes, my publicist was insistent that I needed to put in an appearance as well.” He turned and scanned the crowd. “There are quite a few sponsors here tonight. I’m surprised more players didn’t choose to attend. Doesn’t your brother usually keep you company during these things?”

  She shrugged, trying to figure out what was going on. Why was Kole suddenly so chatty? He’d ignored her through most of the tournaments this year since their little talk in Melbourne. And she’d been more than okay with that. It was easier to keep her anger and hurt in check when he avoided her. She didn’t understand why he decided to stop the avoidance now of all times.

  “Owen had a late practice session, and he didn’t want to rush through it. Dera’s here somewhere. I think Maren Ashton was here earlier, but she managed to make her escape before her publicist noticed. Mine, on the other hand, has the senses of a blood hound and won’t let me out of his sight for long enough to escape.”

  “I noticed you’ve added a security detail.” He nodded to Lance, the black-suited man standing off to one side. “I thought you detested having a security detail. You certainly didn’t like mine.”

  She’d hated his. They’d been overzealous at times, and then they hadn’t kept the groupies back when they should. He’d also used them as an excuse for why he couldn’t go with her to see her grandpa in the hospital or why he couldn’t help with her charity work. Now that she had her own security detail, she was a little more sympathetic, but not much. After all, it was his fault she needed the security detail in the first place.

  “Yes, well, after the pictures came out and the stalker popped up, I lost the battle and had to get a security team, at least for the tournaments.” She tried to keep her tone light, but a blush stained Kole’s knife-edged cheekbones as he took the full meaning of her words.

  He cleared his throat, gulping down some of his champagne and nodding to one of the models brought in to add atmosphere to the party. “Ah. About the pictures—”

  “You really don’t have to say anything about them,” she insisted. “I’ve spent more time than I ever wanted to talking about them.”

  “No, I—I want to say this, Emerson.” He placed a hand on her arm, keeping her from walking away. “I didn’t release those pictures.”

  She sighed, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I know. The police and Amir’s
PI figured that out a couple months ago.”

  “But you’re still mad at me about them, I suppose.”

  “You suppose correctly.” She took a drink of the champagne, wishing it were something stronger. Just then, her phone chimed. Hoping it was a text from her brother or Amir or anyone to get her out of here, she immediately looked at the screen. And froze.

  Mmm. I’m loving all the airtime your friends at TWW are giving me. I’ll be watching you this week. Maybe the lords and ladies of London can teach you to be a lady instead of a fucking whore.

  “Emmy? Emerson, what’s wrong?”

  Someone removed the glass from her hand, and an arm went around her shoulder. She didn’t know how, but she somehow ended up in a chair, with Kole sitting beside her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

  Her hands shook as she stared at the phone. This was the first time he’d managed to find her phone number and text her. Fighting against the tremors, she took a screenshot and forwarded it to the head of her security team and Detective Connors. “It’s…it’s nothing,” she said, trying to force her voice into some semblance of normal.

  Kole tilted her phone to see what it said. “Срање. Emerson, who would send this to you? Who would dare call you a whore?”

  She thought about lying to him, but the words came tumbling out before she could stop them. “I have a freaking stalker after me. They’re so obsessed with you that they now hate me for cheating on you and being a ‘slut’ or a ‘whore.’ It changes in each message.”

  “What are you talking about? A stalker?” His brows furrowed, and he shifted closer.

  She sniffed, searching the crowd for Dera or Cruz or anyone to come rescue her. She didn’t want to get into this, now or ever, but she’d opened her damn mouth, and now she had to deal with it. She honestly didn’t believe he didn’t know about this already.

  “Please, Kole. It was all over the papers during the French Open. Some nutter started sending me threatening letters thanks to those pictures and the stories you were spreading about me. And now he’s apparently moved on to text messages.”