Love in Straight Sets (16 page)

“What do you think?”

“I’m not supposed to think, remember?”

He rolled his eyes. “You swing over the puddle.”

Suddenly she sprinted ahead of him, seizing the rope from the hand of the course marshal who held it at the ready. Ben watched bemusedly as she prepared to swing, then ramped up his own speed to join her as he was struck by a worrying revelation.

“Regan, wait,” he shouted, hurrying to the obstacle. “You need to hold it higher than that or—”

But she was off, and when the rope ran out of swing two-thirds of the way over the puddle, she had no choice but to jump off into the ankle-deep mud.

Ben completed the obstacle, bracing for the tongue-lashing over her sodden sneakers. But when he reached her, Regan was smiling. It was reluctant and tenuous, but it lit up her face nonetheless.

She indicated her muddy feet. “Oops.”

“Par for the course.” He grinned. “Onward.”

They climbed up netting, crawled through tires, scrambled over platforms and weaved around traffic cones. Mud splashed over their legs, dirt streaked their faces and sweat plastered their clothes to their backs. And with each obstacle Regan’s step quickened, her face brightened and her movements had the light, graceful freedom he only saw in her very best moments on the court.

It’s working
, he thought as she cheerfully shouldered a heavy sandbag and began to trudge up an incline. He set off after her, relief weakening his spine even as gratitude stiffened it.
It’s working.

Or so he thought. When they jogged up to the second-to-last obstacle, Regan stopped so short that he nearly crashed into her.

“No way.” She shook her head. “I’m not doing this one.”

Ben took in the shallow trough of ice cubes and freezing water. An elastic net stretched over the top of it, forcing competitors to commando-crawl through the frigid liquid, with a high-pressure hose mounted on the edge, its powerful spray positioned in just the right spot to blast the face of an oncoming runner.

His heart thrilled at the sight of it. It was exactly the kind of obstacle that drew him back to these limits-testing races. Not physically difficult, but a mental and sensory overload.

If this didn’t shock Regan out of her anxiety, nothing would.

“You most certainly are,” he replied. “There are only two obstacles left and you’ve completed every one so far. Let’s finish with a full house.”

“I can’t. I’m serious. Not this one.”

The eyes she turned on him were scared and pleading, and the next thing he knew his palm was on her cheek, his thumb smoothing the delicate skin beneath her eye. She put her hand over his, and hard, unyielding realization shuddered through him.

This was a lover’s touch.

He wasn’t her coach anymore, and she wasn’t his client. But the force pulling them together was fiercer and hotter than ever—and now there was nothing standing in its way.

“We’re going to do this.” Although he wasn’t completely sure of his own meaning, she nodded, her eyes soft with comprehension.

She broke away from him and stared one more time at the obstacle.

“Do you want me to go first or second?” he asked.

“Second.” She glanced at him briefly, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. “I like to know you’re behind me.”

“Always.”

And then they were off, Regan raising the net and belly flopping into the trough with him only a few seconds behind. The shock of the freezing water stole his breath, and the resistance of the net stymied his instinctive effort to raise himself onto his hands and knees. The equally cold spray from the hose struck him full in the face, but he could make out the soles of Regan’s sneakers ahead of him. As soon as he could fill his lungs he began shouting encouragement, exhorting her to keep pushing, that she was nearly there.

After what felt like ten minutes but couldn’t have been more than two, he dragged himself over the wooden lip at the end of the trough, gasping and spluttering and shivering, pretty sure he had ice cubes in his underwear. Regan was already on her feet, soaking wet and dripping onto the packed dirt, her grin a white arc in the dark brown mud caked on her face.

“One more and we’re done.” She stuck out her hand, and he let her haul him to his feet. “Time to run.”

Together they sprinted to the final obstacle, a sheer climb up a seven-foot wall. Without speaking Ben crouched with his back to the wall and held out his cupped hands. As if she could read his mind, Regan planted one foot in his hands, the other on his shoulder, and as he pushed up she jumped to grab the edge of the wall and pull herself onto the top.

Ben backed a few steps away from the wall to size it up. He was no great free-runner or slam dunk expert like most of the other competitors effortlessly hurling themselves to the top. Although his height gave him some advantage, his top-heavy build and tennis-honed shoulders meant he was better suited to powerful serves than getting altitude.

And then Regan beamed at him from atop the wall, and it was like the strong, steady pulse of a lighthouse beckoning him safely to shore.

He took three running steps and jumped.

He just caught the edge at the top. The surface scraped his palms, his wet sneakers squeaked against the wall face as he struggled to get purchase and the muscles in his arms shrieked in protest as he hauled his weight up and over. But he made it. He was with her.

“How do we get down?” she asked, eyeing up the long drop.

“I’ll show you.” He lowered himself slowly down the other side and then dropped the remaining inches to the ground. He motioned for Regan to hang off the edge as he’d done, then moved underneath her.

“Fall,” he urged. “I’ll catch you.”

Without a second’s hesitation she did just that, and then she was in his arms, wet and muddy and the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Instead of lowering her to the ground he pushed her against the wall, and as she wrapped her legs around his waist her eyes glittered with pleased surprise.

He pushed a lock of dirt-stiffened hair off her forehead. “You were amazing. I knew you could handle this.”

One of her hands found the back of his neck, the other kneaded his shoulder. “Not without you. I was only able to finish because you’re my coach.”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.” Then he kissed her, and the taste of dirt and salt and muddy water was as sweet as anything that had ever passed his lips.

Chapter Twelve

“Hey buddy, remember me?” Regan leaned over to greet the greyhound who’d run excitedly up to the door, then seemed to change his mind and was now peering at her cautiously from a few feet away.

“Boris, don’t be rude.” Ben pulled off his muddy shoes and lined them up next to hers on the front step. “He’s always shy around new people. He’ll get over it, don’t worry.”

“I’m more worried about tracking this mud all over your house. I’ve already ruined the upholstery in your car, I don’t want to do the same to your living room.”

“
Upholstery
is a generous term for the few patches of fluff still clinging to those seats.” He grinned. “Something tells me you’re going to object, but normally I strip down right here on the step and sprint to the shower. If I’m lucky, it rains overnight and my clothes are that much cleaner when I finally force myself to deal with them.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. She’d been riding so high on adrenaline that when Ben suggested they head to his place, her nodded agreement was distracted, underscored by a fleeting sense of gratitude that she didn’t have to face her big, empty house again tonight. Now she felt the full implication of her decision for the first time, and it was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.

“I’m not sure a tabloid photo of me slipping naked into your house is really the publicity I want at the moment.”

“It’s too dark for photos, plus all my neighbors are old people who go to bed at nine o’clock.” As if to prove a point, he pulled his shirt over his head and slung it over the railing, leaving her to gape at the broad expanse of moonlit skin, from the shadow of hair between his pecs to the stacked muscles of his abs. Although he didn’t have the chiseled definition of someone who spent a lot of time in the weight room, Ben Percy was obviously a man in very good shape.

He shucked off his shorts and socks and, clad only in a pair of compression underwear that hit midthigh and left little to the imagination, he held up his hands.

“See? No flashbulbs, no paparazzi springing out of the woodwork.” He tugged on the hem of her tank top, yanking her a stumbling step closer. “Get out of these wet clothes. I’ll turn on the water.” Then he strode past her into the house, Boris trotting close on his heels.

Alone with her thoughts for the first time since Ben turned up on her doorstep, she pivoted to stare out into the night. Crickets chirped their late-spring songs, a light breeze rustled the tall palms and the sound of a car passing down a nearby road swelled and then receded.

“What on earth am I doing?”

Her plan for tonight had been to double-check her packing list, tidy her email inbox and watch reruns of
Law
&
Order:
SVU
until she was tired enough to sleep. Instead she’d run a three-mile obstacle course with the coach who still hadn’t given her a reason for his disappearance, and with whom she was now seriously considering having sex.

Be honest.
With whom she’d very much decided to have sex.

There was every reason not to. He was clearly withholding an explanation, she had no idea whether he’d vanish again and a night in his bed was not the most responsible way to prepare for tomorrow’s long journey.

She remembered the view of the waves from the balcony of the hotel in Palm Beach, the way they’d crashed and roared and called to her more loudly than ever before. She remembered the way Ben had appeared behind her that night, just as she was envying the ocean its freedom.

Without another thought she pulled her sodden tank top and sports bra over her head, stripped off her shorts and underwear, loosened her ponytail and headed into the house, slamming the door behind her.

She followed the trail of wet footprints to the bathroom door. Boris lay in front of it, regarding her skeptically with his head on his paws. She could hear the sound of the shower and bent down to scratch his ears.

“I’ll take good care of him, I promise,” she whispered, then pushed open the door.

Regan waded through the fragrant, wafting steam, yanked back the shower curtain and stepped inside. Ben was very wet and very naked, and as he turned to greet her, the smile fell from his face.

“Oh, wow,” he breathed, looking her up and down.

She felt her face flush, at once thrilled and made shy by the approval that showed in every part of his body. “I’m really bad at sexy talk. Pretend I just said something sultry and clever about being a dirty girl who needs to get cleaned up, okay?”

“You don’t need to say anything.” He reached for her.

His skin was slick and smooth under the pummeling water and Regan let her hands go on an indulgent exploration of his incredible contours, from muscled arms to tight butt to rock-hard thighs. The sheer size of him made her feel feminine and delicate, which wasn’t always the case with her own athletic, gym-honed frame. He leaned down to capture her mouth, then dropped his head even lower to take one hard nipple between his lips.

Regan moaned as tantalizing sensation rippled through her, setting off an almost unbearable throbbing between her legs. Although Ben gripped her hips as he continued his sensual assault on her breasts, when she was finally able to drag her eyes open, she wasn’t sure how much longer her knees would be willing to support her.

With an incredible effort of will, she guided his head away from her body. He straightened to look at her, his eyes hooded with desire, and she noted with some relief that the water was running clean in the drain. She didn’t want to get mud all over his sheets, but she didn’t think she could last another minute having to stand up.

“Where can we—”

But before she could finish her sentence Ben had backed her up against the tiled wall and was on his knees, trailing tender kisses between her breasts, down her stomach, lingering over her lower abdomen. Just as the dampness between her legs began to seriously compete with the amount of water pouring out of the shower, he nudged her thighs apart and closed his lips on her pulsating core.

The pleading whimper that ripped unbidden from her throat would’ve embarrassed Regan if she’d had even a single brain cell left to devote to awareness. Instead she was utterly consumed by sensation, by the hot laving of Ben’s tongue, by the warm thickness of his wet hair under her hand, by the agonizingly unhurried movement of the finger he used to trace her swollen opening, teasing her with the tiniest push inside.

As her thighs began their telltale tremble, her breathing quickened and her vision blurred. Her groan was guttural, primal, and she planted one hand on his shoulder as she felt herself beginning to collapse forward, losing control. In response he moved his hand from her hip to her knee and shoved it back against the wall, leaving her fully open to his ministrations.

She couldn’t stop moaning now, the sound rising in volume as every nerve in her body begged for release even as she fought it off, never wanting this moment to end. He quickened his pace and, as her entire body began to shudder in earnest, he plunged two fingers deep inside her aching aperture. She came apart.

When her tremors subsided, her vision cleared and the ringing in her ears gave way to the sound of the shower still running, she was in Ben’s arms, crumpled on the shower floor and totally without the strength to move. She was able to pull herself up only enough to rest her head on his shoulder and drape her arms behind his back. In answer he tightened his grip, and as his velvety erection pressed into her abdomen, she knew they were nowhere near finished.

She hummed in bone-deep satisfaction and closed her eyes, letting her cheek slide on his wet skin.

“It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, chuckling against her ear. “I’ve got you.”

* * *

Regan hiked the towel higher over her breasts as she wandered the perimeter of Ben’s bedroom. He lounged on the unmade bed behind her, patiently watching her slow progress, totally unselfconscious about the erection tenting the towel he’d wrapped around his waist.

The room was almost adolescently untidy, and she picked her way across a minefield of discarded shoes and clothes to the dresser.

“I’ve told you I’m a neat freak, right?” She slid a week-old newspaper out of the way with her foot.

“I could’ve guessed if you hadn’t. Is the mess stressing you out?”

She paused, assessing her emotions, checking for any hint of anxiety. Then she turned to him with a delighted smile. “Not at all.”

He grinned. “Good. Because there’s no way I’m cleaning it for you.”

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, lifting one of the framed photos from the top of the dresser. Two lanky kids in shorts leaned against the front of an old Land Rover, their stiff posture suggesting they’d really rather not be standing so close together.

“Me and Lindsay,” he supplied before she could ask. He indicated the frame next to it, a sun-drenched shot of palm trees and lush green grass and vividly pink-and-orange flowers taken from a second-story window. “That’s the view from my bedroom in our house in Bulawayo. I used to set it out in hotel rooms when I traveled for tennis tournaments. Helped get me out of bed when there were gray, drizzly European skies outside.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a beautiful country, despite everything.”

She picked up the first photo again. “It’s awesome that your sister sacrifices so much financially so she can do a job for the greater good. It’s even more awesome that you help support her.” She replaced the frame and looked at him over her shoulder. “Makes the amount I get paid for hitting a ball over a net feel a little disgusting, actually.”

“Focus on winning the Baron’s first. Then you can shoulder responsibility for rectifying the evils of global capitalism.”

“You laugh, but I’ll have a lot of free time very soon. I can think of worse ways to spend my retirement.”

“Eyes on the prize, champ.” He touched the empty space beside him. “Now come here.”

She slid onto the mattress and he pulled her close, turning on his side. He tugged open her towel and flung back the ends, then trailed his fingertips between her exposed breasts and down her stomach.

Her heart picked up pace at his touch and she raised herself on her knees, straddling his hips.

“Do you have any protection?” she asked, reaching between them to stroke him through the towel.

To her utter indignation, he laughed. “Not so fast. There’s something I should’ve told you.”

“There’s a lot you still need to tell me. But I’m not sure I feel much like talking right now.”

He shook his head, grasping her waist and guiding her back down beside him. “I didn’t tell you the house rule.”

“Which is?”

His smile was full of mischief. “My turf, so I’m in charge.”

She frowned. “So, what? You mean—”

“Just what I said.” He rolled over and slid a shoe box out from under the bed, retrieved a strip of condoms and held them out of her reach. “We’ll get to this part when I’m good and ready.”

Her nerves flared with a mixture of worry and excitement at the implication behind his words. He wasn’t about to let her take what she wanted and be done with it, like all her other lovers had. He was prying control of this situation out of her clenched fist, a prospect as frightening as it was exhilarating.

“You’re the boss,” she pushed herself to reply. “Can I ask one question first?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do I want to know what else is in that shoe box?”

He grinned, yanking her against his chest. “You might find out later.”

Ben was a man who delivered on his promises. After nearly an hour of repeatedly bringing her to the brink of orgasm with his tongue, his fingers, even the teasing head of his erection and then pulling her back just before she fell over the edge, he flopped on the bed beside her.

“Okay,” he panted, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “I think it’s about time I fucked you. What do you think?”

“I think it’s past time,” she purred, bringing her mouth to his for a long, salty kiss. “Do I get to find out what’s in the box now?”

He waved a hand over the edge of the bed. “Knock yourself out.”

She scrambled over him to reach the box as he checked the date on the condoms before tearing one off the strip. She lifted the lid, preparing herself for raunchy porn movies at the worst and intriguing sex toys at the best—then froze when she saw what was inside.

“It’s me,” she managed after a stunned second, lifting out the previous month’s edition of a bestselling sports magazine. She’d been featured in a cover story that had focused so strongly on her tempestuous reputation that her normally upbeat publicist had delivered a tirade of abuse on the phone to the journalist.

“Of course it’s you.” Ben ripped open the packet with his teeth and began rolling down the condom.

“But there aren’t even any bikini pictures in here. Just me scowling, hitting balls.”

“So?”

She turned to him, still holding the magazine, unsure what to make of this strange development. “You jerk off to photos of me looking like an angry bitch?”

“I jerk off to photos of you looking strong and confident and unstoppable.” He plucked the magazine from her grip and tossed it on the floor, drawing her onto her back and easing on top of her. “I’m not here right now because I want that airbrushed woman in the swimsuit edition, all sweet smiles and beckoning fingers. I want the real deal—smart, complicated, tough as nails and sexy as sin.”

“What about anxious, moody and occasionally irrational?”

“I want it all. I’m a born competitor. Life without challenge would bore me to death.”

Regan blinked hard against the tears suddenly brimming in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her thighs, sliding the soles of her feet along the backs of his calves.

“Then let’s raise the stakes,” she murmured, barely managing to keep her voice steady as the hot length of him nudged at the opening between her legs. “First one to come loses.”

No way I’m winning this one
, she decided as Ben finally pushed inside her, although his hoarse gasp suggested it might be a close contest. She arched her back as he built up to a smooth, steady rhythm, moving her hands down his spine to urge him deeper.