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"No. " She turned her head away, pressing into his shoulder. "No. " He put his forehead against her temple, let out a sigh that passed warm air over her cheek. "All right, then," he said at last, quietly. She felt the tension of his body, a mirror of the conflict in her own. "Then we'll just have to do something else. " He eased back from her, put her tennis racquet in her hand. "Since I'm going to whip your ass in tennis, I guess I'll give you a chance to beat me to the court. And before you say I have the advantage in a foot race because you just had an orgasm, let me note my handicap is significantly larger. " He glanced down at himself, pointedly.
Marguerite told herself there was no way he could take her from intense passion to humor in the blink of an eye.
"That doesn't look like much of a hardship to me," she scoffed.
Putting both of her hands on his shoulders, she shoved, knocking him off balance with the unexpected move. Springing away from the tree, she dashed down the path, headed for the tennis courts.
"You little - " She was less than ten feet away when he recovered. She snorted, lengthened her strides.
Fun. Had she ever had fun with a lover? For that matter, had she ever had a lover?
Someone who flirted with her, listened to her, talked to her about himself, took her out to dinner, went driving with her? Went to a movie?
She redoubled her efforts, running from the desire as much as from him. Gauging the hedge before her, she leaped, rather than zigzagging to stay on the path as she was sure he expected. It was a smooth hurdler's jump, a shortcut, one which she hoped wouldn't encounter any prize flowerbeds. She was determined to win at least one competition with him. Two, because she was going to trounce him at tennis.
The ankle held up, which pleased her after the strain at the oak tree. But a glance to the right showed her he was closing the distance, taking an opposite path, for he knew some of the cut-throughs she didn't. He ran like a tiger in truth. Full out, fast, telling her that he'd be a tough opponent on the court if he could match skill with speed. It made her look forward to the match. It also made it hard to tear her gaze from the movement of the muscles of his upper body, bared by her request.
They burst out of the garden about twenty feet apart, her slightly ahead. She lengthened her stride, calling on high school track team experience and her daily exercise regimen. She was discovering that Tyler kept himself in shape. In a moment he had her by a length. She fought and got it back, but she couldn't get ahead of him matching leg to longer leg. They hit the c
hain link fence surrounding the court together, both breathing hard, his eyes dancing. From his pleased reaction she suspected she had a matching expression.
"Come here. " He put his arm around her waist and drew her to him, brushing his lips over hers. Just a quick meeting of mouths, almost chaste, except the very light quality of the touch made heat pool in her lower body. She suspected her insides were starting to resemble the hot springs of an underground cavern.
"You're not supposed to do that," she complained but she didn't move back. Her hands had somehow settled on his chest and his heart hammering beneath her touch.
Her finger was so close to a flat nipple she itched to tease it. Pinch, scrape her nails across it.
He kept his hands on her hips and laughed. She thought that there were few sounds quite as sexy as a man's laughter infused with such sensual promise. He drew two Velcro straps from his pocket, making her tense but then he surprised her by using them to pull her hair up in a ponytail, double wrapping it firmly.
"I have other uses planned for those but I don't want you claiming your hair got in your way. " His fingers drifted down over the scallops of her ears, rested on the sides of her neck. He held her that way, his expression becoming serious as he studied her for several moments.
"You would look beautiful in my collar, Marguerite. Naked except for that. " She raised a brow, trying not to show how his hands resting there unsettled her, though all her senses had gone on high alert. "Maybe you would, too. "
"You'd have to get it on me, angel. " His gaze lowered to her throat. "A double helix of seed pearls, every third or fourth set of pearls interrupted by a silver icicle. The main pendant would be stylized, the impression of an angel's head and wings, the wings serrated delicately like the icicles. When you turn your head, the icicles would make tiny pricks into your delicate skin, sensitizing it and keeping it aware of my claim when you moved. "
She brought her gaze deliberately to his throat, determined not to appear ruffled by the detailed description, the intent heat of his eyes. The paralyzing sensation of his touch. Though she just had to hope he'd think her voice was breathless from the run only.
"For you, I'm seeing one of those chokers with long sharp prongs on the inside. The kind the pet stores sell for overenthusiastic Labradors. " His eyes sparkled, appreciating her. "Just so long as it's not one of those pink vinyl collars with rhinestones for poodles. Ready to get your ass kicked?"
"The only way you're winning this match is if you make it a command. Master. " She added it sweetly.
Grinning, he held open the gate and she preceded him onto the court. "Bullshit.
You wouldn't obey me anyway. " He inserted the edge of the tennis racquet under her skirt, flipping it up as she propped up her tennis shoe on the bench to tighten the laces.
Narrowing her eyes at him, she adjusted her hips so she was out of range from where he leaned negligently on the fence. "Of course, if I did order you to lose and then let you win, I could punish you for disobeying. Then we'd both win. " He shifted closer, let his racquet drift up her calf, turned it so it got caught between her thighs when she tried to move.
"That gorgeous ass of yours was lifting to meet my hand when I stopped, Marguerite. " His voice was soft, his eyes drifting over the pulse in her throat, reminding her too clearly of what his hand had felt like there.
"Distraction is not going to work," she said, trying for a haughty tone. She held out her hand. "Balls. "
She winced at his burst of laughter. "And why do you get the serve advantage?" he demanded.
"Because I'm a guest and according to your housekeeper you're a gentleman.
Though I've seen no proof of it. "
With a wicked look, he laid the tennis balls in her hand. "Warm up?" she asked.
