Clubhousewas an overly generous term for the space, which housed tennis equipment and clothing for guests to borrow and buy. Even considering the modest one-bedroom apartment—reserved for the island’s famous tennis instructor—on the second floor, it resembled a small cottage more than anything else. But the resort liked its euphemistic names for amenities, and Lucas went along with it.
He went along with pretty much everything these days.
No stress. No mess. No fuss.
Opening the door for her, he held it until she walked through and then followed behind her. “What sort of tennis experience do you have?”
At this time of night, guests drifted away from the courts and toward bars, restaurants, torch-lit beaches, and bedrooms. While he and Tess had been talking, the last few clubhouse visitors had made their purchases and left. The closed sign had been placed on the inside of the door.
The two of them were alone.
Well, almost. Pat, the woman who staffed the register, was counting her money, putting the correct amount back in the register drawer, and placing the rest in a bank deposit pouch. Soon, though, she too would leave, locking the door behind her and dropping the key off at the security hut.
Then he’d be the only person with access to both the clubhouse and his apartment, apart from security. It was as much privacy as the resort could offer. Which he knew, since he’d demanded it before taking the job.
Too bad Tess didn’t want him as a lover. They’d have had all the time in the world tonight.
“I played a bit as a kid. Nothing official. Just a few lessons and hitting the ball back and forth with friends.” Baby-fine strands of her dark hair fluttered around her face in the breeze of the overhead fan. “How do you choose the right racket for someone like me?”
He could have given her the answer in his sleep. “We’ll pick something on the lighter end. Even though heavy rackets help with power, they can give you tennis elbow and are more difficult to maneuver.”
He steered her toward the borrowed equipment wall and let her consider her options.
Her teeth sank into her plush lower lip, and her finger stroked slowly down the side of a graphite frame. At the inadvertent taunt, heat bloomed in his belly, swift and unwelcome.
“Some of the rackets are different sizes,” she said.
He swallowed hard. Regained control of himself. “How much do you care about improving your technique?”
“Not at all.” She laughed and turned to him. “Is that terrible of me to say?”
“Everyone has different goals.” More standard instructor language. “None of them are more right or wrong than others. In your case, I’d choose a big racket head, since it will provide you with a larger sweet spot. Smaller heads are better for working on technique.” He winked at her. “Although I wouldn’t know that from personal experience.”
“Oh, you have a big head, all right. The one above your neck.” Despite her deadpan stare, her lips were twitching. “I’ll never know about the other.”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall and grinned at her. “Rest assured, that one is equally impressive.”
While they’d been evaluating rackets, the cashier had finished her work, gathered her purse from the staff room—more like staff closet—and signed out. Now she headed for the door, shaking her head. “I’m locking up, Lucas. Behave yourself. Or at least try.”
Poor Pat. She’d expected him to be classier, given his professional pedigree. “What fun would that be?”
When she shook her head again, her helmet of curls didn’t move. “And fill out your paperwork when you’re done. I don’t want you to get in trouble a second time this week.”
“Thanks, Pat.” He swept her into a hug, which she returned. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Get fired. Probably within hours.”
After a final pat of his arm, she departed the clubhouse, and the lock clicked into place with a jingle of her keys.
“I think your amorous exploits have traumatized your coworkers.” Tess sent him a chiding look. “No wonder her hair is completely grey. Mine probably will be too before I leave the island.” She tugged the bottom of a pigtail, eyeing it carefully. “I think I have more greys already. I blame our encounter earlier today.”
He’d noticed a few sparkly threads glinting in her hair that morning. Noticed and marveled at how unexpectedly pretty they were.
“That wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. I like the little bits of silver you have. They look like…” What was the best way to describe it? “Against your dark hair, they’re like stars in the night sky.”
He nodded, pleased with himself.
She didn’t appear impressed. “Bullshit.”
