“So you’re prompt and organized. I observed that too.” She was falling into the rhythm of the rally, hitting without much thought involved. “One more thing.”
He remained silent for another few hits, his brow furrowed in thought.
“I work hard,” he finally said. “I’ve always worked hard. And—”
When he cut himself off and didn’t finish his sentence, she waved her racket at him between shots. “And what?”
Another swing of his racket. Anotherpingas the ball landed on the racket’s sweet spot and sailed over the net. “I’m friendly. I know how to put people at ease.”
“You’re also funny and intelligent and well educated.” She lunged to return his forehand. “At some point, I want to talk to you about the Swedish educational system, by the way.”
Jesus, she wasn’t getting a hint of the ocean breeze on the court, and she hadn’t bothered to invest in a moisture-wicking top. Her t-shirt was soaked.
He didn’t even seem to look at the ball as he hit it, damn him. “No problem. I’m all yours.”
She swallowed over a dry throat at that declaration.
Maybe he’d meant it as a generic turn of phrase, but it sounded like a vow. And the way he was watching her now, tracking her every movement, gaze somehow both soft and hot—
Her next shot went wild, landing far off to the side, and he sprinted for the ball.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
After he got off his shot, his gaze met hers from across the court.
The ball whizzed past her, and she didn’t even move.
He didn’t spare that ball a single glance.
“Truth or dare, Tess.” The words were firm. Rumbly. Laden with promise.
She didn’t know which to choose. Which was safer. Whether she wanted to be safe in the first place.
Deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
“Dare,” she said.
His nostrils flared.
“I’m hot, Lucas.” She smiled at him, slow and easy. “Dare me to take off my shirt.”
He was starting to sweat. Striding to his bag, he snatched up his bottle of water and drained it in one gulp. Then he returned to his side of the court, but positioned himself close to the net. Close to her.
His eyes never left hers. “Take off your shirt, Tess. I dare you.”
Normally, she’d yank the tee over her head and be done with it. This time, she made it a tease. A flirtatious reveal of inches as she wiggled and swayed just the tiniest bit. And then the t-shirt was off. Clutched in her hand as she melted beneath the heat of his stare.
All sound from the other side of the court had ceased, even the faint shush of his breathing. When she strode toward his bag and tossed her tee on top of it, her breasts bouncing despite the support of her sports bra, he made a weird choking noise.
Even after she positioned herself for a return, he didn’t move until she snapped her fingers in front of her cleavage. “Time to stop staring at my boobs and keep playing, Lucas.”
“Sorry.” He shook his head hard, as if trying to clear it. “I just…wasn’t prepared for the full glory of…” His eyes dropped again. “Those.”
“You sweet summer child.” She had to snicker. “What you can see right now is nothing. My boobs are like an iceberg.”
“I don’t—” His olive-green eyes, slightly unfocused, lifted to hers. “I don’t understand.”
She flicked a hand in front of her substantial cleavage. “Ninety percent is still below the surface.”
