“He was on my flight here, and I’ve run into him two or three times since we arrived.” Belle scooped up her own towel as they trudged through the sand. “He’s an interesting man. Funny. Smart. And most importantly, hot as hell.”
Tess stopped right before the path leading back to their room.
She wasn’t Belle’s older sister or mother or even her assistant principal anymore. Still, she worried. “Please tell me you’re meeting him in public until you’re sure he’s safe.”
“Of course.” Belle paused. “Although privacy may be required at some point, unless I want to incur significant legal fees.”
“Gotcha.” Tess started walking again, and her friend kept pace. “Have fun, but be careful. And let me know if you need me, okay?”
“I’m a big girl, Tessie.” Belle grinned. “I know what I’m doing.”
Tess laughed. “That’s what all the boys tell me.”
With a toss of her head, Belle made a show of preening prettily. “As they should.”
As the two of them entered the open doorway to the hotel and turned down the hall to their room, Belle hooked their arms together. “Listen, I was thinking about what we should do the next few days when you’re not working and I’m not corrupting innocent businessmen. Do you play tennis?”
“I used to.” When was the last time she’d stepped foot on a court? At least a couple decades ago, from what she could recall. “Why? Did you want to play?”
“Nah.” Producing her keycard, Belle waved it in front of their door’s sensor until the little light turned green. “Here we go.”
Tess opened the door but paused in the doorway. “So why did you ask about tennis?”
“No reason,” Belle said. “No reason at all.”
Three
“That was a great lesson.”The final guest from his intermediate class, a twenty-something woman with a long blond ponytail and a shy smile, slipped Lucas a twenty during their end-of-lesson handshake. “I think I’m getting a handle—” She cut herself off, blushing. “Sorry. Unintended pun. Anyway, I think my backhand slice is improving. Thank you so much for your patience. I still can’t believeLucas Karlssonis giving me lessons!”
She was sweet and a generous tipper, and she was beginning to get some power behind her ground strokes. A good client, even if he was eager for the arrival of the next one.
He smiled at her. “You’re welcome, Madison. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yeah.” She bent to gather her borrowed gear into a neat pile, not looking at him. “Unless you…um, have some free time tonight?”
Another woman was occupying his thoughts at the moment. But as a rule, he didn’t like to refuse clients’ invitations in direct terms. Not only to avoid hurt feelings and decreased tips, but also because he might change his mind later.
So he used his standard response for such situations. “I’m not certain. I may have plans, so don’t put your evening on hold for me. But if those plans change, may I leave a message on your room’s voicemail?”
Her cheeks, already pink from exertion, darkened to red.
“Sure. That would be…” Hitching her purse on her shoulder, she shuffled her feet. “I’d like that.”
Then she scurried away, and he made a mental note never to call her room, no matter how the next lesson went. No matter if he went to bed alone and aching for company.
Madison Warwick was too innocent, and she’d be too easily hurt.
If he shared his bed with a guest, he made sure both of them understood the situation, both of them enjoyed the encounter, and both of them moved on without any unfortunate consequences afterward. Including emotional ones.
In fact, he preferred not to involve emotions, period. Bodies and pleasure were enough.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel, he squinted against the setting sun and checked whether his final client of the day had arrived at the tennis clubhouse yet.
Nope. A handful of people were still milling around the grounds and browsing inside the small clubhouse, but none of them boasted shoulder-length brown hair, pale skin, a round, sweet face, and a truly astounding set of curves.
Tess Dunn would most likely choose not to arrive at the courts topless, although he’d be foolish not to hope for a repeat performance of their early-morning encounter. Either way, he was eager to see her, whether she was fully clothed or half-clothed or entirely naked. He didn’t even care whether she turned waspish again, or pompous. He’d take it all.
She was smart and funny and fucking sexy, whatever version of herself she chose to reveal. And interesting. Blessedly interesting, when so few things interested him these days.
