The clock on the clubhouse wall was running slow. Or maybe he was just running hot. Who could blame him?
Wait. There she was, wending her way through the scattered guests. Fully dressed, sadly, in an oversized green tee, dark leggings, and sneakers. With that now-familiar frown carved between her brows, as if she were confused or disturbed or loath to see him again.
Which made no sense, since she’d orchestrated both their encounters so far.
Honestly, her decision to reserve several late-night lessons over the next two weeks had surprised him. He’d believed her protestations of disinterest earlier, despite his teasing. Sure, he’d hoped their time spent glued together, wet skin against wet skin, might change her mind about him, but she’d seemed unswayed by his charms.
By the time he’d showered at his little studio apartment, conveniently attached to the clubhouse, and accessed the day’s schedule on his cell, he’d managed to banish her from his thoughts. Mostly. The sense memory of those glorious breasts against his back was hard to shake.
Then he’d seen her name listed on his daily online spreadsheet.Tess Dunn. Room 1249. 7 p.m. Private evening lesson.
Her sparkly friend, who’d managed a brief but thorough interrogation during their conversation at the shoreline, must have told Tess where he worked. And then Tess must have called for the appointment immediately after leaving the beach.
Damn, nothing made him feel better than being wanted by a challenging, beautiful woman. Especially when all his other avenues for satisfaction had disappeared months ago.
That warm glow of masculine pride lasted about ten more seconds.
Because then she saw him, and her confused scan of the grounds turned into an eyeroll. Her chest heaved in a sigh. Arms swinging at her sides, she strode in his direction, those clear hazel eyes bright with evident frustration.
Which, again, made no sense. What the fuck had he done, except save her from exposing her magnificent rack to various preteens and report to his job at the time and place she’d specified?
Most women he considered completely explicable. Tess, not so much.
“Belle is a dead woman.” Tess was breathing a bit hard, and he tried his best not to check how that would look below her neckline. “I was more than clear with her. You may be charming and handsome, and I may have rubbed my naked boobs all over your unsuspecting back, but I don’t have time for extra socializing on this trip. Especially when that socializing involves lessons in a sport I don’t actually play.”
Apparently, he’d been right the first time when it came to her. Appointment or not, she didn’t want anything more to do with him. Although she evidently found him charming and handsome, so maybe he should consider that a win?
He held up both hands. “Don’t blame me. All I did was tell your friend my name and my job when she asked. Next thing I knew,yourname showed up on my schedule. I assumed you’d made the appointment.”
The flare of her nostrils had diminished as he spoke, but the irritation in her voice lingered. “Well, I didn’t. Half an hour ago, Belle suddenly told me to stop working and come here, since she was giving me a tennis lesson as my early birthday present. For some incomprehensible reason.” Her shoulders dropped. “At least, it seemed incomprehensible then. I had no idea you were a tennis instructor.”
“Thetennis instructor.” A stupid distinction, he knew. But his ego had taken enough beatings over the past few years and the past couple of minutes. He needed a sop for it. “Guests can reserve the other courts for matches or practice, but this one is dedicated to my clients.”
She’d gathered her shiny dark hair into two pigtails, fastened low on either side of her head, near her earlobes.
They were cute. She was cute.
Not into him—not like he was into her—but cute. And he couldn’t resist teasing her, just to see those pale cheeks flush at the challenge to her equanimity.
He let a smirk curve his lips. “And please don’t worry about my back. It may have been unsuspecting, but it was more than willing.”
She rose to the bait beautifully, just as she had that morning. “I misspoke. My guess is that your back has been suspected many, many times over the years.”
“More my front, really.”
She huffed out a laugh, and he felt it like a caress of his chest.
“Do you want anything other than water to drink?” He ticked off her options on his fingers. “For one-on-one clients, I can supply juice, sports drinks, sodas, beer, or even champagne. Your choice.”
“I think drinking champagne in your company would be a bad, bad idea,” she said. “After a glass or two, I might forget why I shouldn’t respond to—”
When she cut herself off, he tilted his head in inquiry. “Respond to what?”
After a second, she let out a long breath. “That sexy accent and automatic flirtation.”
Sexy accent? Much as he adored his homeland, no one in Europe really considered Swedish the language of love. Although at least it wasn’t German, a dialect that could make even declarations of undying adoration sound vaguely threatening and phlegm-y.
That said: If Tess found his accent seductive, he certainly wasn’t going to argue with her.
