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“Matt plays a lot of sport,” his mother interposed.
“I bet he does. Sport would definitely be his thing.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Do you cheat at that, too?”
There was arsenic in that smile.
His mother laughed. “Good heavens, no! Why would he? Matt’s got so much natural talent, he’s always been a winner,” she declared proudly.
“Of course,” Peta said dryly, and resumed her meal, closing off any further interest in the conversation.
The connection was broken. It was as decisive as a switch being thrown. Matt mused over it with mounting frustration. How could a woman who flaunted her assets be anti-sex? It made no sense to him yet that was the subject that had turned her off.
On the other hand, the continual dig about cheating might be significant. Maybe her last guy had cheated on her. Some men were stupid. They’d stray anywhere with anyone available. Not him, though. Matt worked on the principle...when you’re onto a good thing, stick to it.
He’d probably still be with Skye if she hadn’t taken that two-year contract overseas. He’d had quite a
long-term relationship with Janelle, too, until her career in law became more important than anything else. Basically he was a one-woman man. He’d be very happy to have Peta Kelly for as long as she wanted him and he couldn’t imagine even glancing at another woman with her at his side.
Well, he’d straighten her out about him soon enough. Maybe at the archery session. Shoot a few arrows into the air...
“Do you play any sport, Peta?” his mother inquired, instantly pricking Matt’s antenna for trouble. Surely she wouldn’t try her matchmaking tricks with Peta Kelly. Couldn’t she see this was not wife and mother material?
The blue eyes flicked derisively at Matt before a smile was turned on his mother. “I enjoy a game of tennis.”
Ah...mixed doubles, Matt thought with satisfaction.
“There’s a round robin tennis session scheduled for this afternoon. After archery,” his mother informed.
“So I noticed.”
“Matt’s very good at tennis.”
Another derisive look. “Maybe we’ll get to drive a few balls at each other.”
“Mmmh...” said Matt, wondering why she was out for his blood. Not that it mattered. As far as he was concerned it was a definite date with her. One way or another, he was going to turn it to his advantage.
He smiled.
She smiled back.
The challenge was on.
And if his mother thought it might get her a grandchild, she was out of her tree!
CHAPTER THREE
“DOESN’T look like anyone else is coming,” Matt cheerfully remarked.
Peta had glumly arrived at the same conclusion. They’d been warming up on the tennis court for ten minutes, waiting for others to appear for the round robin. Apparently the rest of the guests were giving it a miss this afternoon. Which left her alone with him if she wanted to stay and play.
“Care for a game of singles?” he asked, the eagerness in his voice a dead-set giveaway. He wanted to show her how good he was. Macho man strutting his stuff. In more ways than one, no doubt.
Peta wondered if the workout he’d give her on the tennis court was worth the aggravation of dealing with a come-on and decided it probably was. She was a bit stiff from the ride this morning. A good hard game of singles, followed by a swim in the heated indoor pool, then the warm relaxation of a hot spa tub, a light dinner, the meditation session with Thai monks... surely she’d sleep like the dead tonight.
“Okay,” she agreed.
Predictably he started stripping off for the real action. The gentle warm-up ralleys had hardly been a test of skill, merely a stroking of the ball back and forth over the net. Peta watched him remove his tracksuit with cynical eyes, refusing to be impressed. She’d been fooled by physical attraction once too often. Never again, she fiercely vowed.
Not that he had Giorgio’s lean elegance. Matt Davis was a much bigger man, his tall frame amply packed with muscle. However he did share the same air of ingrained self-assurance, quick to sum up an object of desire and confident it was within his grasp any time he cared to reach out. Peta had instantly been struck by it and subsequently goaded into an uncharacteristic show of defiant provocation... Look all you want, Mister, but I’m not up for grabs!
