Chapter 8
EIGHT
Brielle stood in front of the locker room mirror, assessing the dark circles under her eyes. The lack of sleep may show on her face, but her mind was wide awake. She couldn’t stop thinking about Callum Harrison.
God he was gorgeous. And not just in that tall, dark, cocky, confident, movie star kind of way.
There was a soft spot to him. One she’d love to have access to if he would let her.
Who knew how far last night would have gone if Geoffrey hadn’t shown up.
It wasn’t like she had any intention of stopping it.
No man ever had touched her like that. Not with the kind of intense attention that felt both honest and reckless at once.
She remembered the weight of his hands, gentle but strong.
And his mouth…God. Just the memory was enough to send a shiver through her.
She exhaled slowly and smoothed her palms down the front of her pink tennis dress, grounding herself in the familiar ritual.
This was not the place for distraction. Not now.
She had ten minutes before she was due on court, and Geoffrey would be watching.
Expectant, critical, already measuring her performance against whatever future he had planned.
Focus, she told herself.
Callum was a complication she couldn’t afford. Whatever sparked between them had no business following her onto the court. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and forced her mind back to footwork, timing, control…
“Hey, Brielle. Long time no see.”
She spun around, her ponytail whipping with her, “Nila!” Her hand flew to her pounding heart. “You scared me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should know better, after what happened, your nerves probably aren’t as steady as they used to be.”
Brielle barely recognized the striking redhead who stood in front of her.
Months ago, Nila Norcova was a gawky teenager with a retainer and frizzy hair.
This woman was makeup perfect, with manicured nails and the huge diamond necklace she swore was Harry Winston.
“Boy, it’s amazing what a month in the sun can do for girl.
” Brielle said. “Looks like Bermuda agreed with you.”
“It was amazing.” Nila purred, pushing her now straight hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t play much tennis, but you know how it is. Everyone wants an interview or to take photos with you. Of course, Sports Illustrated was awesome.” She leaned in as if sharing a secret. “They said I was a natural.”
Nila had never been a braggart, but fame had a way of bringing that quality out in people.
Those were the ones who loved the attention more than tennis itself and also the ones more likely to crash and burn.
At nineteen, it was too early to predict Nila’s fate, but as she babbled on about celebrity appearances and private yachts, it was apparent which way she was favoring.
“I was just going to head out to play, but it’s so hot.” Nila fanned herself with a towel. “A massage in the air conditioning sounds a little better. Or I could sit and look at your new bodyguard all day.”
“You mean Callum?” Brielle opened her locker and pulled out her racquet bag.
Nila may have been a decent tennis player, but she was a champion gossip.
A good-looking man would keep her talking for hours and Callum was not a subject she could afford to waste any more brain power on.
“He’s been helping out on the investigation. ”
“Really? Doesn’t look like much more than eye candy to me.”
“Ask Geoffrey if he’s capable. He knocked him out cold last night.”
Nila cocked her head and put her hands on her hips. “Wait a minute. Your bodyguard beat up your fiancé? Geoffrey told me the spotter at the gym dropped the weight on his head.”
They both laughed.
Finally a sparkle of the fun, carefree Nila she used to know. “The gym, huh? Nila, when have you known Geoffrey to lift more than a Perrier bottle?”
They laughed again.
“Okay, don’t say any more,” Brielle said, brushing a finger beneath her eye. “You’re ruining my mascara.”
“Wait a minute, Brielle.” Nila tilted her head. “There’s not anything going on between you and Callum, is there?”
“What? No!” The words came out sharper than she meant it to.
Nila’s sapphire-tinted contacts shimmered with open curiosity. “Come on. I wouldn’t fault you. I’d congratulate you.”
Heat crept up Brielle’s neck. Was it really that obvious? She suddenly felt exposed, as if her attraction had been written across her face all along. “Are you crazy? I have Geoffrey.”
“So?”
The single word landed heavier than it should have. Brielle stood abruptly and yanked the zipper shut on her duffel bag, wishing she could do the same to Nila’s mouth, and to her own thoughts.
“Okay, it’s none of my business. Sorry I asked.” Nila lifted her purple rhinestone racquet bag over her shoulder. “So, I guess I’ll be seeing you around. Looks like my practice times are right around yours.” She smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re playing. Everyone was sure you’d retire.”
“Actually, I think the rest did me some good,” Brielle told her. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll be stronger than ever.”
“That’s good, you’re staying positive.” A crooked smile spread across Nila’s face. “So, you think there’s a chance you could play in a tournament, say in three weeks?”
Brielle cocked her head. “What do you mean? What tournament?”
Nila looked around the locker room again then leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’ve got a secret,” she confessed. “Geoffrey says if your practices go well, he’s going to set up an exhibition match at the big Citrus Charity Tournament.”
“Really?” Brielle’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, when did he say this? Is it definite?”
“He told me this morning. I guess since the Citrus Tournament is such a big media event, it would be good exposure for both of us. For him, too. You know how into business he is.”
This was exactly the break she was looking for.
The Citrus was the biggest charity tournament on the whole North American circuit and the Vitalie Citrus Ball Anston hosted was the biggest black-tie event of the year.
It was also a media frenzy. It would be the perfect chance to prove to the world she was ready to take her life back.
It couldn’t happen soon enough. “When is he announcing this?” she asked. “Did he tell you?”
“Soon,” Nila said. “He has to make sure I can fit the promotion into my schedule first.”
She could feel the bubbles of excitement again.
A medium boil that made her flush. This was adrenalin.
Competition. She had forgotten how much she had loved the feeling.
“That’s the great part,” Brielle told her.
“I’m injured. I don’t have much left to prove.
You on the other hand would look pretty bad if you got beat by me.
Tell me, Nila, how are you at playing under pressure? ”
Rendering Nila speechless was a victory in itself. Satisfied, she picked up her racquet bag then winked at Nila before heading to the door to the courts. “You know what they say, Hail to the Queen.”
Callum wiped the sweat from his brow and took a long gulp of ice water.
Brielle was right. He would have passed out from heat stroke if he had worn his usual work clothes.
Maybe the standard, light-weight tennis whites, t-shirt and shorts, weren’t so bad after all.
He watched her from the patio. It was shaded, thank God, and had a perfect view of the back court.
This was a great angle because he didn’t mind watching Brielle from behind.
Good court perspective, amazing view of her.
She bent over behind the baseline waiting for a serve. Callum loved how that little tight ass of hers stuck out. He recalled the night before, how he had a cheek in each of his palms, warm and round but taut with smooth muscles underneath that soft skin.
Brielle soared across the service line and with a high-pitched grunt, pounced on a volley. The ball zinged like a rocket to the backcourt corner. The modest crowd applauded, and Callum did, too. He was a fan just like the rest of them, but now for more reasons than he had bargained for.
His favorite part of practice had nothing to do with the actual workout, rather it was the half-minute she would towel herself off in between games.
The occasional spritz from her little pink spray bottle was a bonus, reserved only for the days when it was extra hot or she worked extra hard.
He looked heavenward, thanking God for His gift of an unbearably humid day and her drawing the sunny side of the court.
Never in his life had he felt more blessed.
Brielle jogged to the sideline, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.
Callum held his breath waiting for her to reach for the little pink bottle, but she didn’t.
Instead, she went for the large water cooler beside her.
Callum almost fell over when she pulled the ice cubes out and brought them to her chin.
Wonderful drops of water ran down her neck and chest, pooling into the deep ravine of her cleavage.
Again, he credited divine intervention. This time for his new baggy tennis shorts that hid exactly what they needed to.
“Looking good, huh Callum?”
Callum looked up at Anston Vitalie. He raised his sunglasses as he stood then extended his hand to shake. “Morning, sir. Yeah, Brielle’s doing great out there.”
“I was talking about you.” Anston tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “Did Brielle take you shopping in the pro shop?”
“Oh you mean my clothes.” Callum gave himself a once-over. “Well, I thought since I was hanging out with the tennis crowd, I should probably look the part.”
“That’s great. We were all worried you wouldn’t be around as much now that Geoffrey got home. I’m pleasantly surprised you haven’t been fired yet.”