Not So Snow White Page 13

  He glanced up, frowning.

  "Trust me, no matter how much you keep her under wraps, when she starts winning, and we both know she's going to, they'll come after her. The more hidden you keep her, the harder they'll dig."

  "They won't find anything. She hasn't done anything. And if I have anything to say about it—"

  "You won't always, you know," she said, then almost laughed at the stricken look that flashed across his face. "But that wouldn't stop them. They'll just make stuff up." She widened her eyes in faux concern. "Gosh, I hope people don't start judging your sister by what they read in the scandal sheets."

  He scowled and she knew she'd made her point. "You've already admitted they didn't make up the stories about you."

  "I didn't say that. Not all of them were lies, no. However, they don't print everything, either. Reading about me only gives you a tiny part of the story." Now she smiled. It was a slow one, and she let it reach her eyes, well aware of the effect it usually had on the opposite sex. She stepped closer, but didn't touch him. "To answer your question, no, I definitely wasn't always a good girl. I'm the cliché, actually.''

  "What cliché is that?" His expression remained unchanged, but the tone of his voice had dropped an octave. She was getting to him.

  "The bad girl with a heart of gold."

  She could swear she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. If she hadn't been looking so intently at that particular feature of his, she'd have missed it. And in fact, why was it she'd never noticed what a wickedly sensual pair of lips the man had? A shame he was such an obstinate ass. The things she could do with a mouth like that.

  She suddenly felt the heat of his gaze on her and slowly lifted her eyes. The knowing look in his eyes made her cheeks flush. Bad girl, indeed.

  "Yeah," he said, his voice a bit deeper, a bit rougher. "I can see that. Part of it, anyway."

  Her skin prickled in heightened awareness, making her wonder just who was getting to whom? She was queen of this little game and he was nothing more than a pawn. How had he managed to get the upper hand? Even briefly. "I won't ask which part." She stepped back, put her racket between them, not at all liking the fact that her pulse rate had spiked and it hadn't been calculated by her in the least.

  "Probably a good idea," he said, and there was the briefest of twinkles in those dark eyes of his. Damn, but the man had an edge to him she'd have never suspected.

  "You'll see that I'm right. About Gaby and me, I mean. Trust Aurora if you don't trust me. Gaby wants this week and you've agreed to it. Let us do our thing. Then she'll be starting the tournament and I'll be out of your collective hair."

  "One week." He still didn't look happy about being boxed into a corner, but then, he didn't have to be happy. He just had to leave them be.

  She grinned at him then, and he actually backed up a step. There. That felt a lot more like normal to her. "What's the worst that could happen?"

  He held her gaze a beat too long, then turned around, raking his hand through his hair. "Jesus," he swore under his breath. "I should have never—" He cut himself off, then looked back over his shoulder. "One week."

  "No chaperoning."

  "Don't push it."

  Oh, but she would. He knew, and she knew it. "We'll see."

  "Yes," he said, looking all enigmatic again. "I guess we will."

  Her pulse skipped. Damn the man, anyway. He walked toward the gate and her gaze automatically dropped to his backside. Nice. Good calf muscles, too. Good God, Tess, snap out of it.

  "Don't look so forlorn," she called out impishly, wanting— no, needing—to end this with the final point firmly in her favor. "This could be the beginning of something wonderful."

  He stopped dead, looked back. "What?"

  She laughed. "Gotcha." She waved her racket at him. "Go on, go do something productive for your sister. I have to practice if I'm going to keep up with her, much less teach her anything."

  He held her gaze a moment longer. And she let him. Then he finally gave her the briefest of nods, and let himself out. He crossed the entire lawn without once looking back. Only after he disappeared up the rear steps of the estate did she look away.

  Walking back to the baseline, she fumbled the remote for the ball machine out of her pocket. Shifting mental gears came automatically to her. It felt good, focusing on something she understood thoroughly, trusted implicitly to be there for her like an old friend.

  So it was more than a little disconcerting that it wasn't green tennis balls that had captured her attention… but a pair of soulful brown eyes instead.

  Chapter 10

  "Are you kidding me? That was so on the line!" Gaby stormed up to the net and glared down the center service line on the opposite side. "I saw the chalk fly up."

  "Residue in the grass," Tess corrected her. "It was wide. Second serve." She easily held Gaby's gaze when the teenager foolishly tried to stare her down, though privately, Tess was impressed. The girl had no fear. Not even of her. Which was exactly the kind of temperament she'd need if she was going to last out the first week of the tournament.

  The draw had come out that morning. Gaby, who wasn't ranked high enough yet to be a seeded player in this slam—although Tess would bet money, if she'd had any, that this would be the only time she'd come to Wimbledon in that situation— had drawn a tough first-round opponent. Davina Slutskaya, one of the many Russians dominating the scene, wasn't currently a very highly ranked player, but an older, experienced tour veteran nonetheless. A feisty player with good court coverage and a nice serve-and-volley game that was well suited to the fast grass surface, she'd been known to topple a giant or two in her day.

  It was only their second day practicing together, but already Tess was pretty damn sure Gaby could take the Russian. The kid had insane natural ability and a mental game far beyond her years. She had all the tools: a wicked forehand with excellent shot placement, a one-handed backhand that was going to be trouble for any opponent, and a serve that, when harnessed properly, could be powerful enough to give Serena a run for her money.

  Tess had quickly learned that, despite Gaby's supposed hero worship of her, getting her to listen was proving to be a rather formidable task. They hadn't been halfway through their first practice session before Tess began to question her sanity in even attempting to do this. She kept telling herself that it was only for a week… and it was making Aurora happy and Max fume. A two-for-one deal, really. How could she pass that up?

  But now that she'd committed herself to this course of action, it was like anything else she committed to in her life—she wanted to get the most out of it that she could. Which meant getting Gaby to pull her stubborn sixteen-and-a-half-year-old head out of her ass long enough to listen to the voice of experience.

  Just as Gaby went to toss the ball up, Tess called out the score for her. "Fifteen-forty."

  Gaby snatched the ball back out of the air and shot her a look that, had there been laser beams involved, would have reduced Tess to nothing more than a small pile of soot on her own baseline. "I know what the score is," she snapped.

  Tess just smiled. She'd done her research in the past few days. Gaby had clearly outplayed pretty much everyone on the junior circuit over the past year before turning pro. She rarely lost, but when she did, it was usually because she beat herself by letting her emotions get the better of her.

  Something Tess knew more than a little about.

  That was the downside of being the kind of tempestuous player who used her passion and quick temper to take her game to a higher level. When channeled properly, it worked as both motivation and a pressure-release valve. But when improperly managed, it generally backfired in pretty spectacular fashion.

  She could help Gaby to hone that. It would take time for her to really own it, a great deal more than they had together, for sure, but for the next six days, Tess could—and would—deliberately push her, ride her hard. Get those emotions roiling, so that when they boiled over, she had the opportunity to at
least try and give her the tools she needed to use all that heat to her advantage.

  A lot of coaches could improve Gaby's net game, or help harness that serving power. But Tess was probably the best qualified to help her with this critical mental balancing act, so that's what she'd focus on. Where other coaches—and her manager brother—would probably try and squash that quick-trigger temper of hers, Tess believed the exact opposite. You can't change the stripes on a tiger. So why not make the distinctive pattern work to your benefit?

  She swallowed a smile. If only Max could see them now.

  And to think, they hadn't even begun to talk about things like media management off the court.

  "Let's see if you can serve your way out of this hole," Tess taunted, pushing every button she could.

  Their first day had been spent working on ground strokes, talking grass-court strategy. No rallying in any kind of real-game situation. Tess had wanted more private time on the court at Wexley first. It had been both easier and harder to get out there and hit balls again than she'd thought it would be. Easy, because it had felt good, really good, to use her body again. Hard because it was still exceedingly frustrating to face her limitations where her reconstructed shoulder was concerned.

  Still, she owed Gaby a very big thank-you. Tess had gone nine months without so much as touching a racket. It might as well have been nine years. She hadn't gone more than a few weeks without swinging a racket since she was old enough to walk and swat balls around with her mother. And the only reason she'd gone that long was when she was recovering from her first couple shoulder repairs. Even then, she'd been back on court long before her doctors recommended.

  The only thing that had pushed her out there, and kept her out there, her shoulder aching, her heart still breaking, was because she had to if she wanted to hit with Gaby. Tess knew now that was why she hadn't been able to step out on a court since announcing her retirement. Simply put, she'd had no reason to. Tess needed a purpose. To just go out there and hit for no reason would have been all heartbreak and no reward.

  With that knowledge, she'd allowed herself to let go. And that hadn't come easily, or right away. She'd shed a few fierce tears as she'd pounded away at ball after ball, angry with herself, with her body, for letting her down. Slowly, methodically, determinedly, as the sun crept toward the skyline, she worked } through her grief, one swing at a time. She moved to the ball, let her instincts take over again, losing herself in the motion of the game. And ultimately, victoriously, she'd felt her connection to her soul mate, to the sport itself begin to return.

  She'd always loved the feel of the ball hitting her strings, loved being able to harness that power, redirect it, hit the mark, right on the line. The movement, the freedom, the control, even with her shoulder screaming, felt so damn good, by the time she went back inside, searching for an ice bag, the tears on her cheeks had been tears of, if not joy, then at least relief. She'd begun making peace with it. And with herself.

  So naturally, today, pumped full of ibuprofen and attitude, she'd gotten a bit cocky and decided to push them both a little. Fortunately for her and her aching shoulder, Gaby was largely beating herself today. If Gaby got in any kind of groove, she could take a set off of Tess. Tough as that was to admit. But while Tess might be more than a little rusty, she was still every bit as wily.

  Sometimes experience alone paid off. And if she was going to give Gaby even a small preview of what she was about to face over the fortnight of the Championships, she wanted it to be that.

  She watched the toss, focused intently on body language and racket head direction… and when the ball came whizzing over the net faster than anything she'd ever seen, she instinctively jumped the right way, stabbed her racket to her forehand side, and solidly connected with what should have been an ace.

  Well, her notorious return game was coming back nicely, she thought smugly, deciding it was worth the ice bag later. But there was no time to gloat. With those gazellelike long legs of hers, Gaby easily ran the ball down and, with a loud grunt, expertly whipped it back, crosscourt. Tess had to run full tilt, racket out in front, just to get her strings on the ball at all. Dammit. Who was running who here?

  Years of running down balls had given her great muscle memory. Tess let her brain go on autopilot… and on a dead run, she flicked the ball back at a wicked angle so it just dropped over the net and died. An impossible get, even though Gaby's sprinting run had gotten her to within inches of where it landed.

  "Dammit!" Gaby growled loudly in frustration, clearly pissed.

  Tess drew in a steadying breath or two of her own, then grinned at her. "Actually, that's game. And set."

  Gaby shook her head in disgust, more at herself than at Tess—something else they shared. Even at her most emotional, Tess's fire was fueled mostly by her own determination to make her game work for her, to bring in the win no matter what it took. It didn't matter who stood across the net. It wasn't about annihilating the opponent personally. It was just about winning. Proving that point, Gaby turned back toward the bench, but after only three steps, she sent her racket flying ahead of her. It hit her gear bag, then clattered to the ground.

  "Losing sucks," Tess said cheerfully.

  "No shit." Gaby gave Tess a sideways glance, as she had after her previous on-court tantrums this morning.

  If she was waiting for Tess to comment, much less chastise her, she had a long wait coming. First off, it would be a bit of pot and kettle. A fact she was certain Gaby wouldn't waste a second pointing out. Plus there was the added satisfaction, though a bit removed since he wasn't watching, of tweaking Max a little. Not that it was her fault Gaby was throwing rackets and swearing. She'd been doing that long before meeting Tess and would likely continue long after. Tess couldn't imagine anyone telling her otherwise at that stage of the game, either.

  But secondly, and more important, she saw what no one else would see. Gaby's tall, lanky form was solid, as was her game face. She was an intimidating presence on court and that's what she intentionally projected. Tess saw beyond that. It was as easy as looking in the mirror. Nerves fluttered behind that steely stare. Uncertainty about what she was going to face on those hallowed grass courts next week plucked at her insides, making her twitchy, which in turn took that critical half second off in her reaction time, just enough to make her miss her shots.

  It didn't take a genius to see that the girl had pride. In spades. She wanted to win, sure. But, almost as important, maybe more so, she didn't want to humiliate herself.

  Tess grabbed her towel and rubbed the sweat off her face, neck, and arms. It was a gorgeous June day by London standards. Partly sunny, mild, a light breeze, with a few heavier clouds lurking on the horizon. It would likely rain most of the afternoon, however, which was why they'd shifted her practice time to the morning. Gaby could do her indoor training circuit this afternoon at Glass Slipper instead.

  "Your shot selection has been really solid. You adjust very quickly."

  Gaby was wiping her own face and stilled for a moment at Tess's praise. When she lowered the towel, though, she met Tess's gaze with an unaffected expression on her own.

  So much for the hero-worship portion of their relationship.

  Tess wasted a second wondering if she'd been as pompous as a rookie pro. So, okay, of course she had been. But still… The fates were probably up there laughing their asses off as Tess's karma finally came full circle. And proceeded to bite her directly on the ass.

  Swallowing a resigned sigh, she continued smiling at Gaby. "You've got so much promise with that serve. I hope you find someone who can really take that and fine-tune it, get your power transfer to really give you everything you can get out of it."

  "What do you mean?" Gaby said, sounding a bit affronted. But Tess saw the immediate leap of awareness in her eyes. No one wanted to have a flaw pointed out to them, and there would be a moment of denial. But Gaby seemed to be the type who, like Tess, would jump past that quickly, more concerned about di
agnosing the problem and immediately doing something to fix it.

  "I'd say you're working at about seventy-five percent. Which is awesome and will likely dominate a lot of the lower-ranked players as long as you can be consistent with it." She let her smile spread. "But why not aim a bit higher? You're capable of playing at another level entirely. It'll take some work, but I don't see where you're afraid of a little of that."

  Gaby didn't say anything right away. Her arrogance stemmed from a long reign of dominance in the juniors and was well earned as far as that went. But this was a whole new ball game. And even with only a few pro tournaments under her belt, Gaby was already well aware of that.

  "This game will humble you on a regular basis. No matter how many years you play. If you let it, it can crush your confidence and rob you of every instinct you were blessed with. And the threat of that isn't such a bad thing. Players like us—" she paused to let that comment sink in, "need to have something pushing us all the time. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky enough to develop a rivalry on tour."

  " 'Lucky'?"

  Tess nodded. "Sure. Fastest way to make yourself a better player is to consistently lose to someone you know damn well you can beat. You just have to figure out how. You can push yourself hard, and your game hard, but you have to be truly tested to know what it is you're reaching for."

  Gaby seemed to ponder that comment. "I know my strengths and weaknesses. I'm working on them."

  "I know you are. I'm just saying that sometimes you don't know what your weaknesses are until another player points them out to you. Usually in that humbling fashion I was mentioning earlier. It's not always about beating yourself, sometimes you just get flat beat."

  "Tell me about it," Gaby muttered.

  Ah, now they were getting somewhere. "First round, French Open?"

  Gaby shot her a look that was less than appreciative. "Actually, I was thinking about Birmingham, against Venus."