Playing for Hearts (2 page)

“Last set, Jason. Let's make each stroke count.” Grayson reached into his pocket and pulled out a tennis ball, effortlessly sailing it over the net with the ease of a lifetime of practice. “Follow through … ”

Shauna dropped the curtain, panting.
Oh my God. What am I doing?

She hurried down the aisle to the appointed court and jogged out into the playing area. Keeping her back to the other players on the grass court, she raised the racket above her head with both hands and leaned to the side, stretching her back. Then she bounced on her toes and warmed up her leg muscles. At best, she hoped to muster up enough skill to play a decent game and hit the ball over the net.

If Grayson were willing to see past their history, if she could convince him she'd matured, if she proved her worth, maybe he'd believe that she'd returned a changed woman. She caught herself clutching the end of her skirt, and quickly rubbed any possible wrinkles out of the material. If she could step back into the community and erase her reputation as the wild girl of Cottage Grove, her life would finally get back on track from when she'd derailed at twelve years old.

She wasn't coming back as Tony Marino's daughter, or the child whose mother had abandoned her, or Grayson's biggest pain in the ass.

Shauna would never live down all the embarrassing things she did in the name of love as a teenager. Trailing Grayson around town, telling everyone who would listen how much she loved him, leaving him gifts, even throwing herself at him, only to be turned down cold in the end. And all through it, the whole town was laughing at her, the wild child who was obsessed with the town's golden boy.

No, she had a much more important job to do.

Two weeks ago, the city of Cottage Grove had hired her to head the Chamber of Commerce. She had plans, and if it were the last thing she tried to do, she'd impress everyone. And, maybe then, she could let go of all her guilt.

If she failed to prove she wasn't going to hurt Grayson now that she was back, then she'd have to figure out a way to move on with the black cloud hovering over her. Granted it would be with a broken heart, but she'd survive. She always did.

Out of her peripheral vision, the curtain parted. She lowered her arms and faced her lifelong love with the grace of someone who knew exactly what she wanted, terrified she'd screw up once again.
I can do this. I've changed. I'm strong. I'm mature. I'm … such a goner.

“Shauna?” Grayson held out his hand. “I'm your instructor, Grayson.”

She pried her tongue off the roof of her mouth and met his gaze while reaching for the handshake. If she accomplished anything, she hoped it was the ability to keep her game face on for the next hour. “Hello, Grayson.”

Shauna's sultry voice trickled over him like warm honey and his body hardened in male appreciation. How the hell could he have not met this woman before?

The corner of Shauna's mouth twitched, and the most adorable dimple showed on her right cheek. Grayson sucked in his breath, his tennis racket fell to the court, and he stepped back.
Oh, hell no.

He squinted, trying to see the girl who'd followed him around when she was younger. The girl who had used every excuse to flirt and throw herself at him. He shook his head. No. Not possible. She wasn't supposed to come back.

The Shauna he knew wore her hair in a braid and no makeup, and always had a curious glint in her eye that left him glancing behind him for a way to escape. He studied her harder.
Jesus. Is it … ?

Her thick, wavy black hair lay wild around her shoulders, accenting the green flecks in brown eyes meant to seduce men much like a cobra ready to strike. He stared at the front of her shirt and licked his lips. The large, firm breasts she used to hide under loose T-shirts pressed against the snug fabric, and he knew without touching her the plumpness would overflow in his hands.

He leaned down and picked up his racket, taking the time to follow the length of her long legs down to the new athletic shoes. “Why are you here?”

“I haven't played for six years.” She inhaled a deep breath, which had him glancing up at her chest again. “I'm ready to get back in the game … ”

The rest of her words blurred in his mind, leaving him frowning. He studied the way she shrugged her shoulder and seemed almost self-conscious. Something clicked inside of him, but he had to be wrong.

He put his racket under his elbow and crossed his arms. “What are you up to?”

She paused long enough to let the question sink in, seemed to talk herself into answering, and nodded. “I have something important I'd like to talk over with you.”

“Now?” He struggled to talk past the constriction in his chest.

“Another time.” A smile fringed on the corner of her lips. “I paid for an hour's worth of tennis, and I mean to have you all to myself for sixty minutes.”

Her admission struck a chord within him. He didn't know whether to be enthralled or frightened. Unable to deny himself the pleasure of watching her run around, he raised his brow. He wasn't going to give her an inch.

“Make that fifty minutes,” he said. “The clock's ticking.”

“Then we better play.” She laid her racket over her shoulder, pivoted, and jogged to the other side of the court.

He watched the sway of her hips, the short ruffle of her skirt brushing her long legs, and groaned. Caught up in the past, remembering the last time he'd seen her lush body naked, he waited for her to get into position. The whole time, he wondered if she'd come back to make him pay for what he'd done.

Considering their history together, he had no idea how she was maintaining the calm demeanor. He was the mature one, the responsible one, the coach. He rotated his shoulders, hit the ball back across the net, and studied her. Her form was the last thing on his mind.

She'd changed. A lot. No longer uncoordinated, unsure, and unavailable. He ran up to the net, and smashed the ball on her side of the court. Victory was short as she ran after the ball.

It was unfair of him to take his frustration out on her. She was here for a lesson. Why?

He'd heard that from the moment she'd left Cottage Grove she'd forgotten to pick up the racket again. She'd submerged herself into school and her sorority. That was what he'd wanted for her. She wasn't like him. Tennis was in his blood, but she'd had other things that pushed her in life. At one time, he took all her attention.

She'd flattered his young ego. He'd depended on her. And when he'd realized how he was feeling toward her, he'd sent her away.

He caught the toe of his sneaker on the court. The ball sailed past him, and he clenched his teeth together. If he didn't start concentrating, she was going to kick his ass.

“Lengthen your arm. You're still holding your elbow too close to your body.” He used his racket to drag a ball over to the side of his foot, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he caught the airborne ball. “Give me a forehand.”

She swung, extending her arm fully. He took in the length of her limb. Long, lean, and tan. She might only be five foot six, but her legs gave the allusion of height.

“Good.” He hit the ball to her.

Over and over, he drove the ball to her right side. He was an automatic machine, returning volley for volley without taking his eyes off her.

Why was she here?

No one had informed him of her coming for a visit. The last time he'd talked to her dad, he'd shared with him that Shauna was working close to where she'd gone to school. She was supposed to have a job in human resources or working in the office of some small business, and was supposed to be happy.

She did appear happy. If there was a problem with her dad, she hid it well. He gazed into her face. He used to be able to read every emotion she threw at him, but today she wasn't allowing him to see what she was thinking.

“Come up to the net.” He popped a ball high, letting her run to the middle of the court.

The rosy splash on her cheeks belied her aloofness. He moved closer, hitting softer to make up for running her hard with the forehands. He narrowed his eyes. Was she smirking?

“Why are you here, Shauna?” He continued their rally.

She stretched, returned the lob. “I told you. I wanted to play.”

“Tennis or with me?”

“Tennis.”

He missed the ball she hit wide, and hurried to pick up a loose one next to the net. “Are you staying with your dad?”

“Yes.” She twirled the racket in her hand, swaying from one foot to the other. “For now.”

Unable to go on with the interrogation, he turned his back. “Take a basket of balls, and go line up and serve.”

He strolled to the back of the court, and pressed his back against the curtain. Winded and sweating, he had nothing to blame it on — except the fact that she made him nervous. He needed space and time to figure out if she'd come back to pay him for what he'd done six years ago. She was never supposed to know.

Shauna jogged over in front of him, set the wire basket down, and turned her back to him. From here, he could check her out without her watching him. He zeroed in on her skirt. Damn, she'd filled out nicely. It was true. Some women were late bloomers. He'd had no idea she'd grow into her lanky body, but she did. Nicely.

She leaned over, paddled the ball three times against the clay, paused, tossed the ball up in the air, stretched — his gaze followed the length of her back — and swung. His heart pounded against his chest.

For five minutes, he tortured himself watching her serve. When there were only a few balls left, he couldn't stand it anymore. He had to touch her, to believe that she was here, that she'd come back, and that she wasn't killing him yet.

“Hang on.” He walked up behind her, close enough to reach out and sink his hands into her hair. “Line your feet up into position.”

She scooted her feet apart, put her left toe behind the line, and waited. He circled his arm around her, and planted his palm in the middle of her flat stomach. The muscles in her body tensed, and he grinned behind her back. The scared little bird act brought him back to years past, when she'd try to seduce him, but the minute he'd show her any attention, she'd flutter out of his reach.

Except this time, she didn't move away. Her body slowly melted against him. He wrapped his fingers around her right hand, and slowly raised it above her head, stretching her up until she was standing on the tips of her toes. In this position, she fit into the curve of his body, and he wasn't immune. He swallowed.

“Right there.” He held her in place. “When you're extending, reaching, you were bending forward. You need to keep your shoulders back, your lower back arched.”

“O-okay.” She shuddered.

Not letting her go, he whispered, “Tell me again why you're here.”

“I got a j-job. At city hall here in Cottage Grove.” Her arm shook, and he lowered his hand, not letting go of her.

“Should I be worried?”

She shook her head.

He stepped back before his reaction showed. “Continue.”

Not watching, he picked up a few of the balls. A job? That meant she was back for good, or until she screwed up and got herself fired. Going by her record, that shouldn't be too long. A week, maybe, a month at most.

He jogged to the other side of the court. “Last ball. Let's play one set to finish.”

The racket seemed heavy in his hand, and he leaned over into position, ready to return her serve. He chuckled to himself. This was Shauna he was worrying over unnecessarily. No matter what she tried, he'd be ready. She never got the best of him. He was always on his toes and prepared for whatever she threw at him.

Shauna took her time, tossed up the ball — keeping her back arched and knees bent the way he'd shown her — and served. The ball sailed past him. At that second, he knew he was a goner.
Score: Love, Fifteen.

“Thanks, Ella.” Shauna set the phone in the cradle, and opened the bottom drawer of her desk to hide the half sandwich she hadn't had time to finish. It figured Grayson would show up early for their meeting, trying to gain the upper hand. Thank goodness her secretary had agreed to warn her of his arrival, and hadn't questioned the reason why.

She inspected the front of her white blouse. She'd give anything to appear cultured and beautiful, the way Grayson's girlfriends always appeared on television, but she couldn't do that today. Her professional attire would have to be good enough.

With one last brush down the front of her for any hidden crumbs, she scooted her chair closer to the desk and pretended to study the computer. What she wouldn't allow Grayson to see was how she practically vibrated inside knowing he would strut through the door at any second. Every day since she'd left Cottage Grove, she'd asked herself why she remained hung up on him. The answer was simple: she loved him. He'd touched her life in a way that no other person had done.

No matter how hard she'd tried to explain her unreciprocated love for him in the past, he'd brushed her off as silly. But time away never lessened her feelings, and only made her more determined to capture his heart. If he wasn't going to find her impossible to live without, she had to do something to change his mind.

That's when she'd decided to quit her job running the Women's Outreach program in Graham County and come back home.

Ella's high-pitched giggle floated past the closed door, and Shauna rolled her eyes. Even her fifty-three-year-old secretary wasn't immune to Grayson's charm. She pursed her lips and stared at the keyboard in front of her. How many times had she flirted, tried to cajole a smile, a joke, a personal reaction from Grayson, and failed? How could she compete with the other million women vying for the former Wimbledon tennis champion?

A knock startled her out of the painful memory. “Come in.”