GrandSlam by Lily Harlem and Lucy Felthouse

he
didn’t want to attend. Make our time on his terms so the control was back in
his court.
    Whatever it was, he’d picked the wrong woman. A sexy athlete
with come-to-bed eyes wouldn’t turn Marie Sherratt into a simpering schoolgirl.
    Or were they come-to-my-dungeon eyes?
    I stared at him now as he dashed left to right, throwing all
his power behind his hits and moving his big body around the court the way a
dancer would—light on his feet, in perfect command of each maneuver.
    In the middle of the night, when I’d woken from a dream
about running through black tunnels and searching for the light, my predominant
thought had been Travis is into BDSM .
    I knew it as fact. He’d more than hinted at it, he’d shown
me. I’d be blind to not realize it, plus it would make me the most ridiculous
psychologist on the planet.
    Which was a pity, the BDSM thing. It was subject I knew very
little about. I’d have to get online and do some research as soon as I had a
minute. Just so I knew exactly what I was dealing with. From a professional
point of view, of course.
    He ran past me, flicking the ball over the net as he moved.
His top lifted around his lean waist, giving me a glimpse of the golden skin on
his lower back and as he spun, the tantalizing line of hair on his abdomen came
into sight, just for a second, just long enough for me to be able to imagine
what it would be like to nuzzle my nose there.
    Stop it, Marie. He’s your client.
    “Let’s call it a day,” Peter shouted. “I think you’ve worked
your backhand enough. Any more and it will be overkill.”
    “Yeah, I agree.” Travis wiped his wristband over his nose
and cheek, looked across at me and stilled, his racquet falling to his side and
hanging there, just touching his knee.
    It was the first time he hadn’t been moving in the ten
minutes I’d been sitting there.
    “Marie,” Peter called, jogging up to me, a grin spreading
across his face. “How are you?”
    I tore my attention from Travis. “Fine thanks, Peter.”
    “Hot enough for you today?”
    “It is out here.”
    A drip of sweat seeped down his temple and he dashed it away
with his palm. “I’ve got us tickets for the Kodak on Saturday, there’s a
premiere on. Only a low-budget movie with an unknown director, but still, the
red-carpet will be out, it will be fun. Give you a real flavor of what it’s
like to be living so near to Hollywood and all its glamour.”
    “Wow, that’s great. How did you manage that?”
    “Ah, I have contacts.” He tapped the side of his nose and raised
his eyebrows.
    Travis grabbed a white towel, buried his face in it for a
second and then slung it over his shoulder. He stepped past Peter, his gaze to
the ground.
    “Travis,” I said, standing, “wait.”
    He turned, his dark eyebrows pulled low and his brow creased
in a frown.
    “We need to finish our session from yesterday,” I said,
hoping the flush seeping up my cheeks could be blamed on the sunshine. I really
wasn’t picturing us pressed up against each other, my hair in his fist and
strange sexual urges zipping ’round my body. Really I wasn’t.
    Travis glanced at Peter, who was spinning his racquet in his
hand over and over with little flicks of his wrist.
    “That session came to a natural end,” he said, looking back
at me. His lips were a thin, flat line.
    “Before time.” I folded my arms.
    “Does it really matter?”
    “Well yes, I—”
    “I’m going to leave you guys to figure this out,” Peter
said. “The shower is calling me. But I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday,
Marie, for our date.” He winked and stepped past Travis, placing his hand on
his shoulder as he did so. “Great training, buddy, you should be proud of
yourself.” He disappeared down the corridor and I heard the hiss of the
automatic entrance as he went inside.
    “So that session?” I asked again. I wouldn’t back down on
this, it was my job and it was for his own good.
    “Bloody hell,” he muttered,