Love in Straight Sets by Rebecca Crowley

face him fully, pushing herself up off the carpet as his chin dipped to level his face with hers. His palm flattened around the back of her neck, her fingers tightened on the impenetrable muscle in his leg and she let her eyelids drift shut as they came close enough to share breath.
    The rhythmic clomp of an approaching pair of high heels rang out like a gunshot in the empty hallway. Regan snatched back from Ben, pressing herself to the wall with such twitchy suddenness that her elbow slammed painfully against it.
    She swore under her breath as she rubbed the aching joint. Ben swept to his feet, then reached down and hastily motioned for her to stand.
    Regan took his proffered hands and let him hoist her up, then jerked her fingers out of his grip as if his touch was on fire.
    Which was not far from the truth.
    The noise of the heels grew louder, and within a second a uniformed hotel employee came around the corner, her immaculate chignon and clipboard exactly what one would expect from her brisk pace. She stopped short when she saw them, her face instantly brightening into a practiced smile.
    “Everything okay here? Can I help?”
    “We’re looking for the sports panel,” Ben replied quickly, and Regan’s gaze snapped to him at the throaty, rough-velvet edge to his voice. “I think we’re a little lost.”
    “I’m afraid you are. Head back to the elevator bank and press the button for the top floor.”
    “Is there a staircase?” He nodded at Regan. “She’s in training.”
    The woman looked at her, recognition dawning in her expression. “Of course. The stairs are down here, on your left.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “But it’s almost twenty flights to where you’re headed.”
    “Got it, thanks.”
    The woman continued on her way with a nod, and Ben turned to Regan.
    “Twenty floors is a long way, and we’ll have to explain why you’ve arrived out of breath and sweating. Do you think you can stomach a quick trip in the elevator?”
    She studied his expression, which was back to being as neutral and amiable as the minute they met in the parking lot. He spoke with the easy tone of the coach who cheerfully put her through her paces each morning. Any hint of the raw, primal male lust she’d seen glitter in his eyes had vanished without trace. Maybe she completely misread the situation—maybe nothing had been about to happen except her own pathetic self-delusion.
    Ben shifted his weight as he waited for her answer. His jaw was tighter than usual, the hard angle of it rigidly defined. He tugged on the bottom of his blazer, and in the instant before he buttoned it closed she caught a flash of the bulge straining the zipper of his trousers.
    Heat rushed up through her face until she was sure her cheeks were bright red. She thought of the small space of the elevator, how close she would be to Ben’s tall form. He carried himself with such relaxed posture that it was easy to forget just how big he was, that he had the powerful shoulders, sculpted core and long legs of a champion tennis player. For all the luxury this hotel promised that elevator had been pretty crammed. If there were other people inside she might find herself pressed against Ben’s chest, her cheek only a whisper away from those muscled planes, his belt buckle digging into her abdomen, his hands hanging loose beside her hips.
    She raised her eyes decisively. “We can take the elevator. I’ll be fine.”
    * * *
    Ben clenched his hands in his lap as the panel audience broke into hearty laughter at another one of Regan’s clever responses. Des chuckled at his side, the mediating columnist couldn’t contain her own giggle, and even Tanya Nellis, the up-and-coming British player and Regan’s fiercest rival, managed a reluctant smile.
    The event couldn’t be going better. And he was in hell.
    He snuck a look at where Regan sat behind the long table, her smile confident and assured. She wore tight jeans and open-toed heels that