Opposites Attract

Asher trailed off, remembering the state of her marriage at the time of Madge’s surgery.
    Recognizing guilt, Madge gave Asher a friendly nudge with her elbow. “It wasn’t as big a deal as the press made out. Of course,” she added with a grin, “I milked it for a lot of sympathy. The Dean brought me breakfast in bed for two months. Bless his heart.”
    “Then you came back and demolished Rayski in New York.”
    “Yeah.” Madge laughed with pleasure. “I enjoyed that.”
    Asher let her gaze wander over the serene arena, quiet but for the thud of balls and the hum of bees. “I have to win this one, Madge. I need it. There’s so much to prove.”
    “To whom?”
    “Myself first.” Asher moved her shoulders restlessly, shifting her bag to her left hand. “And a few others.”
    “Starbuck? No, don’t answer,” Madge continued, seeing Asher’s expression out of the corner of her eye. “It just sort of slipped out.”
    “What was between Ty and me was finished three years ago,” Asher stated, deliberately relaxing her muscles.
    “Too bad.” Madge weathered Asher’s glare easily. “I like him.”
    “Why?”
    Stopping, Madge met the direct look. “He’s one of the most alive people I know. Ever since he learned to control his temper, he brings so much emotion to the courts. It’s good for the game. You don’t have a stale tournament when Starbuck’s around. He also brings that same emotion into his friendships.”
    “Yes,” Asher agreed. “It can be overwhelming.”
    “I didn’t say he was easy,” Madge countered. “I said I like him. He is exactly who he is. There isn’t a lot of phony business to cut through to get to Starbuck.” Madge squinted up at the sun. “I suppose some of it comes from the fact that we turned pro the same year, did our first circuit together. Anyway, I’ve watched him grow from a cocky kid with a smart mouth to a cocky man who manages to keep that wicked temper just under the surface.”
    “You like him for his temper?”
    “Partly.” The mild, homey-looking woman smiled. “Starbuck’s just plain strung right, Asher. He’s not a man you can be ambivalent about. You’re either for him or against him.”
    It was as much inquiry as statement. Saying nothing, Asher began to walk again. Ambivalence had never entered into her feelings for Ty.
    ***
    On his way home from his own practice court Ty watched them. More accurately he watched Asher. While she remained unaware of him, he could take in every detail. The morning sun glinted down on her hair. Her shoulders were strong and slender, her gait long, leggy and confident. He was grateful he could study her now with some dispassion.
    When he had looked out and seen her in the stands two weeks before, it had been like catching a fastball to his stomach. Shimmering waves of pain, shock, anger; one sensation had raced after the other. He had blown the first set.
    Then he had done more than pull himself together. He had used the emotions against his opponent. The Frenchman hadn’t had a chance against Ty’s skill combined with three years of pent-up fury. Always, he played his best under pressure and stress. It fed him. With Asher in the audience the match had become a matter of life and death. When she had left him she’d stolen something from him. Somehow, the victory had helped him regain a portion of it.
    Damn her that she could still get to him. Ty’s thoughts darkened as the distance between them decreased. Just looking at her made him want.
    He had wanted her when she had been seventeen. The sharp, sudden desire for a teenager had astonished the then twenty-three-year-old Ty. He had kept a careful distance from her all that season. But he hadn’t stopped wanting her. He had done his best to burn the desire out by romancing women he considered more his style—flamboyant, reckless, knowledgeable.
    When Asher had turned twenty-one Ty had abandoned common sense and had begun a determined, almost obsessive pursuit. The more she evaded him, the firmer she refused, the stronger his desire had grown. Even the victory, tasted first in Rome, hadn’t lessened his need.
    His life, which previously had had one focus, realigned with two dominating forces: tennis and Asher. At the time he wouldn’t have said he loved tennis, but simply that it was what and who he was. He wouldn’t have said he loved Asher, but merely that he couldn’t live without her.
    Yet he had had to—when she’d left him to take another