Opposites Attract

breath of exasperation. “You’re pressuring me.”
    “Damn right.” Before she could decide whether to laugh or to scream, she was in his arms again. “Do you think I don’t feel pressured too?” he demanded with a sudden intensity that kept Asher from answering. “Every time I look at you I remember the way things were for us and drive myself crazy trying to figure out why you left me. Do you know what that does to me?”
    She gripped his upper arms with strong hands. “You have to understand, I won’t go back. Whatever happens to us now begins now. No questions, no whys.” She saw the anger boiling in his eyes, but kept hers level. “I mean that, Ty. I can’t give you explanations. I won’t dig up the past.”
    “You expect me to live with that?”
    “I expect nothing,” she said quietly. The tone caused him to look deeper for the answers she refused to give. “And I’ve agreed to nothing. Not yet.”
    “You ask for too much,” he bit off as he released her. “Too damn much.”
    She wanted to go to him, go back to his arms and beg him to forget the past. Perhaps it was possible to live for the moment if one wanted to badly enough. It might have been pride that stopped her, or the deeply ingrained survival instinct she had developed since that long-ago September afternoon when she had fled from him and the prospect of pain. Asher laced her fingers together and stared down at them. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Ty, we’ll only hurt each other.”
    Tense and tormented, he turned back. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you, Asher. Not even when I thought I did.”
    The ache spread so quickly, she almost gasped from it. Isn’t that what Jess had said that day?
He’d never want to hurt you . . . never want to hurt you.
Asher could hear the words echoing inside her head. “Neither of us wanted to,” she murmured. “Both of us did. Isn’t it foolish to do it again?”
    “Look at me.” The command was quiet and firm. Bracing herself, Asher obeyed. His eyes were locked on hers—those dark, penetrating eyes that conveyed such raw feeling. Gently he touched her cheek. Without hesitation her hand rose to cover his. “Now,” he whispered, “ask me again.”
    A long, shuddering breath escaped. “Oh, Ty, I was so sure I could prevent this. So sure I could resist you this time.”
    “And now?”
    “Now I’m not sure of anything.” She shook her head before he could speak again. “Don’t ask now. Give us both some time.”
    He started to protest, then managed to restrain it. He’d waited three years, a bit longer wouldn’t matter. “Some time,” he agreed, lowering his hand. But as she started to relax, he took her wrist. The grip was neither gentle nor patient. “The next time, Asher, I won’t ask.”
    She nodded, accepting. “Then we understand each other.”
    His smile was a trifle grim. “That we do. I’ll walk you back.” He drew her through the curtain of leaves.

Chapter 5
    Fifth set. Seventh game. At the base line Ty crouched, ready to spring for Michael’s serve. The air was heavy, the sky thick with rain-threatening clouds so that the light was dreary. Ty didn’t notice. He didn’t notice the stadium full of people, some dangling through the railing, some hanging from the scoreboard. He didn’t notice the shouts and whistles that were either for or against him.
    Tennis was a game of the individual. That was what had drawn him to it. There was no one to blame for a loss, no one to praise for a win but yourself. It was a game of motion and emotion, both of which he excelled in.
    He had looked forward to meeting Michael in the semis. The Australian played a hot, passionate game full of dramatic gestures, furious mutters and pizzazz. There were perhaps five competitors Ty fully respected, Michael being one of them. Wanting to win was only a step below wanting a challenge. A fight. He’d grown up scrapping. Now the racket was merely an extension of his arm. The match was a bout. The bout was one on one. It had never—would never—be only a game.
    The Australian was a set up, with his momentum still flowing. Ty’s only thought at the moment was to break his serve and even the match. Thus far he had spotted no weaknesses in his opponent’s game. Like a boxer, he watched for the opening.
    He heard the sound of the ball hitting the sweet spot of the racket before it rocketed toward him. It landed deep in the corner of the service court, beautifully placed. Ty’s mind and