Opposites Attract

or who won at Ascot last month.” Storm warnings were in his eyes, but he shrugged. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t fit into that kind of life because I’d always remember the garbage and sweat.”
    “Asher has no business encouraging that man,” Jess stated heatedly. “He’s been following her around since Paris.”
    Ty gave a grim laugh. “She doesn’t encourage or discourage. Drawing room conversation,” he murmured. “Ingrained manners. She’s different from us, Jess, I’ve known that all along.”
    “If
she’d
tell him to get lost—”
    “She couldn’t tell anyone to get lost any more than she could sprout wings and fly.”
    “She’s cold.”
    “She’s different,” Ty returned immediately but without heart. He cupped his sister’s chin in his hand. “You and me, we’re the same. Everything’s up front. If we want to shout, we shout. If we want to throw something, we throw it. Some people can’t.”
    “Then they’re stupid.”
    This time his laugh was warm and genuine. “I love you, Jess.”
    Throwing her arms around him, she hugged him fiercely. “I can’t bear to see you unhappy. Why do you let her do this to you?”
    Frowning, Ty stroked her hair. “I’ve been trying to figure that out. Maybe . . . maybe I just need a shove in the right direction.”
    Jess held him tighter, searching her mind for the answer.
    ***
    Seventh set. Tenth game. The crowd was as vocal, as enthusiastic and as hungry as it had been an hour before. Leaning forward in his seat, his eyes glued to the ball, Chuck sat between Asher and Madge.
    “You’ve got something riding on this one, don’t you, cowboy?” Madge commented dryly though her own heart was pumping. Chuck would face the winner in the finals.
    “It’s the best match I’ve seen in two years.” His own face was damp, his own muscles tense. The ball traveled at such speeds, it was often only a white blur.
    Asher spoke to neither of them. Her objectivity had long since been destroyed. Ty enthralled her. Both men on court possessed the raw athletic ability competitors admired and envied. Both were draining the other’s resources without mercy. But it was Ty, always Ty, who ripped the emotion from her.
    She could admire Michael, admit his brilliance, but he didn’t cause that slow, churning ache in her stomach. Had she not once been Ty’s lover, had she not even known him, would she still be so drawn? Controlled rage. How was it a woman raised in such an ordered, sheltered existence would be pulled irresistibly to a man with such turbulent passion? Opposites attract? she wondered. No, that was much too simple.
    Sitting in the crowded stadium, Asher felt the thrill of desire as clearly as though she had been naked in his arms. She felt no shame. It was natural. She felt no fear. It was inevitable. Years made up of long, unending days vanished. What a waste of time, she thought suddenly. No, a loss, she corrected herself. A loss of time—nothing’s ever wasted.
Tonight.
The decision came to her as effortlessly as it had the first time. Tonight they would be together. And if it was only once—if once was all he wanted—it would have to be enough. The long wait was over. She laughed out loud in relief and joy. Chuck sent her an odd look.
    “He’s going to win,” Asher said on a second laugh. Leaning on the rail, she rested her chin on her folded hands. “Oh, yes, he’s going to win.”
    ***
    There was a dull ache in his racket arm that Ty ignored. The muscles in his legs promised to cramp the moment he stopped moving. He wouldn’t give in to them any more than he would give in to the man across the net. One thing hadn’t changed in twenty years. He still hated to lose.
    A point away from the match, he played no less tigerishly than he had in the first game. The rallies had been long and punishing. The ball whistled. Sweat dripped. For the last twenty minutes Ty had forsaken artistry for cunning. It was working.
    Power for power, they were in a dead heat, so Ty chose to outmaneuver the Australian. He worked him over the court, pacing him, some might say stalking him. The game went to deuce three times while the crowd grew frantic. An ace gave him advantage—a screeching bullet that brought Ty the final impetus he needed. Then Ty played him hotbloodedly. The men drove from side to side, their faces masks of effort and fury. The shot came that he’d been waiting for. Michael’s awesome backhand drove crosscourt to his southpaw