Opposites Attract

them out. There would be faces here that would remember the coolly elegant Lady Wickerton. And there would be questions.
    Publicly she would remain aloof, distant and uninformative. Asher felt she owed Eric that much. She would simply refuse to discuss her marriage or its demise. Her early training, her years of following her father’s rules, would serve her now more than ever.
    She would give them tennis. With two straight championships now under her belt, Asher would have been spotlighted in any case. It was up to her to sway the press away from her personal life toward her professional resurgence. What was growing between her and Ty was still too fragile to be shared.
    Happiness. She had nearly forgotten how simple and overwhelming the feeling was. Lazy midnight talks, crazy loving, quiet walks. They shared a hotel room and made it home for the days and nights they were there. She felt as much a gypsy as he, and was content to be so. Once she had looked for roots, stability, commitment. She’d learned that they meant nothing without the fullness of love. His spontaneity had always fascinated her. This time Asher would resolve the lingering fear of it and enjoy.
    “Aren’t you dressed yet?”
    At the question Asher stopped tying her tennis shoe and glanced up. Ty stood in the doorway between the small parlor and bedroom. Fully dressed, impatient, he frowned at her. His hair fell over his forehead as unruly as ever and still slightly damp from his shower. Waves of love radiated through her.
    “Nearly,” Asher tossed back. “Not everyone can move quickly in the morning, you know—especially on six hours sleep.”
    The frown became a grin. “Something keep you up?” He caught the shoe she hurled at him in one hand, his eyes never leaving her face. Apparently the late night hadn’t affected him. He looked well rested and full of barely controlled energy. “You can always take a nap after morning practice.”
    “Awfully pleased with yourself this morning, aren’t you?”
    “Am I?” Still grinning, he came toward her, tossing her shoe lightly. “It probably has something to do with trouncing that British kid in the quarterfinals yesterday.”
    “Oh?” Lifting a brow, Asher looked up at him. “Is that all you’re pleased about?”
    “What else?”
    “Let me have my shoe,” she demanded. “So I can throw it at you again.”
    “Did you know you have a poor morning attitude?” he asked, holding the shoe out of reach.
    “Did you know you’ve been insufferable ever since you won the French?” she countered sweetly. “Remember, it’s only one quarter of the Grand Slam.”
    He moved the shoe farther out of reach as she made a grab for it. “For you too, Face,” he reminded her.
    “The rest’s on grass.” In an attempt to hold him still, Asher grabbed the waistband of his warm-up pants.
    “The woman’s insatiable,” he sighed. Diving, he pinned her beneath him on the bed.
    “Ty! Stop!” Laughing, Asher pushed against him as he nuzzled at her neck. “We’ll be late for practice.”
    “Oh. You’re right.” Giving her a quick kiss, he rolled away from her.
    “Well,” Asher muttered as she sat up, “you didn’t take much persuading.” Even as she started to tidy her hair, she was spun back into his arms. Her startled exclamation was smothered by his lips.
    Long, deep, infinitely tender, smolderingly passionate. His arms circled her. Asher felt her bones soften, then dissolve. Her head fell back, inviting him to take more. Cradling her, Ty went on a slow exploration of her mouth. For the moment he enjoyed the sense of total domination. If they continued, he knew she would begin her own demands. Then it would be power for power. The knowledge excited him. Still, he laughed against her lips. There was time. A lifetime.
    “You awake yet?” he asked her as he ran a hand lightly over her breast.
    “Mmm-hmm.”
    “Good. Let’s go.” After setting her on her feet, he gave Asher’s bottom a friendly pat.
    “I’ll get you for that,” she promised. Needs stirred inside her, not quite under control.
    “I certainly hope so.” With an easy smile Ty slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You need to work on your backhand volley,” he began as they walked from the room.
    Insulted, Asher tossed her head back. “What are you talking about?”
    “If you’d shorten your swing a bit more—”
    “Shorten your own swing,” she retorted. “And while you’re at it,” she continued,