by Nora Roberts
“We wanted to surprise you.” Smug, Jess hooked her hand into Mac’s. “Mac thought Paris was the perfect place for a second honeymoon.” She sent her husband a brief but intimate look. Their fingers tightened.
“The trick was getting her away from Pete for two weeks.” He gave Ty a grin. “You were a bigger incentive than Paris.” Bending, he kissed the top of his wife’s head. “She dotes on Pete.”
“No, I don’t,” Jess disagreed, then grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t if Pete weren’t such a smart baby.”
Mac began to unpack an old, favored pipe. “She’s ready to enroll him in Harvard.”
“Next year,” Jess responded dryly. “So, you’re going in as top seed,” she continued, giving her full attention to her brother. Was there some strain around his eyes? she wondered, then quickly discounted it. “Martin’s proud enough to bust.”
“I was hoping he might make it out for the tournament.” Ty glanced toward the empty stands. “Funny, I still have a habit of looking for him before a match.”
“He wanted to be here. If there had been any way for him to postpone this trial, but . . .” Jess trailed off and smiled. “Mac and I will have to represent the family.”
Ty slung the bag over his shoulder. “You’ll do fine. Where are you staying?”
“At the—” Jess’s words came to a stop as she spotted a slender blonde crossing an empty court a short distance away. Reaching up, she brushed at her brow as if pushing aside an errant strand of hair. “Asher,” she murmured.
Ty twisted his head. Asher wasn’t aware of them, as Chuck was keeping her involved in what appeared to be a long, detailed description of a match. “Yes,” Ty said softly. “Asher.” He kept his eyes on her, watching the movements of her body beneath the loosely fitting jogging suit. “Didn’t you know she was here?”
“Yes, I—” Jess broke off helplessly. How could she explain the flurry of feelings that she experienced in seeing Asher Wolfe again. The years were winked away in an instant. Jess could see the cool blue eyes, hear the firmly controlled voice. At the time there’d been no doubt in her mind about right and wrong. Even the chain reaction that had begun on a hazy September afternoon had only served to cement Jess’s certainty. Now there’d been a divorce, and Asher was back. She felt her husband’s warm palm against hers. Right and wrong weren’t so clearly defined any longer.
A bubble of nausea rose as she turned to her brother. He was still watching Asher. Had he loved her? Did he still? What would he do if he ever learned of his sister’s part in what had happened three years before? Jess found the questions trembling on her tongue and was afraid of the answers. “Ty . . .”
His eyes were dark and stormy, a barometer of emotion. Something in them warned Jess to keep her questions to herself. Surely there would be a better time to bring up the past. She had both a sense of reprieve and a feeling of guilt.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he asked lightly. “Where did you say you were staying?”
***
“And because he’s eighteen and played like a rocket in the qualifying rounds, they’re muttering about an upset.” Chuck tossed a tennis ball idly, squeezing it when it returned to his palm. “I wouldn’t mind if he weren’t such a little twerp.”
Asher laughed and snatched the ball as Chuck tossed it again. “And eighteen,” she added.
He gave a snort. “He wears designer underwear, for God’s sake. His mother has them dry-cleaned.”
“Down boy,” Asher warned good-naturedly. “You’ll feel better once you wipe him out in the quarterfinals. Youth versus experience,” she added because she couldn’t resist. Chuck twisted a lock of her hair around his finger and pulled.
“You meet Rayski,” he commented. “I guess we could call that two old pros.”
Asher winced. “Your point,” she conceded. “So, what’s your strategy for this afternoon?”
“To beat the tar out of him,” Chuck responded instantly, then grinned as he flexed his racket arm. “But if he gets lucky, I’ll leave it up to Ty to smash him in the semis or the finals.”
Asher bounced the ball on the clay. Her fingers closed over it, then released it again. “You’re so sure Ty will get to the finals?”
“Money in the bank,” he claimed. “This is his year. I swear, I’ve never seen him play better.” Pleasure for his friend with the light lacing of envy gave the statement more impact. “He’s going to be piling up titles like dominoes.”
Asher said nothing, not even nodding in agreement as Chuck sought to prove his point by giving her a replay of Ty’s qualifying match. A breeze stirred, sending blossoms drifting to the court at her feet. It was early morning, and the Stade Roland Garros was still drowsily charming and quiet. The thump of balls was hardly noticeable. In a few hours the fourteen thousand seats around the single center court would be jammed with enthusiasts. The noise would be human and emotional, accented by the sounds of traffic and squealing brakes on the highway that separated the stadium from the Bois de Boulogne.
Asher watched the breeze tickle a weeping willow as Chuck continued his rundown. In this first week of the games, tennis would be played for perhaps eleven hours a day so that even the first-round losers used the courts enough to make the trip worthwhile. It was considered by most pros the toughest championship to win. Like Ty, Asher was after her second victory.
Paris. Ty. Was there nowhere she could go that wasn’t so firmly tied in with memories of him? In Paris they’d sat in the back of a darkened theater, necking like teenagers while an Ingmar Bergman film had flickered on the screen unnoticed.
In Paris he had doctored a strained muscle in her calf, pampering and bullying so that she had won despite the pain. In Paris they had made love, and made love, and made love until they were both weak and exhausted. In Paris Asher had still believed in happy endings.
Fighting off memories, Asher glanced around the stadium. Her eyes locked with Jess’s. Separated by a hundred yards, both women endured a jolt of shock and distress. They stared, unable to communicate, unable to look away.
“Hey, it’s Jess!” Chuck interrupted himself to make the announcement. He waved, then grabbed Asher’s hand to drag her with him. “Let’s go say hi.”
Panicked, Asher dug in her heels. “No, I—I have to meet . . .” Her mind was devoid of excuses, but she snatched her hand from Chuck’s. “You go ahead, I’ll see you later.” Over Chuck’s protest, she dashed in the opposite direction.
Breathless, Asher found herself in the Jardin des Plantes with its sweet, mingling scents, little plaques and poetry. It seemed an odd setting for jangled nerves. Making an effort to calm herself, she slowed her pace.
Silly to run, she told herself. No, she corrected herself, stupid. But she hadn’t been prepared to see Ty’s sister, the one person who knew all the reasons. To have confronted Jess then, when her mind was already so crowded with Ty, would have been disastrous. Steadying, Asher told herself she just needed a little time to prepare. And it had been obvious Jess had been just as stunned as she. At the moment, Asher was too busy calming herself to wonder why.
She wouldn’t, couldn’t, think about the last time she’d seen Jessica Starbuck—that hot, close Indian summer afternoon. It would be too easy to remember each word spoken in the careless disorder of the hotel room Asher had shared with Ty. She would remember the hurt, the frantic packing, then her irrevocable decision to go to Eric.
Oh, Ty had been right, she had run away—but she hadn’t escaped. So little had changed in three years, and so much. Her heart had remained constant. With a sigh Asher admitted it had been foolish to believe she could take back what she had given so long ago. Ty Starbuck was her first lover, and the only man she had ever loved.
A child had been conceived, then lost before it could be born. She’d never forgiven herself for the accident that had taken that precious, fragile life from her. Perhaps more than a lack of love and understanding, it had been the loss of Ty’s child that had destroyed any hope fo
r her marriage.
And if the child had lived? she asked herself wearily. What then? Could she have kept it from him? Could she have remained the wife of one man while bearing the child of another? Asher shook her head. No, she would no longer dwell on possibilities. She’d lost Ty, his child, and the support of her own father. There could be no greater punishments to face. She would make her own future.
The touch of a hand on her shoulder had her whirling around. Asher stared up at Ty, her mind a blank, her emotions in turmoil. A hush seemed to spread over the garden, so she could hear the whisper of air over leaves and blossoms. The scent that reached her was sweet and heady—like a first kiss. He said nothing, nor did she until his hand slid down her arm to link with hers.
“Worried about the match?”
Almost afraid he would sense them, Asher struggled to push all thoughts of the past aside. “Concerned,” she amended, nearly managing a smile. “Rayski’s top seed.”
“You’ve beaten her before.”
“And she’s beaten me.” It didn’t occur to her to remove her hand from his or to mask her doubts. Slowly the tension seeped out of her. Through the link of hands Ty felt it. They had stood here before, and the memory was sweet.
“Play her like you played Conway,” he advised. “Their styles are basically the same.”
With a laugh Asher ran her free hand through her hair. “That’s supposed to be a comfort?”
“You’re better than she is,” he said simply, and earned an astonished stare. Smiling, he brushed his fingers carelessly over her cheek. “More consistent,” he explained. “She’s faster, but you’re stronger. That gives you an advantage on clay even though it isn’t your best surface.”
At a loss, Asher managed a surprised, “Well.”
“You’ve improved,” Ty stated as they began to walk. “Your backhand doesn’t have the power it should have, but—”
“It worked pretty well on Conway,” Asher interrupted testily.
“Could be better.”
“It’s perfect,” she disagreed, rising to the bait before she caught his grin. Her lips curved before she could stop them. “You always knew how to get a rise out of me. You’re playing Kilroy,” she went on, “I’ve never heard of him.”
“He’s been around only two years. Surprised everyone in Melbourne last season.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders in a gesture so familiar, neither of them noticed. “What’s that flower?”
Asher glanced down. “Lady’s slipper.”
“Silly name.”
“Cynic.”
He shrugged. “I like roses.”
“That’s because it’s the only flower you can identify.” Without thinking, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I remember going in to take a bath one night and finding you’d filled the tub with roses. Dozens of them.”
The scent of her hair reminded him of much more. “By the time we got around to clearing them out, it took over an hour.”
Her sigh was wistful. “It was wonderful. You could always surprise me by doing something absurd.”
“A tub of lady’s slippers is absurd,” he corrected. “A tub of roses is classy.”
Her laughter was quick and appreciative. Her head still rested on his shoulders. “We filled everything in the room that could pass for a vase, including a bottle of ginger ale. Sometimes when I—” She cut herself off, abruptly realizing she would say too much.
“When you what?” Ty demanded as he turned her to face him. When she only shook her head, he tightened his grip. “Would you remember sometimes, in the middle of the night? Would you wake up and hurt because you couldn’t forget?”
Truth brought tension to the base of her neck. In defense, Asher pressed her palms against his chest. “Ty, please.”
“I did.” He gave her a frustrated shake that knocked her head back. “Oh, God, I did. I’ve never stopped wanting you. Even hating you I wanted you. Do you know what it’s like to be awake at three o’clock in the morning and need someone, and know she’s in another man’s bed?”
“No, no, don’t.” She was clinging to him, her cheek pressed against his, her eyes tightly shut. “Ty, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he demanded as he drew her head back. “Don’t hate you? Don’t want you? Hell, I can’t do anything else.”
His eyes blazed into her, dark with fury, hot with passion. She could feel the race of his heart compete with hers. Abandoning pride, she pressed her lips to his.
At the instant of contact he stood still, neither giving nor taking. On a moan she drew him closer, letting her lips have their way. A shudder coursed through him, an oath ripped out, then he was responding, demanding, exciting. Why had he tried to resist? Nothing was clear to him as her lips raced crazily over his face. Wasn’t this what he wanted? To have her again, to prove he could, to purge his system of her once and for all? Motives dimmed in desire. There was only Asher—the sweet taste of her, her scent more heady, more seductive than the garden of flowers. He couldn’t breathe and not fill himself on her. So he surrendered to the persuading lips and soft body that had haunted his dreams.
Dragging his lips from hers only a moment, Ty pulled her through the fragile branches of a willow. The sun filtered through the curtain of leaves, giving intermittent light. In the cool dimness his mouth sought hers again and found it yielding. The blood pounded in his veins.
He had to know if her body was the same, unchanged during the years he’d been denied her. As his hand took her breast he groaned. She was small and firm and familiar. Through the material of her jacket he felt the nipple harden in quick response. Impatient, he tugged the zipper down, then dove under her shirt until he found the smooth tender flesh that had always made him feel his hands were too rough. Yet she didn’t draw away as his calluses met her. She pressed against him. Her moan was not one of discomfort, but of unmistakable pleasure.
Trembling, her fingers reached for his hair. He could feel the urgency in them just as he could taste it on her heated lips. He broke his kiss only to change angles, then deepened it, allowing his tongue to drink up all the dark flavors of her mouth. Against his palm her heart thudded wildly, but only his fingers moved to arouse her.
Slowly his other hand journeyed to her hip to mold the long, slender bone. He was lost somewhere between yesterday and today. The heavy fragrance of flowers still wet with morning dew was more seductive than perfume. Half dreaming, Ty took his mouth to her throat. He heard her sigh float off on the scented air. Was she dreaming too? Was the past overlapping this moment for her as well as for him? The thoughts drifted into his mind, then out again before they could be answered. Nothing mattered but that he was holding her again.
From far off came a ripple of laughter. Ty brought his mouth back to Asher’s. A rapid smattering of French drifted to him. Ty drew her closer until their bodies seemed fused. Footsteps and a giggle. Like a dreamer, he sensed the intrusion and swore against it. For another moment he clung, drawing on her lingering passion.
When he released her, Asher was breathless and swaying. Wordlessly he stared down at her with eyes nearly black with emotion. Her lips were parted, swollen from his, and he gave in to need and kissed her one long last time. Gently now, slowly, to store up every dram of sweetness. This time she trembled, her breath coming harsh and fast like that of a diver who breaks surface after a long submersion. Disoriented, she gripped his arms.
How long had they been there? she wondered. It could have been seconds or days. All she was sure of was that the longing had intensified almost beyond control. Her blood was racing in her veins, her heart pounding desperately. She was alive. So alive. And no longer certain which path she would take.
“Tonight,” Ty murmured, bringing her palm to his lips.
The vibration shot up her arm and into her core. “Ty . . .” Asher shook her head as she tried to draw her hand away. His fingers tightened.
“Tonight,” he repeated.
“I can’t.” Seeing the temper sh
oot into his eyes, Asher covered their joined hands with her free one. “Ty, I’m frightened.”
The quiet admission killed his anger. He let out a weary sigh. “Damn you, Asher.”
Saying nothing, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. Automatically Ty reached to smooth her hair. His eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was frightened of you once before. It seems to be happening again.” And I love you, she told him silently. As much as ever. More, she realized. More, because of the years of famine.
“Asher.” He held her away from him. She felt the passion swirling around him. “I won’t promise to wait for you to come to me this time. I won’t promise to be gentle and patient. Things aren’t the same.”
She shook her head, but in agreement. “No, things aren’t the same. It might be better, much better, for both of us if we just stayed away from each other.”
Ty laughed shortly. “We won’t.”
“If we tried—” Asher began.
“I won’t.”
She let out a 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.”
