He pulled her to him and held her face. “Why do you talk that way?”
“I inadvertently made a pact with the devil. I think. Professional success at the cost of happiness. I’m cursed and destined to be alone forever. So this–this dream we’re sharing now–will be over and I will be alone. Again.”
“You do know you’re full of shit, right?”
“Well, that’s very sweet,” she said, chuckling.
“This dream ends when both you and I say it’s over. No witches, doctors, or managers will tell me what I can and can’t do. This thing we have is completely in our hands. No one else. I have no plans on withdrawing from this game. You?”
She was silent, looking at him. Then she moved up and kissed his lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her fingers caressed his healing chest burn, then traced his abdomen, down below his navel. A wave of heat traveled along his skin.
“You’re welcome,” he mumbled in return.
As she kissed him, she rolled on top, still kissing him. “I told you,” she said in a warm, sultry voice as she straddled him. “Tonight ends well.”
A flash and the rumble of thunder woke Gemma. She sat up in the strange bed, confused at her surroundings.
“You okay?” a man asked.
No! She snatched the bed sheets and haphazardly tried to cover her exposed body, while at the same time she tried to scurry away from the voice.
“What’s wrong?” the same man asked.
She whirled to the voice and focused on his face. It was Andre. She was fine. It was Andre. She tried to control her reaction, even tried to smile, but it was no use. She was trembling now.
“What’s wrong, Gem?” He sat up. “Why were you scared?”
She didn’t speak.
He scooted next to her and gently placed his hand on her head, looking into her eyes. Her tears welled up.
“Christ, Gem. Who hurt you?”
One simple question and the floodgates opened. Her head collapsed on his bare chest as tears flowed freely. He cradled her in his arms and held tight. His fingers slid through her hair, a gesture she had come to adore.
Why was she still hurting over the past? She had put that episode behind her. She was a strong woman now. Back then, she had been a child. She hadn’t known how to handle life and its challenges.
“You’re safe with me,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. I can’t. I love you.”
Her eyes opened wide, but she didn’t move a muscle.
He lifted her chin and peered into her eyes. “I love you.”
Her expression didn’t change, but inside she burned. He loves me.
“Together, remember?”
The best she could do was nod and burrow into his chest. Andre loves me.
Some moments passed before she was able to meet his gaze.
“I was sixteen,” she said. “A newly minted pro who had just stunned the tennis world by reaching the semis in my first Wimbledon Grand Slam. My agency organized a celebration in my honor.” A smile flitted at the distant memory. “I was finally a pro. I would earn a living doing what I loved. I would repay my parents for their sacrifices, and pay my way through my professional career. It was a surreal feeling.
“The party was a madhouse. Loud music, alcohol, heat. I was given one cocktail after another until the night became a blur. At sixteen, it didn’t take much to intoxicate me. There was another tennis pro there. He was nineteen and had just broken into the top twenty. He was talented, handsome, and I had been crushing on him for months, but he never paid me much attention. That night, he asked me to dance.
“We danced, more drinks, and then… he told me I was pretty. After that, like a daft child, I stuck to him like fur on cat. I had been hoping for him to notice me for months. And there he was, interested in me. We found a secluded place and kissed. It was fantastic. I was already imagining a future with him. Until he lifted my skirt.”
A burning tear slid down her cheek.
“I felt his hands, his body, his breathing. It hit me then. I realized what was happening, but I was too drunk. I could barely stand, much less fight. I told him to stop. He didn’t or couldn’t hear me. I asked, then said, then yelled. The stench of mixed drinks was on his breath. I was helpless, without strength. I tried to stop him. Instead, I lost my footing and landed on the floor. Like a fuckin’ animal he was on top of me. I remember tears. Maybe from the pain, but mostly from the humiliation.”
A few moments ticked away.
“I was on the floor, tears were smeared on my face, and he asked if I had enjoyed it. I did the best I could, I spat at him. He laughed and said he had taken pity on me. That I looked like a little boy with my flat chest and muscular shoulders. Next thing I knew, someone was peeling my fingernails from the bastard’s face. It was Wesley who found and rushed me out of there. I will never forget how he came to my aid.”
“Was Georg arrested?” Andre asked.
She straightened. His voice had an edge that exhilarated her, but how had he figured it out? “No.”
“You didn’t press charges?”
“Wesley advised me not to. He told me Georg would most likely claim I was a willing participant. Everyone saw us dancing and drinking. Many knew I had been after him for months. It would have been my word against his. Also, my tennis career would have been forever marred. Wesley, like always, was thinking about the long-term impact.” She paused, tried to force a smile, but she didn’t have it in her to pretend.
A solid hand raised her chin. “I’m not Georg. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. You are sharp, beautiful, gifted, and powerful–you are perfect. You were taken advantage of by an asshole. Simple as that. That was five years ago–a lifetime ago. You’re not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore. You are amazing. You have so much to offer this world. Don’t look at the world through the eyes of that sixteen year old.”
Gemma said nothing. Instead she absorbed his words. His eyes held no judgment. She had been right about Andre. He did understand, and he didn’t blame her either. Years of apprehension and distrust lifted. The air seemed cooler, fresher.
His eyes said it all. He kissed her lips gently.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m perfect,” she said then kissed him.
She held him as tightly as she could. She had found the one. The only one. They leaned back as he kissed her head, little pecks that soothed her heavy heart. With her cheek on his chest, she listened to his deep and rapid heart rate. With that rhythm, she drifted off to sleep.
The server has two opportunities to place the ball in the designated service box. The first missed shot is a fault. A second consecutive mis-hit is a double-fault. Although the aggressive serve can generate winning points (Ace), a double-fault is usually a sign of mental and physical fatigue―both conditions which will contribute to eventual defeat.
~Tennis Basics
“It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
~J. K. Rowling
emma woke to the shrill sound of her mobile phone. She stumbled from bed and glanced out the window. The sun was not supposed to be there. What time was it? She grabbed her phone, forcing her eyes to focus. First she noticed the name: Bedric. Then she noticed the time: 9:00 a.m.
“Holy shit!” she yelled. She was an hour late.
Andre sat up with a jolt. “What? What happened?”
She answered the phone. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”
“Are you well?” Bedric asked.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just, you know, lost track of time.”
“Gemma, you must learn to choose. You said you wanted to win. You called it a new chapter. What are your priorities?”
She glanced at Andre, who stumbled past her to the bathroom. “There is no confusion. Give me an hour.” She hung up.
“Crap! Bugger! Shit! I am so late!”
Andre popped his head out, studying her.
“What?” she asked.
<
br /> “There’s my drunken sailor.”
Gemma waited for her team to arrive and escort her from the private exit of the hotel.
“What are your plans for today?” she asked Andre.
She noticed his hesitation. “I’m taking care of some urgent business.”
“Will you be free tonight?”
“I’m expecting a call by noon. I’ll know the exact plans then, but should be free at night. Why do you ask?” He slid his hand through her hair.
“As fun as it was to have the hotel’s general manager sneak me in, my place is infinitely safer. Come over tonight. We’ll have dinner.”
“Is it wise? The tournament starts tomorrow and your first match is on Monday. You should focus.”
She grinned. “It’s settled then. I’ll have Glen pick you up at 8:00 p.m.” She gave him a peck on his lips.
He pulled back slightly. “Gem, is this wise?” he asked again. “I don’t want to be a source of distraction.”
“You don’t distract me. You center me. At the Aegon championship, it was your voice in my head that carried me through. You’re good for me.”
He beamed. “Okay, then. 8:00 p.m. it is.” He brought her face to his.
Just as they kissed, his mobile rang. She glanced at the number. “That’s Tish.”
He answered it. “Good morning, Tish… yes, I’m free in the morning… sure, sounds fun… I’ll meet you there in an hour.” He hung up.
“She wants to give me a tour of Wimbledon.” He smirked. “Are you jealous?”
“Nice try. I asked her to call you.”
“So you weren’t jealous? Not even a bit?”
“Maybe a bit.” She draped her arms around his neck and gave him a long, loving kiss. And in the privacy of her mind, she thought, I love you.
Andre recalled her face, her words, her smile, her scent. He was utterly happy, which concerned him. He had never enjoyed the luxury known as happiness.
He’d have to manage the situation with M&T. How could he stay away from her for three, four, maybe five months? If he worked around the clock, maybe he could wrap it up in two or three. But that was wishful thinking. Once Sunrise started, he would be buried, flying from one military base to another. How much harder could he work?
He wanted to be a source of support, not distraction. She had to focus on Wimbledon. If he brought it up now, it would probably cause more problems. But he couldn’t wait until after Wimbledon either, because that’s when he had to start his project. The upside of an early loss was that he could tell her sooner.
He didn’t even want to think about that scenario. She had to win, for her own sake. Although her fans loved her, the press wanted to see her fail–gloriously if possible. They would write one segment after another. A celebrity who hit rock bottom was infinitely more entertaining than one who stood above the fray.
He’d have to tell her soon. He just had to wait for the right opportunity.
Tish greeted Andre with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go into the inner sanctum of tennis’s greatest destination.” She held his hand and led him into the park.
They spent the next two hours talking to officials, touring the grounds, watching the crews tend to the grass, and talking to the broadcast crews. They eventually settled and ate the famed strawberries and cream.
“So what do you think of her world, her lifestyle?”
“It’s a crazy world, where little makes sense.”
“Maybe to you. But it’s the way the world of the gifted and celebrity works.”
A headache cut through his left eye. “Really? Running from one group of salivating paparazzi to another? That’s the world of the gifted?”
“We may not like it, but when you’re as big a celebrity as she is, you need to be willing to play the game.”
“Until it breaks her.”
“She’s much stronger than you give her credit for.”
Like a saw, the headache ate away at his brain. “We’re all more fragile than we want to believe.”
“We’re made stronger by those who surround us. She needs people she can trust. People who have her well-being at the forefront of every decision.”
“And how well do you think she’s doing there?”
She hesitated.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
“It’s not that. Look, everyone is doing the best they can.”
“Do you really believe that?”
He studied her eyes, saw her sincerity. “I do. This stuff is so confusing sometimes. Everyone is running one way, then the other, then we’re told to do more of one thing, then less of another. It’s with the best of intentions, but sometimes things go wrong. No one wants that to happen, but it does.”
“Chaos will always produce unexpected results. That’s the goal of chaos. You guys have to eliminate the things that create the spirals. Not feed into them.”
Gemma glanced at the clock every few minutes, her nerves on full alert. It was 8:22 in the evening. She was estimating how long it would take Glen to pick up Andre and drive back. Fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty? She kept checking her hair and lightly applied makeup. She studied her reflection, happy with what she wore. A strapless one-piece dress, a handful of inches above the knees, with heels to accentuate her legs. Her smile froze. You’re behaving like a little schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. Not that she had ever been to a prom.
Her mobile rang. It was Glen.
“Ma’am, Mr. Reyes is not back at the hotel yet. I’ve checked with the front desk, and it appears he has not returned since morning.”
Her heart sank. “I’ll call him on his mobile.”
Three rings and he picked up.
“Gem, I am so sorry. I should’ve called.”
“Where are you?”
Noise in the background. “I’m still stuck on the business I told you about. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it after all.”
“I see.” Her jaw clenched. “That’s it then. I guess we’ll speak tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry. I promise to make it up to you–”
“No need,” she said. “Cheers.” She hung up and was tempted to throw the phone against the wall. Instead, she leaned against her mirror and closed her eyes.
Andre wanted to bash his head against his cell phone. He had known two hours earlier he would not be able to pull away. He should have called her then and there, but he got distracted, and now he felt like the prize idiot.
He glanced at Detective Chief Inspector Whitby, who studied him.
“All’s well, Doctor?”
“No, I’m an idiot.”
“Aren’t we all?”
The video surveillance images from the hotel had been close to useless. The stalker had successfully blocked enough of his face when passing the cameras that the image matching applications couldn’t find a hit. It would have to be up to Andre.
He had already gone through the images of suspected and known perpetrators who belonged to various terrorist organizations and their sympathizers. One by one, he had scrolled through the images, relying on his photographic memory to find the right person. But the exercise had been a bust. No hits.
A new approach would be needed.
“What if we expand the search to include anyone who fits the stalker’s physical description?” Andre asked.
“Not just terrorists or friends of?”
“Let’s not limit the search. Let’s see everyone.”
DCI Whitby rubbed his face. “I can’t even hazard a guess as to how many faces you’ll need to analyze.”
“Let’s not guess. Just bring up the files.”
Half an hour later, after they had filtered the faces for known physical attributes, Andre leaned close to the monitor and scrolled through the images, faster and faster, looking for key markers that differentiated each person.
“How do you do that?” DCI Whitby asked. “I’m getting dizzy just watching you.”
Andre didn’t respo
nd. He blocked sounds, scents, and self-doubt. For a long stretch he studied the images, slowing down when he needed to blink. He would push through this until–
He stopped scrolling. His heart rate spiked momentarily.
“Did you see something?” Whitby asked.
Andre scrolled back slowly until he landed on the face that had given him pause.
“Is that him?”
“That’s my stalker.”
Whitby took over, pulling the man’s information.
Andre leaned back, rubbing his temple and eyes.
“This is unexpected,” Whitby said.
Andre studied the rap sheet. “Abe Munem. Who is he?”
“Not a terrorist, that’s for sure. He’s a hired gun, an investigator of sorts.”
“A private detective?”
“Not exactly that classy. Also, he’s talented at hiding.”
They spoke for a while. Andre considered the implications of their findings. Although some details were still speculation, the news was significant. Who had hired him? And why? Andre would have to deal with this development the best way he could: head on. More importantly, he had to protect Gemma. She could not get stuck in the crosshairs of his mess.
“People are where they are because that is exactly where they really want to be—whether they will admit that or not.”
~Earl Nightingale
emma was familiar with this feeling; emotional hangover. She was furious and depressed. She understood that eventually this would be a way of life. With his career and hers, physical proximity would be the exception, not the norm. Their relationship had grown with velocity, and with each passing day they had gotten closer. All her vulnerabilities and concerns had been exposed to him and he in return had been her anchor.
For the first time, she understood the meaning of bliss. But when she was not with him, the emptiness was there in abundance. She missed him, and the thought that she would not have him whenever she needed him bothered her.
Game of Love Page 21
