The Love Game (a Bad Boy Sports Romance) (Damaged #3)

by Emilia Beaumont

  “You’re insane. And your charms aren’t going to work on me, you know,” I forced out as the crowd started to press around us. Cameras were flashing and people trying to hear our conversation.

  He looked at me, an interesting expression on his face. “Really? That kiss says otherwise.”

  Before I could think of a witty reply, he continued, “Can I pick you up tonight? I would like to take you out. I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

  “O-out?” I repeated. Had Damon freaking Holden just ask me out? On a date?

  “Yeah,” he grinned, running a hand through his wet hair. “To thank you, of course.”

  I laughed nervously then. Of course. It was a thank-you, not a you-make-me-hot-for-you kind of date. The kiss was just him playing it up for the cameras and crowd.

  “Um, sure.” I wasn’t going to pass up another once-in-a-lifetime event, the memory of which would keep me warm when I turned old and gray.

  “Great,” he answered, giving me a wink. “See you later. I’ll pick you up around eight?”

  “I’m surprised you can remember anything about this morning.”

  “Ah, Ginny. You’re a hard woman to forget.” Then he winked at me and turned away.

  I watched, dumbfounded, as he jogged back down the stairs. Random people attempted to converse with me in French, clearly shocked at what had just happened. Hell, I couldn’t even explain it. I’d just been kissed by Damon Holden, then asked out on a date by Damon Holden. The world surely was going to end in the next minute or so.

  8

  Damon

  I was nervous.

  The realization hit me as I drove through the streets of Paris toward Ginny’s apartment, tapping my fingers against my slacks absently. I was never nervous, not even when I played in some of the most important matches of my career. It was a date, a way for me to thank my lucky kidnapper who, for some reason or another, had given me the kick in the ass I needed earlier to win the first match of the tournament.

  I could barely believe it myself that I had pulled off that win, after playing so damn bad the first few sets. I’d been angry and upset and everything in between. But seeing her in the stands had shone a light into the darkness of my being.

  Derek was beyond ecstatic. Well, he was acting a little bit like a schoolgirl going to prom, but after the grief I’d caused him that morning, I was letting him enjoy the moment. The tournament was far from over, but at least I hadn’t gone out in the first round like he was expecting me to, what with being drunk and all.

  I pulled the car up to the apartment, a sleek gray Bugatti EB110, and cut the engine, wiping my palms on my slacks before climbing out. The street was quiet, something that I wasn’t quite accustomed to but welcomed after the day’s events and the number of interviews I’d had to do after the match. Everyone wanted a piece of me; seemingly endless questions were fired at me relentlessly.

  I said bonsoir to an elderly lady who struggled to open the gate to the apartment complex. I held it for her as she passed through and then disappeared down the darkening street. I quickly found Ginny’s apartment and hesitated outside the door. The whole day had been one crazy event, and I wondered what on earth was drawing me back to the woman who was on the other side of that door.

  Sure, there’d been women who had intrigued me before, piqued my interest for longer than a second or two. But Ginny—there was something different about her. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I searched for the reason as I stood in the dim hallway. It was like it was on the tip of my tongue, a word that I couldn’t quite form or remember but knew existed. I was about to turn away—asking her out on a date and subjecting her to all the media attention would just be cruel. I’d already made a fool of myself earlier by practically sweeping her off her feet and actually kissing her in front of thousands. She’d stood rigid against my body, like frozen ice-cream, but then little by little she began to melt as my tongue explored her mouth. I couldn’t forget the feeling that buzzed through my body as our lips had made contact. Was it better than actually winning that match? Perhaps.

  From the other side of the door I heard a muffled shout then a crash of breaking glass. “Shit,” I heard her call.

  “Ginny, are you OK?” I asked as I reached for the doorknob.

  “Shit, shit, shit. Deep breaths,” I heard her say as a sliver of light fell across the floor. The door was pulled from my grasp, and Ginny was revealed.

  “Hey, you’re early,” she said, forcing a small smile onto her face.

  I glanced at my watch. “I’m actually five minutes late, but don’t hold it against me. I heard something smash, though. You OK?” I asked again.

  “Oh, just being clumsy. I was rushing and needed some Dutch courage…” I looked behind her and saw a broken wine glass, the stem absent from its body and remnants of a burgundy liquid spilled on the kitchen counter. The wine dripped onto the tiled floor below.

  “I’m not that bad am I? That you need alcohol to calm your nerves?” I teased.

  “You know you are,” she said. Circles of deep rose appeared on her cheeks, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  We stood staring at each other for a moment. I wanted nothing more than to drag my thumb over those burning cheeks and bring her lips close to mine again. But her smile faded as she slowly looked me up and down, taking in my attire. “Oh no,” she whispered.

  I looked to where she was looking, then took in how she filled out a pair of tight indigo jeans. She also had on a shimmering top, a dark green one that showed off her strawberry blonde hair. One of the top’s sleeves was cut so it revealed a creamy bare shoulder. I swallowed. Just that tiny, visible bit of flesh made my cock jump to attention. She was mesmerizing, even though she was looking at me in pure horror.

  “You look good enough to eat,” I said softly.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Look at you… you look like you’ve just stepped out of a GQ fashion shoot! Now look at me. I can’t go out with you like this.”

  “Hey, it’s fine,” I finally said after a moment. It was more than fine. Screw the fact that I was standing in a pair of expensive-ass slacks and a dress shirt, my casual suit coat left in the car. She didn’t need fancy clothes to look like a million dollars. But I wished I had gone casual myself. I berated myself silently. I’d wanted to show off, wanted to dress up to impress her, and instead I’d made her embarrassed about herself.

  “It’s not fine,” she stammered. She opened the door wider but made a hasty retreat. “Come in and have a seat. It won’t take me long to change.”

  I wanted to tell her not to, but I kept my mouth shut. I was an idiot, but the place I wanted to take her to would turn us away at the door if anyone turned up in jeans, no matter who they were or how fucking awesome I thought her body looked in them.

  While she was gone, I chose to tidy up the glass and spillage before taking a seat on the chair near the door. I waited. She didn’t take long.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, as she rushed down the stairs into the tiny area that was the living room. She had kept the shirt on but had exchanged her jeans for a long, flowing skirt that hid her long legs. I was disappointed, but hid it behind an easy smile.

  “You still look stunning,” I replied. “Ready to go?”

  She took a deep breath and nodded but glanced at the kitchen counter and noticed the missing carnage.

  “You didn’t need to do that. But thanks.” She blushed again and quickly skirted my gaze, looking everywhere but my direction.

  God, was she as nervous as me? Our conversation was stilted and awkward, nowhere near as natural as it had been that morning when she was full of fury and quick one-liners. I tried to think of a way to break the tension short of pushing her up against the wall and kissing her like there was no tomorrow, but before I could, she gently eased past me out of the apartment.

  Without a word, we both walked through the cobbled entranceway, a good distance apart, and towards the car. It was as if we w
ere both trying to be respectful and give each other space, unsure of the protocol of this date.

  “Wow,” Ginny stated, her eyes widening. “Do you have like a garage full of expensive cars or something?”

  “Or something,” I chuckled, holding open the passenger door that hinged upwards instead of outwards. She climbed in and I shut the door. I moved to the driver’s side, taking a few cleansing breaths before being trapped within the small confines of the car with her again. I’d need to hold onto every ounce of restraint not to touch her.

  As soon as I slipped into the driver’s seat, I knew I wouldn’t last the evening. The whole car already smelled of her. Sweet, floral, and irresistible. She didn’t seem to notice how the interior temperature had shot up a thousand degrees or so… or perhaps that was just me. She casually snapped her seatbelt in place and rested her hands in her lap, cool as a cucumber. I gave her a nervous smile as I took off down the street, the engine purring like a kitten. I wondered if Ginny would purr under my touch…

  It didn’t take us long to get to the restaurant, Le Meurice, one of the top fine-dining restaurants in Paris. Ginny’s face said it all as I led her through the hotel lobby and to the restaurant itself, where I was greeted warmly by the maître d’. He showed us to our table, and we took our seats. A great, expansive window gave us a distant view of the Eiffel Tower.

  “Look,” she breathed, gazing out into the starry night. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said, looking at her. She was clearly excited to see the tower, which made me wonder if she had seen it up close. Jim had been able to secure me a table at Le Meurice, but I wondered if I should have gone with the tower instead. Perhaps another night, I thought hopefully as I gazed at her easy smile.

  She looked back at me, and I could see the excited nervousness in her eyes as she picked up the menu lying on the gold-rimmed plate. It was soon replaced by confusion and then extreme horror.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked immediately, looking down at my own menu with a frown. I had dined there a few times; the food was exceptional and the atmosphere a nice reprieve from the craziness of the fans who sometimes followed me. Not everyone could get a table here, and paparazzi certainly weren’t allowed in.

  “Um, are these the prices or the calorie counts?”

  I looked up to find her biting her lip, a worried look on her face. “They are the prices.”

  “For chicken?” she asked, her voice lilting up an octave.

  “Don’t worry about it. Order whatever you like,” I answered, surprised that she was thinking that cost was a problem. “It’s on me, remember?”

  Ginny looked up, shaking her head. “Oh, no, I didn’t expect you to pay for it.”

  “I asked you out, didn’t I?”

  Her face turned pink again, and she looked down at the menu. She was cute as a button when she was embarrassed. The thought of skipping dinner crossed my mind.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “You did. The question is why?”

  I cleared my throat, not exactly sure myself. Sure, I wanted to thank her for what she had done that morning and then the apparent stroke of luck she had brought at the match. My lucky charm, but there was something more. Something I couldn’t explain. A waiter came over, interrupting us and saving me from embarrassing myself. I ordered my usual meal and bottle of wine, figuring I had something to celebrate.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Ginny stammered, looking over the menu. “I can’t read this. I mean, I recognized chicken but that’s about it. Do you have a salad or something?”

  The waiter looked dumbfounded, and she gave him a little smile. “You know, um, lettuce?”

  “Mademoiselle aura la même,” I said. The waiter nodded and walked off, leaving us alone once more.

  “I don’t know French. I really should learn, but there wasn’t time,” she said after a few moments, her voice soft. “You speak it pretty well. What did you say?”

  “I don’t know much either,” I said with a shrug. “You pick up some words here and there when you travel. I said that you will have the same as me.”

  “OK,” she smiled. Maybe she was impressed, and I smiled back, wondering how I could impress her even more. “And what exactly did you order?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.” I gave her a wink. “This is your first visit here, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “A trip of a lifetime and probably my last.”

  “Why is that?”

  Ginny sighed. “A few reasons, and well, it hasn’t exactly been what I had expected.”

  I grinned. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  Her smile was quick. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Our wine and first course arrived. The waiter poured the rich red cabernet in the crystal glasses before leaving us once more.

  “What is this?” she asked hesitantly, looking down at the small dish.

  “Escargot,” I announced, taking a sip of my wine.

  “Escargot,” she repeated. “Which is…?”

  “Snails.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Ginny said, her eyes widening. “Snails?”

  I nodded, picking up the small fork so that I could remove the first one from its shell. “Try it.”

  She swallowed and shook her head, picking up her wine glass instead. “I might have traveled halfway around the world by myself, but I will not eat snails, no way.”

  “I thought you were adventurous,” I teased. “Didn’t take you for a quitter.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me as if in challenge. I nodded toward her plate. “Go on, try just one.”

  “I feel like I’m being punked. Cameras are going to come out at any minute and prove to me this was all a big joke. A stunt.”

  “I promise you it’s not.”

  She swallowed visibly and managed to clamp a shell in the special, small metal prongs. With her other hand, she grabbed the tiny fork and moved it towards the entrance of the shell. Just as she was about to stab the flesh of the escargot with her fork, she shuddered. Her whole body shook with an involuntary wave. She dropped the fork and the shell.

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t.” She shook her head as if to reinforce the sentiment.

  I frowned, poising my fork over my plate. She wasn’t going to eat them? Everyone who came to this restaurant knew that the snails were a delicacy, not to mention an expensive delicacy. But the look on her face told me that no amount of cash or bribery or cajoling was going to make her take one bite.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I thought you might like them. We’ll strike snails off the list. How about caviar?”

  She scrunched up her perfect nose.

  Well this date was going great. First the outfit issues, then the restaurant and food. I wanted to impress her, but all I was doing was making her uncomfortable.

  A cell phone rang from somewhere on Ginny’s side of the table and she fumbled with her purse, pulling her phone out and frowning as she looked at the caller ID. The whole restaurant seemed to turn to look at us.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at me as she pushed away from the table. “I have to take this.”

  I watched as she walked away, speaking urgently into the phone. I wondered if it was the same person who had pissed her off earlier while she’d been kidnapping/saving me. Was it her boyfriend? Probably. Either way, whoever it was, she was clearly upset with them. It was a first for me, though, a woman leaving me at a table alone. Normally they wouldn’t want me out of their sights. I should’ve been pissed off that she chose to take the call on our date, but I was more intrigued with what was so important… more important than dining with a famous tennis star?

  She was unlike any woman I’d ever met. Who was she, really? She definitely seemed to have more than one side to her. The woman tonight paled in comparison to the woman I’d met on the side of the road. And yet she still held my attention. She was obviously nervous, and I wasn’t going to hold
it against her. But I wondered where the strong, confident woman from earlier had gone. The one who had kidnapped me and forced coffee down my throat, totally ignoring the fact that I was who I was. Then it dawned on me…

  From what I knew, she wasn’t a high-maintenance type of woman, and suddenly I wanted to get out of there, to make her comfortable in her own skin again. More importantly, I wanted her back in those jeans, making my cock rise and my blood boil.

  “Damon Holden, I’ll be damned.”

  I turned to see a tall, slim blonde encased in a dress that left very little to the imagination, her lips pressed in a tight line.

  “Marissa,” I groaned.

  Marissa Cunningham was a socialite, the daughter of a wealthy businessman, a billionaire really, whom I’d met on tour in London. We’d hit it off as much as the next pair of horny idiots could’ve, but that was as far as it went. Sex and nothing more. While she was beautiful, Marissa was a jealous woman who craved and demanded more than I wanted to give her. I had fought with her more times than we’d actually been together. She’d drained the fun out of the sex, and in the end it turned out badly. It had been a few months since I had seen her last.

  Her red-tipped fingers trailed along my shoulder, a slight smile now on her lips. “You’re looking good, Damon. I caught your match today. You haven’t lost your stamina.”

  I chuckled, knowing full well she wasn’t talking about my on-court performance. “What do you want, Marissa?”

  She frowned. “Why do you think I want something?”

  “I haven’t seen or heard from you in months,” I reminded her.

  Marissa pouted. “Maybe I want you back.”

  “You never had me in the first place,” I replied.

  “I’m so sorry. I had to take that call.”

  I turned my attention to Ginny as she approached the table and saw the surprise flare in her eyes as she took in Marissa. Marissa’s expression turned curious, cat-like, ready to play with an unsuspecting mouse. “Why, Damon,” she murmured, “who is this?”