“I’m going to Fraser Island for a few days,” Gabriela said. “I’m going to walk on the beach, maybe do some surf fishing. Swim in the clear freshwater lake I have heard about.”
“We holidayed there as kids most years. We camped on the beach. Once, Jack left the lid off the tucker box, and the dingoes stole all our food.” She looked across at Gabriela. “Where did you holiday when you were young?”
Gabriela’s gaze followed a ferry out on the river. “We seldom went anywhere. There was never much money. But once we went to Portugal and once to Barcelona. It seemed such a huge city to us country kids.”
“Where are your family now?”
“I’m the youngest of three—the afterthought by nine years. My parents are both dead. My brother lives in Madrid with his third wife. My sister lives in Sweden. We’re in contact on and off. You are lucky to be close to your family.”
“I am. Although there’s times I’d like to give Jack a swift kick in the knackers. He can be very irritating. When I was a kid, he pushed me in the creek more times than I can remember. Once, he stole my diary and gave theatrical readings from it to his friends. I hated him when we were younger. I got him back once with a trip-wire where I knew he’d catch it on his motorbike in the paddock. He came flying off and broke his arm. I got into such trouble for that from Mum, but all Dad said was lucky it wasn’t his neck. Jack and I get on fine now, though.”
“I never had that sort of relationship with my brother. Hugo was the studious sort. He still is—he’s a civil engineer and builds bridges.”
He didn’t seem to build many bridges with his sister. Gabriela’s words were offhand. How would it feel to be so devoid of connections? Viva pondered. Sure, she travelled the world often alone, but her family were there for her, if she needed them. Silent, loving support.
“Are they there for you if you need them?”
Gabriela’s white teeth flashed briefly. “In a way. Hugo wired me some money and bought me an air ticket to Spain once, when my credit cards were stolen. Carla, my sister, is there if I really need to talk, but I seldom do. I have friends on tour. And I’m self-sufficient, most of the time anyway.”
Viva shortened her stride to match Gabriela’s. Self-sufficient described Gabriela very well. But everybody needed somebody at some time or another. Maybe, they could be there for each other occasionally. Maybe.
Gabriela looked at her watch. “Do you want to turn back? You may not be hungry, but I am.”
“Sure.”
They turned around and retraced their steps. The day was cooling into evening, and the temperature was pleasant. They walked closer, hands brushing every so often. The third time it happened, Viva caught Gabriela’s fingers with her own and secured them in a clasp. Hand in hand, they strolled back to South Bank.
Chapter 11
The tapas bar was only half full. Viva led the way to a table near the back. “It’s not like a real Spanish tapas place, but it’s good all the same.”
Gabriela picked up the menu. “Are you hungry now?”
“A little.” Viva rested her chin on her hand and studied her companion. “You order what you want, and I’ll eat a few mouthfuls. I’ll eat anything except octopus. The suckers make me squirm.”
Gabriela seemed to be ordering for a long time, finishing with a request for a dry rosé wine. “Sure you only want water?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The waiter brought out the tiny plates a couple at a time, with enough break between servings that they weren’t rushed. Each plate held two morsels. Viva found she ate more than she expected as the conversation flowed.
Then there was only a small, solitary plate between them. Viva reached with a fork to spear the titbit and raised it to her lips. “I didn’t think I was hungry. This was delicious.” She glanced up.
Gabriela’s gaze was fixed on her lips, on the forkful of food still hovering ready to be tasted.
A frisson of desire spiralled into Viva’s belly. There was heat and yearning in Gabriela’s eyes and memories of the previous night in her quirky smile.
Last night. Viva’s breath hitched, and she put her fork down. Gabriela’s hands on Viva’s body. Her mouth, her lips. Oh God, her lips. She leant forward, caught in the intensity of Gabriela’s gaze.
“You are remembering it too.” Gabriela’s voice was low, husky. “Last night.”
Her throat closed, and she could only nod.
“I remember the taste of your lips.” Gabriela’s glance flicked to the remaining tapa, untouched on the plate between them. “I remember how you sounded when you came.” She touched Viva’s hand. “What do you want?”
Viva could barely force the words past the lump in her throat. “I want you.”
“How do you want me?”
“Spread wide on my bed so that I can taste you. Your hands in my hair.”
“Music between us.”
“Come home with me?”
Gabriela nodded. She picked up Viva’s water glass and took a long draught. Then she held out her hand. “Shall we?”
It took only a couple of minutes to sort out the bill, but the wait seemed interminable. Despite the early hour, South Bank was busy as they wove their way through the parklands to Viva’s apartment.
Once inside, Viva turned to her, excitement and desire coursing in twin channels through her blood. She kissed Gabriela, a long, slow kiss, languid and sensual rather than heated and urgent. Her blood pulsed with a drumbeat of desire, and her thoughts were full of the woman in front of her. The kiss bound them together, as if they were tangled in fine skeins, Viva’s hands on Gabriela’s shoulders, Gabriela’s palms smoothing the skin under Viva’s loose top.
They eased apart, and a slow smile passed between them before Viva once again drew her close to continue the connection.
They moved to the bedroom, and Viva watched as Gabriela shed her clothes with economical movements. When she was naked, she moved to Viva, and her fingers brushed Viva’s skin as she helped her undress, caressing each exposed piece of skin with her fingertips.
Finally, Viva slid between Gabriela’s parted thighs, and her tongue touched the magic and mystery there. Gabriela’s sharp indrawn breath was her reward.
Gabriela woke first, not in a sleepy, slow surfacing but in the instant jolt of wakefulness. Daylight filtered in. Careful not to disturb Viva, she left the bed and went for a pee. Her legs twitched restlessly. A run. That was what she wanted. It was the perfect morning for a run along the river. She found her phone and looked at the time. It was just after five. If she left now, she could go to her own apartment, find her running gear, and still have an hour’s exercise before the day grew uncomfortably hot.
Viva rolled onto her back, her mass of hair in a snarl on the pillow, her hand palm up, fingers loosely curled. She hadn’t woken.
Gabriela couldn’t just leave.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Viva’s hair from her face. She bent and placed a kiss on her forehead.
Viva’s eyes flew open. Instantly, she was alert. “Hey.” She sat up and took in Gabriela’s place on the edge of the bed. “Are you sneaking away?”
“Stark naked?” She kissed Viva’s lips. “I was thinking of going for a run. Want to come? I’ll need to go home for my clothes, though.”
“That sounds great.” Viva bounded out of bed, a whirlwind of movement, as she grabbed clothes and shoes and shovelled her hair into a messy ponytail. “Give me two minutes.” She disappeared into the bathroom.
It was only a few minutes’ walk to Gabriela’s apartment. She led the way into the living area, conscious that Viva was looking around at the bland decor and practical furniture. It was a small space, barely more than a studio.
“It reminds me of being on the tour.” Viva went over to the kitchen. “Short-term rentals. But apartments like this were always so
much nicer than a hotel room.” She opened a cupboard, found a glass, and filled it with water. “It means you can cook. Or someone can cook for you.”
“You only made toast the other day,” Gabriela teased. “So do not pretend you cook.”
“I don’t much. But I can.”
Gabriela shed her clothes and rummaged in the drawer for running gear. Even from behind, she sensed Viva staring at her naked back. She turned, and Viva’s gaze snapped to her bare breasts.
Viva smiled sheepishly. “Caught in the act. If you really want to go for a run rather than seeing how your bed compares to mine, you better get dressed.”
Warmth pulsed through Gabriela’s body, and her nipples tingled in anticipation. Did she really want to run? When the alternative was so very tempting? But a morning run could always be followed by equally sweaty, more carnal pleasures. “A run first. Then maybe…”
Viva crossed the room and pressed her hot palms against Gabriela’s upper arms. She bent to kiss Gabriela’s neck. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“I will look forward to it.” Gabriela turned away from the desire in Viva’s eyes before she changed her mind about the run. She pulled a sports bra over her head and found shorts and a singlet. “Ready.”
They set off along the river path at an easy warm-up pace. Gabriela’s breath came in steady pants, her even footfalls already finding the rhythm of the run. By her side, Viva looked very comfortable, running lightly and easily. Gabriela increased her pace, her arms swinging in time with her stride, her mouth stretching into a grin with the joy of movement. They parted around a man with a dog, and the labrador seemed to answer her grin.
It was good to run with someone who could match her pace so easily. Who didn’t try to talk, who seemed to enjoy the fluidity of movement as much as she. Viva’s stride was longer, but they were able to stay side by side, without the effort it often took when she ran with someone new. Running, it seemed, was another area where they were compatible.
“How far do you want to go?” Viva asked, after they had been running for thirty minutes.
“Had enough already?”
“Hardly. But I’m thinking of coffee and eggs Benedict. There’s a café on top of the cliffs overlooking the city that’s calling my name.”
Gabriela eased her pace. “That is the second-best reason I can think of to turn around.”
“And the best?”
“My bed versus yours. The official comparison.” She slowed to a halt.
Viva stopped too, reached out, and squeezed Gabriela’s fingers. “Do you know how utterly tempting you are?”
The touch—hot and damp with sweat—still sent a pulse of desire into Gabriela’s belly. Maybe they could skip breakfast. But then her stomach growled. There was always later for lovemaking.
They circled around and started back at an easier pace.
The cliff-top café was busy, but there was a vacant table with a view of the city. Viva had finished her first coffee before Gabriela had had so much as a sip of hers.
“Good thing caffeine isn’t a banned substance,” she teased, as Viva ordered a second one.
“I only have a single one when…” Viva stopped. “I used to only have one when I was training. Now, I can caffeinate myself into orbit if I want.”
When the food was eaten, Viva pushed away her plate with a sigh. “I’m going to settle into an easier life no bother.” She stirred a third coffee. “I’m not looking forward to telling my agent I’m retiring, though. I have to do that today.”
“I thought you’d already done that.” Gabriela’s voice sharpened, and she struggled to keep the edge out of it. Worry pricked at her that Viva hadn’t made the call.
“No. I talked to Deepak and my fitness trainer. Not my agent. Nor my parents, not officially, although I hinted to Mum. I’ll go home to Waggs Pocket on the weekend and tell them then. They’ll be fine. Delighted probably as they’ll see more of me. But Shirley, my agent, will be put out. I make her a lot of money. I won’t be making nearly as much once I’m retired.”
Gabriela glanced around the café, half-expecting a journalist to pop up from the next table with a camera. “You didn’t tell me you hadn’t done it.”
“It doesn’t make that much difference.” Viva touched the back of Gabriela’s hand as it lay on the table. “No tennis happens now. I’ll be retired before the season starts in January.” Her mouth twisted. “Although I’m making the assumption you want to continue seeing me.”
Gabriela closed her eyes. To Viva it must be simple; she was retiring, so there was no problem. But a niggle of worry still churned in Gabriela’s stomach. The code of conduct for officials was rigid. She pushed down the unease. “I do want to keep seeing you,” she said. “Very much.”
“I’ll talk to Shirley today. I promise. She’ll arrange a press conference.”
She nodded. It would be okay. Once Viva was no longer an active player, it would be fine. They would be free to be whatever they wanted to be. It was too early to think past a few dates, but what they had already done together was enough to compromise her standing with the International Tennis Federation if anyone were to find out. She looked around the café again, suddenly as jumpy as a rookie official umpiring her first match.
The open-air space was packed with couples intent on each other, office workers reading the paper over a coffee, and a table of rowdy young tourists who looked as if they had yet to make it back to their hostel after a night out. No one was paying Gabriela and Viva any attention.
With an effort, she focussed back on Viva, on the damp tendrils of hair that had escaped from her ponytail, the curve of her arm, the way her top teeth bit her lower lip when she concentrated. The desire, tamped down from the morning, surged again.
It would be all right.
Chapter 12
“Shirley, it’s Viva Jones.”
“Viva, darling. I’ve been expecting your call.”
Viva put her phone on speaker, went over to the fridge, and pulled out the makings of a sandwich. “It hasn’t been that long since I called you. A couple of weeks maybe.”
“An eternity. But I spoke to Deepak yesterday, and he mentioned in passing that you were retiring. Don’t blame him—the poor man thought you had already told me.”
So Deepak had talked with Shirley. The noose of retirement pulled tighter. Her pang of hunger faded, and she left the sandwich ingredients on the counter and went to sit on the couch overlooking the wide window. Yes, she was retiring. But, hell and damnation, it would be good to feel as if the choice was hers and not made for her by well-meaning others.
“I was going to call you, Shirley. I’ve been busy.”
“He said it’s your wrist. How bad is it?”
Viva sighed. “Bad enough. I could play another few months, no more than that.” She studied her wrist. So deceptively small, so amazingly strong—when it was healthy. Now, though…
“Deepak said you’re pulling the pin now. You’re not going to play the Australian season. Is that right?”
“Yeah. I’d only be torturing myself. Why put myself through it?”
“Is that the only reason?” Shirley’s voice sharpened.
“Yes.” Gabriela’s finely chiselled face floated behind her eyelids, and she pushed the thought aside. This was not about Gabriela. This was about her health.
“And what are your future plans?”
“I’ll remain connected to the game, of course. I plan on taking up the tennis channel’s offer to commentate for the Australian tennis season. Brisbane, Sydney, and then the Australian Open. If that works well, we’ll continue the relationship. I’m hoping too you’ll still be able to find me some sponsors. I could advertise frozen food with the best of them.” The words felt hollow. Posing in front of a camera with a cardboard dinner in her hand had no appeal. Not compared to the adrenaline of match pl
ay, the thrill of victory.
“You could. You can. But I have a better offer for you. Although you’ll have to change your plans temporarily.”
Viva frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I approached Tennis Australia after speaking to Deepak. Don’t be mad at me, Viva darling, but we have a proposition for you. Aussie grand slam winners are few and far between. Tennis Australia want to give you a send-off.”
“You make me sound like the space shuttle.” She rested the phone on her knee. Tennis players generally didn’t get send-offs. They faded away slowly in a mishmash of injuries and first-round losses. Interest piqued, she leant forward, staring at the phone, as if she could drag Shirley’s words out faster.
“Like the space shuttle, we have to make sure you come safely back to earth, but with a nice landing pad of cold, hard cash for you. Right now, you’re marketable, Viva. Next year, you’ll be just another commentator in a polo shirt.”
“There’s something in this for you too, no doubt.”
“Of course. That’s why I’m in the business.”
“So what are you talking about? A round of press conferences, maybe a couple of charity dinners? A final exhibition match? Then I disappear into the sunset and go and pour beer in my parents’ pub?” That would be a decent send-off. A recognition of her career and achievements. Something to look back on in the years to come when she had faded from the public eye. Her interest bubbled up. She picked up the phone from her knee, stood, and paced over to the window.
“A little bit more than that. As I said, right now you’re hot news. Or you could be. It’s a shame you disappeared from the tour these last few months—”
“I didn’t disappear. I was injured.” Shirley knew that; her blasé approach twisted a knife in Viva’s guts. Shirley made it sound as if she’d been partying in the Mediterranean.
Code of Conduct Page 11
