An impersonal distance between them wasn’t what he wanted, but neither was her discomfort.
“You mean you’d stop flirting?” She blinked up at him, hazel eyes doubtful. “Won’t that cause you severe bodily injury? Possibly death?”
He considered the matter. “Maybe. But I’m willing to risk it for your sake.”
“Well…” After hesitating a long moment, she waved a dismissive hand. “Nah. I’d hate for the resort to lose its star tennis dude because he experienced some sort of catastrophic flirtation backup. I can handle it.”
Did she actually enjoy his flirting? Or was she merely being polite?
Either way, she deserved to know how many times she’d be weathering his charm offensive in the future. “Then we’re agreed. But before we begin our appointment, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes, and her dark lashes rested on her cheeks like lace. “What now?”
“Your friend didn’t just buy you one tennis lesson with me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut more tightly and groaned. “Don’t tell me.”
With her face scrunched up like that, her hair in those pigtails, she looked like a kid. He stood there and let himself enjoy the view, content to get his pathetic kicks where he could.
After he’d remained silent a few moments, she peeked through one eyelid. “What’s the matter? Is it too horrifying for words?”
“You said not to tell you.” He grinned at her. “I’m just following orders.”
“Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Karlsson.” She propped both fists on her hips. “What did Belle do?”
“From what I saw of my upcoming schedule, she bought you several more lessons. Very expensive, private, nighttime lessons. The only ones still available for the next two weeks, probably because they are so expensive.” Another groan was Tess’s only response. “Unfortunately, I have to inform you that the money for those lessons is nonrefundable, due to company policy. Which the concierge would have explained to her before she booked the appointments.”
This groan was more like a wail.
There was nothing he could do about it, unfortunately. Because he was a draw for the resort, the company didn’t look kindly upon cancellations made less than a week in advance, whether or not they could easily fill the vacated slots in his schedule. They felt the availability of too many last-minute appointments would devalue his perceived worth.
Maybe they were right, maybe they weren’t.
Either way, poor Tess had a simple choice before her: She could waste a shitload of her friend’s money, find someone else to take the lessons…or suffer through several nights of his company.
They both knew how this was going to play out, at least for tonight. He just wondered how long it would take her to accept the inevitable.
To her credit, not long. Within moments, her eyes opened, her shoulders straightened, and she gave a firm little nod. “Okay, then. Multiple tennis lessons it is.”
He should resist. But he wouldn’t. “With me. One-on-one. At night.”
“Yeah, smartass. I got that part.” She gestured to the court. “How does all this usually work? I didn’t pack a racket or any sort of tennis supplies.”
“You can borrow what you need from the clubhouse. Part of what you pay for with those nightly resort fees.” He waved her toward the building. “After you.”
Clubhouse was an overly generous term for the space, which housed tennis equipment and clothing for guests to borrow and buy. Even considering the modest one-bedroom apartment—reserved for the island’s famous tennis instructor—on the second floor, it resembled a small cottage more than anything else. But the resort liked its euphemistic names for amenities, and Lucas went along with it.
He went along with pretty much everything these days.
No stress. No mess. No fuss.
Opening the door for her, he held it until she walked through and then followed behind her. “What sort of tennis experience do you have?”
At this time of night, guests drifted away from the courts and toward bars, restaurants, torch-lit beaches, and bedrooms. While he and Tess had been talking, the last few clubhouse visitors had made their purchases and left. The closed sign had been placed on the inside of the door.
The two of them were alone.
Well, almost. Pat, the woman who staffed the register, was counting her money, putting the correct amount back in the register drawer, and placing the rest in a bank deposit pouch. Soon, though, she too would leave, locking the door behind her and dropping the key off at the security hut.
Then he’d be the only person with access to both the clubhouse and his apartment, apart from security. It was as much privacy as the resort could offer. Which he knew, since he’d demanded it before taking the job.
Too bad Tess didn’t want him as a lover. They’d have had all the time in the world tonight.
“I played a bit as a kid. Nothing official. Just a few lessons and hitting the ball back and forth with friends.” Baby-fine strands of her dark hair fluttered around her face in the breeze of the overhead fan. “How do you choose the right racket for someone like me?”
He could have given her the answer in his sleep. “We’ll pick something on the lighter end. Even though heavy rackets help with power, they can give you tennis elbow and are more difficult to maneuver.”
He steered her toward the borrowed equipment wall and let her consider her options.
Her teeth sank into her plush lower lip, and her finger stroked slowly down the side of a graphite frame. At the inadvertent taunt, heat bloomed in his belly, swift and unwelcome.
“Some of the rackets are different sizes,” she said.
He swallowed hard. Regained control of himself. “How much do you care about improving your technique?”
“Not at all.” She laughed and turned to him. “Is that terrible of me to say?”
“Everyone has different goals.” More standard instructor language. “None of them are more right or wrong than others. In your case, I’d choose a big racket head, since it will provide you with a larger sweet spot. Smaller heads are better for working on technique.” He winked at her. “Although I wouldn’t know that from personal experience.”
“Oh, you have a big head, all right. The one above your neck.” Despite her deadpan stare, her lips were twitching. “I’ll never know about the other.”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall and grinned at her. “Rest assured, that one is equally impressive.”
While they’d been evaluating rackets, the cashier had finished her work, gathered her purse from the staff room—more like staff closet—and signed out. Now she headed for the door, shaking her head. “I’m locking up, Lucas. Behave yourself. Or at least try.”
Poor Pat. She’d expected him to be classier, given his professional pedigree. “What fun would that be?”
When she shook her head again, her helmet of curls didn’t move. “And fill out your paperwork when you’re done. I don’t want you to get in trouble a second time this week.”
“Thanks, Pat.” He swept her into a hug, which she returned. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”