"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"This isn't going to burn or anything, is it?"
"Chicken?" ' 'When it comes to my hide, you bet your ass."
"Do you think I'd smear it on my own hands if it burned?" she asked crossly.
"I don't know. You might. I've written some rotten things about you. This might be your way of getting revenge."
"Which you sorely deserve."
The conversation had given her time to bolster her courage. She laid her hands on his naked shoulders and began massaging in the healing lotion.
"Hmm," he moaned pleasurably after several moments. "Not bad, Stevie."
"Thanks. I've had lots of practice."
"On whom?"
"Other players on the tour."
"Men?"
"Sometimes."
"Oh, yeah? Is there material for a column here? 'Locker Room Lechery'?"
"That sounds like you. Low, mean, base."
" Tennis Court Courtship'?"
"Ghastly headline."
"'Racquets and Romance'? 'Over hands, Or Head Over Heels?'?"
The freckles that dotted the ridge of his shoulders were adorable. They begged to have kisses pecked on them. The skin beneath Stevie's slippery fingers was taut, the muscles supple.
She wanted to slide her hands down his sides and over the corrugated rib cage. The fuzziness in his armpits intrigued her. With her eyes, she followed his spine into the waistband of his shorts. Touching him hadn't satisfied a building curiosity. It had only heightened it.
"Well, how 'bout it?" His mouth was pressed against his hands so the words came out mumbled.
Her massage was lulling him. His eyes were closed. For such a tough guy, his eyelashes were ridiculously thick.
"How about what?"
"Romance. Ever had to use your racquet to beat off the circuit Romeos?"
"Never."
"Not your style, huh?"
"What is my style?" she asked.
"To give an unwanted suitor one of those cool, condescending stares of yours. That would chill most men to the bone."
"So far it hasn't worked on you, Mackie."
"As you said, I'm incorrigible. If I'd taken every woman's first no as final, I'd still be a virgin."
He sighed. "Keep this up, Stevie, and you can have your way with me."
"Don't play so hard to get."
Even though he didn't open his eyes, they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His eyebrows were as dense as his lashes. They were the eyebrows of a man with integrity, although integrity was a term she would never have applied to Judd Mackie. Not until yesterday, when, out of respect for her dilemma, he had let another sportswriter scoop him on a big story.
That unselfish decision had gotten him fired from the Tribune. Didn't that indicate that under that tough, bad-boy veneer, there was a man of honor?
"Do my arms, too."
"My fingers are getting tired," she complained.
"This massage business is hard work."
"Just do it."
Her complaint had been a token one. She was deriving as much pleasure from the massage as he. His biceps were as firm as green apples and as finely shaped. She squeezed them hard, watching the deep impressions her fingers made in his flesh. When she let go, white stripes were left on the tanned skin. He grunted with animal pleasure.
"You accused me of missing my calling," he said. "I think I just figured out what you should have been."
Stevie realized then that Judd wasn't the only one being stimulated by the massage. She had moved closer to him, until her middle was lightly grinding against his back with each motion of her hands.
Realizing that, she suddenly withdrew them.
"That's all I can do," she said, silently adding,
"Without making a fool of myself."
Reluctantly he raised his head and pivoted his bottom until he was sitting correctly in the chair.
He spread his knees wide, placed his hands around her waist and drew her between his legs.
"Mackie?" she said breathlessly.
"Hmm?"
"What are we doing?"
"Doing? Nothing."
He laid his hand on her abdomen again, with his fingers pointed up toward her breasts. "Any more pain?" He applied pressure to her lower body with the heel of his hand.
Unable to speak, she shook her head no.
"Positive?" His fingers curled into the softness of her belly, then relaxed again.
"Positive."
"Good." He'd been watching the movement of his own hand. Now his eyes scaled up her body until they connected with hers. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you?"
The demand was disguised in the form of a polite question. "Yes. I'd tell you."
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he slid his hand up the center of her body until it covered her heart, which was beating heavily.
"You smell good." He leaned forward and nuzzled her breasts, bumping them with his nose.
"Where'd you find the perfume?"
"I brought my own." Stevie was barely able to form the words while his head was moving from one side of her body to the other and his hand was catching each of her drumming heartbeats.
"I like it."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She whimpered when his lips touched the bare skin of her chest just above the slipping neckline of the peasant blouse. Briefly his lips brushed across her cleavage. Gradually, slowly, he kissed his way up her chest and throat as he came out of the chair.
When he was standing, feet still widespread, he encircled her waist with one arm and pulled her against him. His lips covered hers as his hand curved around her breast.
"Mackie…?"
"Judd."
"Judd…?"
"Go with it, Stevie."
His lips parted, so did hers. When they met again, their tongues touched and each released a low, satisfied, and conversely hungry sound. His mouth was as warmly possessive as his hand upon her breast, which he reshaped with his gently flexing fingers. Her nipple became hard and flushed beneath the idle sweeping motions of his thumb.
He dipped his head and kissed her through the blouse, leaving a damp, sheer spot on the soft cloth. Noticing that as he raised his head, he molded the wet fabric around her nipple until it clung, delineated, made visible.
His nostrils flared slightly and he muttered irreverently and arousingly. When his lips returned to hers, he kissed her with more depth and urgency and wildness.
"Stevie, don't worry, baby," he rasped against her lips, "you're more than enough woman for any man."
When the words registered, a wildfire of a different sort rampaged through Stevie's already burning body. She tore her mouth from beneath his and sent him sprawling across the hardwood floor when she pushed him away.
"So that's it!" She was seething, angrier than she'd ever been in her life, angrier than she'd ever been over a rotten line call or a lousy draw.
"That's why you're being so nice to me. That's what all the sexual innuendos and pawing are about. You feel sorry for me.'
'Huh?" Judd blinked his eyes back into focus.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Your kindness and concern, your unselfish invitation to share this rural refuge with you, your flattery and sly come-ons." Clenching her teeth, she slapped her hands against the sides of her thighs. "Lord, I can't believe I was stupid enough to fall for it."
"Does this tirade have a point?"
He was looking up at her darkly, obviously none too pleased that she'd cut their party short.
But his anger didn't come close to the level of hers.
"I don't need your pity, Mr. Mackie," she said heatedly.
"Pity? Pity didn't put this here," he said, briefly touching his fly.
"Then if your motivation isn't pity, that makes you even more despicable. You're manipulative.