Page 37 of Full Throttle

“Selective hearing,” Dominic said gravely, “is a great talent of mine.” He dropped another ball. “We were civil once. We can do it again.”

Juliette actually laughed. “Civil? Is that what you’d call it?”

“What would you call it?”

Dominic dropped both balls. She caught them. Depends, Juliette thought. What do you call it when you ruin someone’s life?

“A mistake. That’s what I’d call it.”

Dominic’s eyes darkened. For an insane moment, she thought he might do something wild, like protest, or lob the tennis ball at the wall, but his voice was even. “Warm-up is done. Let’s get into it.”

The ball came down with force. She bit back a curse, scrambling to catch it. Dominic’s hands moved at mind-boggling pace. How the hell was he doing that? She forced her muscles to respond faster, to train harder. Sweat dripped down her spine. She’d rather die than lose. This was war.

It took a great deal of effort to sound unbothered. “You never did tell me why you came to the academy.”

“What?”

“The teaching role.” He wanted to make this a real competition? Fine. She wasn’t above distraction. “Why did you accept it?”

Dominic shrugged. “Maybe I was bored.”

“Unlikely.”

“Fine.” The balls moved faster. “I was scouting the competition.”

Possible. But…“Try again.”

“Maybe,” Dominic said, “I wanted to steal the bedsheets. There’s something about Egyptian cotton that I find irresistible.”

Juliette leaped for a ball. “You never sleep under the bedsheets. You get too hot.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “I didn’t realize you paid so much attention to my nocturnal activities, Marchmont.”

Irritation prickled. “I don’t.”

“Consider me flattered,” Dominic said.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. Loads of women enjoy picturing me naked.”

Her head snapped up. “For god’s sake, I don’t—”

She missed the ball; it ricocheted across the gym, smashing into the water cooler. Paper cups toppled to the floor. Her harsh breathing filled the space, accompanied by a sick, creeping dread. He’d played her at her own game. She’d been distracted.

She recalled running after Ranya at Silverstone as a child, tugging on her sleeve. I want to be a driver too, miss. Do you have any advice?

Ranya had leaned on her cane, her dark eyes stern. And what had she said?

Defeat the man, not the car.

Juliette met his gaze.

“Again.”

Dominic shook his head. “We’re done for the day.”

He retrieved the paper cups, stacking them neatly by the water cooler. A trembling rage filled her. “I want to go again.”