Page 19 of Enemies Under One Roof

‘Game, set, match. Well done.’ He clapped and, although exhausted, there was a spring to his step as he made for the net to shake her hand, because during their match she’d given everything, and so had he. It hadn’t prevented any discussions about what was in and what wasn’t being lighthearted and easily resolved.

He realised how much he missed playing, and it had been far too long between his teenage games with Cam and Luc, although they’d mostly been based on power hits, horsing around and lots of ribbing.

She hesitated, then walked towards him.

‘You don’t want to jump over the net as the victor, like we’d do back in the day?’ he teased.

Ivy’s easy laugh washed over him. ‘I’ll pass. I don’t think I have the energy.’ She didn’t look worn-out, she looked invigorated, and the sheen of perspiration only added to her appeal.

‘I think that’s my line. You wiped the floor with me,’ he intoned good-naturedly.

‘You haven’t played in years, and it’s my favourite form of exercise,’ she confessed.

‘You won fair and square, Ivy,’ he said, desperately trying to delete the images that sprung to mind of what his favourite form of exercise with her could be.

Her lips inched upwards. ‘Thank you.’

Reaching the net, he extended his hand. She wrapped hers around it and, like a fire had been ignited by her touch, it scorched through him.

Hands locked, he took in her heaving chest, dewy skin.

Clawing, aching need drew him closer.

He itched to haul her into his embrace, plunder her mouth and strip them both bare until they were hot, sweaty and breathing roughly for another reason.

She inched forward and Ethan swore his breath stopped as he stood as still as the Virtues, although he felt a million miles from virtuous.

She gnawed her lip. A growl escaped from his.

Time stopped, heavy and full of anticipation, until suddenly she jolted backwards and broke free.

Ethan fisted his hands to stop himself reaching for her as blood roared in his ears.

How could he let Ivy play him? Again!

Where the hell had his head been, while his body took charge?

Sickened, confused, still he didn’t move, because as much as he wanted to flee from what had just happened, almost happened, he was standing his ground. She was not going to play him again, get the upper hand or ever see how much that almost kiss, and her withdrawal, had undone him so completely.

* * *

Mortified, Ivy had to stop herself turning and running for her life to hide from the self-disgust and temptation that threatened to swallow her in equal measure.

Because as soon as they’d touched, she’d been transported into a fantasy world, where there’d been no guilt, no pact, no past between them, only a shimmering connection that flowed through her like a molten heaven. His low growl had only intensified the dream. She’d been so close to launching herself at him, until the real world had trickled, then flooded in, making it impossible to ignore as much as she longed to. Now she was torn between being grateful that sanity had prevailed and wishing it hadn’t.

But she wouldn’t share anything with Ethan, who stood with his arms folded, legs apart. Instead, she called on every acting skill in her arsenal and held his hooded gaze.

The pulsating attraction she could have sworn she’d seen reflected in Ethan, which had drawn her forward, was now completely obliterated, forcing her to face reality. Just because they’d spent two hours on the court, nothing had changed. Except she’d forever have a visual of Ethan, his total concentration on her.

No, not her. The game.

His piercing ice-blue stare had hitched her heart and made her yearn for things that would never be. Could never be, even as she’d admired muscles that flexed and bunched as he’d returned shots with a power and skill that belied the fact he hadn’t played in years.

She’d yearned to scrape her fingers over his darkened jaw. Press herself against the hard body that felt as though it had been embedded into her DNA. The feeling of rightness she’d craved. She’d filmed scenes with some of the best-looking men on the planet, yet none of them made her feel the same way Ethan had. An intoxicating combination of safety and delicious danger, strength and bone-melting dizziness.

She was surprised she’d got anything over the net, never mind won. Still, she’d respected that he’d given his all, no pandering, just a healthy competition, which hadn’t changed once she’d won.

Suddenly her adrenaline plummeted as the significance of the first game she’d played in over a decade hit, and she pressed a hand against her throat.