Opposites Attract by Nora Roberts Page A

artistry for cunning. It was working.
    Power for power, they were in a dead heat, so Ty chose to outmaneuver the Australian. He worked him over the court, pacing him, some might say stalking him. The game went to deuce three times while the crowd grew frantic. An ace gave him advantage—a screeching bullet that brought Ty the final impetus he needed. Then Ty played him hotbloodedly. The men drove from side to side, their faces masks of effort and fury. The shot came that he’d been waiting for. Michael’s awesome backhand drove crosscourt to his southpaw forehand. The ball came to Ty at waist level. Michael didn’t even have to see the return to know it was over.
    Game, set and match.
    The heat hit him then, and the fatigue. It took an effort not to stagger. Simply to have fallen to his knees would have been a relief. He walked to the net.
    Michael took his hand, then draped his free arm around Ty’s shoulder. “Damn you, Starbuck,” he managed breathlessly. “You nearly killed me.”
    Ty laughed, using his opponent for balance a moment. “You too.”
    â€œI need a bloody drink.” Michael straightened, giving Ty a glazed grin. “Let’s go get drunk.”
    â€œYou’re on.”
    Turning, they separated, victor and vanquished, to face the press, the showers and the massage tables. Ty grabbed the towel someone handed him, nodding at the questions and congratulations being hurled at him. Behind the cloth he could hear the click and whir of cameras. He was too weary to curse them. Someone was gathering his rackets. He could hear the clatter of wood on wood. The strength that had flowed freely through him only moments before drained. Exhausted, he let the drenched towel fall. His eyes met Asher’s.
    So blue, he thought. Her eyes are so blue. And cool, and deep. He could drown in them blissfully. The unbearable heat vanished, as though someone had opened a window to a fresh spring breeze.
    â€œCongratulations.” When she smiled, his fatigue slid away. Strangely it wasn’t desire that replaced it, but comfort, sweet simple comfort.
    â€œThanks.” He took the racket bag she’d been holding from her. Their hands barely brushed.
    â€œI suppose the press is waiting for you inside.”
    The short retort Ty made was both agreement and opinion. On a low laugh she stepped closer.
    â€œCan I buy you dinner?”
    The quirk of his brow was the only indication of surprise. “Sure.”
    â€œI’ll meet you at seven in the lobby of the hotel.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œStarbuck, what do you feel was the turning point of the match?”
    â€œWhat strategy will you use playing Prince in the finals?”
    Ty didn’t answer the reporters, didn’t even hear them as he watched Asher weave her way through the crowd. From overhead Jess watched with a small, fluttering sensation of déjà vu.
    Ty got under the stream of the shower fully dressed. He let the cool water sluice over him while he stripped. A reporter from
World of Sports
leaned against a tiled wall, scribbling notes and tossing questions. Naked, with his clothes in a soggy heap at his feet, Ty answered. Always, he handled the press naturally because he didn’t give a damn what they printed. He knew his mother kept a scrapbook, but he never read the articles or interviews. Lathering the soap over his face with both hands, he washed the sticky sweat away. Someone passed him a plastic jug of fruit juice. With the water streaming over him, he guzzled it down, replacing lost fluid. The weakness was seeping back, and with it the pain. He made his way to the massage table by instinct, then collapsed onto it.
    Strong fingers began to work on him. Questions still hammered in his ear, but now he ignored them. Ty simply closed his eyes and shut them out. A line of pain ran up his calf as the muscles were kneaded. He winced and held on, knowing relief would follow. For ten