Opposites Attract by Nora Roberts Page B

agonizing minutes he lay still while his body was rubbed and pounded. He began to drift. Like a mother’s memory of the pain of childbirth, his memory of the pain began to dim. He could remember winning. And he could remember dark blue eyes. With those two visions tangling in his mind, he slept.
    ***
    The floor of the lobby was marble. White marble veined with pink. Madge had commented that it would be the devil to keep clean. Her husband had dryly commented that she wouldn’t know one end of the mop from the other. Asher sat, listening to their comfortable banter while she told herself she wasn’t nervous. It was six fifty.
    She’d dressed carefully, choosing a simple crêpe de Chine as pale as the inside of a peach. Her hair fluffed back from her face, exposing the tiny pearl and coral drops at her ears. Her ringless fingers were interlaced.
    â€œWhere are you eating?”
    Asher brought her attention back to Madge. “A little place on the Left Bank.” There was an enthusiastic violinist, she remembered. Ty had once passed him twenty American dollars and cheerfully told him to get lost.
    At the bellow of thunder Madge glanced toward the lobby doors. “You’re going to play hell getting a cab tonight.” She leaned back. “Have you seen Ty since the match?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œChuck said both he and Michael were sleeping on the tables like babies.” A chuckle escaped as she crossed strong, short legs. “Some industrious stringer for a French paper got a couple of classic shots.”
    â€œAthletes in repose,” her husband mused.
    â€œIt kind of blows the tough-guy image.”
    Asher smiled, thinking how young and vulnerable Ty looked in his sleep. When the lids closed over those dramatic eyes, he reminded her of an exhausted little boy. It was the only time the frenetic energy stilled. Something stirred in her. If the child had lived . . . Hurriedly she censored the thought.
    â€œHey, isn’t that Ty’s sister?”
    Asher turned her head to see Jess and Mac crossing the lobby. “Yes.” Their eyes met, leaving no choice. Gripping her husband’s hand, Jess walked across the white marble.
    â€œHello, Asher.”
    â€œJess.”
    A quick moistening of lips betrayed nerves. “I don’t think you know my husband. Mackenzie Derick, Lady Wickerton.”
    â€œAsher Wolfe,” she replied smoothly, taking Mac’s hand. “Are you related to Martin?”
    â€œMy uncle,” Mac informed her. “Do you know him?”
    The smile brought warmth to her eyes. “Very well.” She made the rest of the introductions with a natural poise Mac approved of. Cool, yes, he mused, remembering his wife’s description. But with an underlying vibrancy perhaps a man would discern more quickly than another woman. He began to wonder if Jess’s opinion of Ty’s feelings was accurate.
    â€œAre you a tennis fan, Mr. Derick?” Asher asked him.
    â€œMac,” he supplied. “Only by marriage. And no, I don’t play, much to Uncle Martin’s disgust.”
    Asher laughed, appreciating the humor in his eyes. A strong man, she thought instantly. His own man. He wouldn’t take second place to Ty in his wife’s life. “Martin should be satisfied having cultivated one champion.” Her eyes drifted to Jess, who was sitting straight and tense beside Madge. “Is your mother well?”
    â€œYes, yes, Mom’s fine.” Though she met the cool, clear gaze, her fingers began to pleat the material of her skirt. “She’s at home with Pete.”
    â€œPete?”
    â€œOur son.”
    Asher’s throat constricted. Mac noticed with some surprise that her knuckles whitened briefly on the arm of her chair. “I didn’t know you’d had a baby. Ada must be thrilled to have a grandchild.” The pressure on her heart was unbearable. Her smile was casual.