‘Get you, expressing an actual emotion about something other than tennis,’ I said.
‘Well, that would very much be down to you, Ava,’ he said. ‘You seem to have brought out a whole new side to me. And now it seems I can’t stop thinking about you, which is strange because usually I’m very good at compartmentalising, and of course everything takes a back seat to the tennis. And yet, when it comes to you, I find myself giving you – us – an equal importance in my mind.’
Was I hearing this correctly? He’d been thinking about me? As much as he did about tennis? In pre-Wimbledon week?
‘It’s because we’ve spent so much time together,’ I reasoned. ‘It feels more intense than it might do otherwise. We’ve got carried away, that’s all.’
The words felt empty as I said them, but I was no longer talking from my heart, I was trying to protect it. Maybe Mum had been right, because how could it ever work when he travelled so much and lived this glamorous lifestyle that was so different to mine? I’d be perennially anxious and full of self-doubt about whether or not I was enough forhim and whether he’d still want me when he got back from whichever far-flung tournament he was competing in. And it wouldn’t be fair of me to expect more from him than he could give, not with a career as pressured as his.
‘I think we should see each other properly,’ he said. ‘After Wimbledon. Once our arrangement is done. Because whatever this is – and I really don’t know, either, before you ask – it feels like something worth ... exploring?’
My stomach flipped. If I said no, would I be missing out on something special because I was worried that one day it might go wrong? Wasn’t that life for you, a sort of trial and error where some things worked out and others didn’t, and this could be either one of those, so shouldn’t I put myself out there and try?
‘Do you think we should just be friends?’ I suggested.
I’d have to stop feeling like I turned to hot liquid on the spot every time I set eyes on him, but it was better than nothing. At least I could still have him in my life in some capacity. It would be safer. Less margin for error. I could watch him play now and again. Perhaps the odd coffee if he was in London. I couldn’t imagine going for dinner with him without doing the hot liquid thing, but perhaps it would be possible in time.
‘The problem is, Ava, I don’t want to be just friends with you,’ he said, kissing me tentatively at first, as though he wanted to be one hundred per cent sure that this was what I wanted, and then more urgently, our hands tangled in each other’s hair, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts of pleasure.
It had taken minutes for Marcus to say a few goodbyes, particularly to his team who he hugged tightly, the genuine love between them all shining through. Then he ordered us a car on the way down inthe lift and we waited outside in the dark. It was raining a little, and perhaps because of that Marcus pulled me to one side, pressing me up against a brick wall. I could feel its dampness seeping through my dress and I didn’t care – all I cared about was being here with him, and the promise of what was to come once we were finally alone together again.
‘It was very distracting having you in my players’ box today,’ he said, putting his mouth on mine before I could answer.
This time, there were no thoughts of cameras, or if I should or shouldn’t. I just opened myself up to him, to the sensations coursing through my body, to his hot breath on my neck, the absolute deliciousness of sliding my hands under his shirt, gasping as I ran my hands over his taut body and the muscles I’d spent weeks pretending not to notice.
When the taxi dropped us off at mine, he closed the door of my flat behind him and before I could even slip off my shoes he was kissing me, his hands underneath the hem of my dress.
‘We’re finally doing this, then,’ he said, his voice filling the narrow space.
My mind flashed back to a few months before, when I’d first heard him speak on TV. How had we gone from that to this?
I ran my hands through his hair because I’d always wanted to, and he seemed to like it because I felt him smile as he slipped his warm tongue inside my mouth. I tried to ignore the voice in my head, which had irritatingly appeared at the worst possible time. Would he find my naked body attractive? I wasn’t like the women he usually dated, I wasn’t taut and muscular, or skinny and flat-chested. Would he be disappointed?
‘Do you have a bedroom?’ he asked.
‘I tend to prefer the sofa, but come,’ I teased, taking his hand, leading him into the room with the bed I’d only ever slept on with Charlie.
I lay down, letting myself relax, watching as he slipped off his trousers.
‘I really think you should take off that dress. You wouldn’t want to get it creased,’ he said.
I reached for the buttons that ran down the front of it – whenever I wore it, it crossed my mind that they might pop open at an inopportune moment, exposing me to everyone on the Tube, or whatever. Except that right at this second Iwantedthem to burst open. Every single one of them. I began fumbling with the buttons so that eventually Marcus had to help, impatiently popping them open from the bottom up. I slipped it off my shoulders. And then he crawled slowly on top of me, taking most of his body weight on his arms, his lips hovering tantalisingly over mine.
‘I’ve wanted you since you sat next to me on the plane with that photo of me on your laptop screen,’ he said, slowly unclipping my bra with one hand.
‘And I’ve wanted you since I saw you smashing racquets onDeuce,’ I replied.
‘Have you, now?’ he said, kissing my neck.
I half laughed, half gasped, letting the delicious sensations run over me as his tongue ran across my skin, feeling him dip lower and lower and ... oh, God, lower.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The morning after had been as wonderful as the night before. Let’s just say wemorethan made up for the missed opportunity at Claridge’s and I desperately did not want him to leave my bed, even though Patrick was expecting him for training and I had Julie’s wedding to get to.
‘What’s the plan for today, by the way?’ he asked, flinging the sheets off him and heading for the shower. ‘You need to give me the address for the reception.’
‘You’re not still planning to come to my cousin’s wedding? Not now.’
