Free Opposites Attract by Nora Roberts Page A

to prove his point by giving her a replay of Ty’s qualifying match. A breeze stirred, sending blossoms drifting to the court at her feet. It was early morning, and the Stade Roland Garros was still drowsily charming and quiet. The thump of balls was hardly noticeable. In a few hours the fourteen thousand seats around the single center court would be jammed with enthusiasts. The noise would be human and emotional, accented by the sounds of traffic and squealing brakes on the highway that separated the stadium from the Bois de Boulogne.
    Asher watched the breeze tickle a weeping willow as Chuck continued his rundown. In this first week of the games, tennis would be played for perhaps eleven hours a day so that even the first-round losers used the courts enough to make the trip worthwhile. It was considered by most pros the toughest championship to win. Like Ty, Asher was after her second victory.
    Paris. Ty. Was there nowhere she could go that wasn’t so firmly tied in with memories of him? In Paris they’d sat in the back of a darkened theater, necking like teenagers while an Ingmar Bergman film had flickered on the screen unnoticed.
    In Paris he had doctored a strained muscle in her calf, pampering and bullying so that she had won despite the pain. In Paris they had made love, and made love, and made love until they were both weak and exhausted. In Paris Asher had still believed in happy endings.
    Fighting off memories, Asher glanced around the stadium. Her eyes locked with Jess’s. Separated by a hundred yards, both women endured a jolt of shock and distress. They stared, unable to communicate, unable to look away.
    “Hey, it’s Jess!” Chuck interrupted himself to make the announcement. He waved, then grabbed Asher’s hand to drag her with him. “Let’s go say hi.”
    Panicked, Asher dug in her heels. “No, I—I have to meet . . .” Her mind was devoid of excuses, but she snatched her hand from Chuck’s. “You go ahead, I’ll see you later.” Over Chuck’s protest, she dashed in the opposite direction.
    Breathless, Asher found herself in the Jardin des Plantes with its sweet, mingling scents, little plaques and poetry. It seemed an odd setting for jangled nerves. Making an effort to calm herself, she slowed her pace.
    Silly to run, she told herself. No, she corrected herself, stupid. But she hadn’t been prepared to see Ty’s sister, the one person who knew all the reasons. To have confronted Jess then, when her mind was already so crowded with Ty, would have been disastrous. Steadying, Asher told herself she just needed a little time to prepare. And it had been obvious Jess had been just as stunned as she. At the moment, Asher was too busy calming herself to wonder why.
    She wouldn’t, couldn’t, think about the last time she’d seen Jessica Starbuck—that hot, close Indian summer afternoon. It would be too easy to remember each word spoken in the careless disorder of the hotel room Asher had shared with Ty. She would remember the hurt, the frantic packing, then her irrevocable decision to go to Eric.
    Oh, Ty had been right, she had run away—but she hadn’t escaped. So little had changed in three years, and so much. Her heart had remained constant. With a sigh Asher admitted it had been foolish to believe she could take back what she had given so long ago. Ty Starbuck was her first lover, and the only man she had ever loved.
    A child had been conceived, then lost before it could be born. She’d never forgiven herself for the accident that had taken that precious, fragile life from her. Perhaps more than a lack of love and understanding, it had been the loss of Ty’s child that had destroyed any hope for her marriage.
    And if the child had lived? she asked herself wearily. What then? Could she have kept it from him? Could she have remained the wife of one man while bearing the child of another? Asher shook her head. No, she would no longer dwell on possibilities. She’d lost Ty, his child,