Free Opposites Attract by Nora Roberts Page B

and the support of her own father. There could be no greater punishments to face. She would make her own future.
    The touch of a hand on her shoulder had her whirling around. Asher stared up at Ty, her mind a blank, her emotions in turmoil. A hush seemed to spread over the garden, so she could hear the whisper of air over leaves and blossoms. The scent that reached her was sweet and heady—like a first kiss. He said nothing, nor did she until his hand slid down her arm to link with hers.
    “Worried about the match?”
    Almost afraid he would sense them, Asher struggled to push all thoughts of the past aside. “Concerned,” she amended, nearly managing a smile. “Rayski’s top seed.”
    “You’ve beaten her before.”
    “And she’s beaten me.” It didn’t occur to her to remove her hand from his or to mask her doubts. Slowly the tension seeped out of her. Through the link of hands Ty felt it. They had stood here before, and the memory was sweet.
    “Play her like you played Conway,” he advised. “Their styles are basically the same.”
    With a laugh Asher ran her free hand through her hair. “That’s supposed to be a comfort?”
    “You’re better than she is,” he said simply, and earned an astonished stare. Smiling, he brushed his fingers carelessly over her cheek. “More consistent,” he explained. “She’s faster, but you’re stronger. That gives you an advantage on clay even though it isn’t your best surface.”
    At a loss, Asher managed a surprised, “Well.”
    “You’ve improved,” Ty stated as they began to walk. “Your backhand doesn’t have the power it should have, but—”
    “It worked pretty well on Conway,” Asher interrupted testily.
    “Could be better.”
    “It’s perfect,” she disagreed, rising to the bait before she caught his grin. Her lips curved before she could stop them. “You always knew how to get a rise out of me. You’re playing Kilroy,” she went on, “I’ve never heard of him.”
    “He’s been around only two years. Surprised everyone in Melbourne last season.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders in a gesture so familiar, neither of them noticed. “What’s that flower?”
    Asher glanced down. “Lady’s slipper.”
    “Silly name.”
    “Cynic.”
    He shrugged. “I like roses.”
    “That’s because it’s the only flower you can identify.” Without thinking, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I remember going in to take a bath one night and finding you’d filled the tub with roses. Dozens of them.”
    The scent of her hair reminded him of much more. “By the time we got around to clearing them out, it took over an hour.”
    Her sigh was wistful. “It was wonderful. You could always surprise me by doing something absurd.”
    “A tub of lady’s slippers is absurd,” he corrected. “A tub of roses is classy.”
    Her laughter was quick and appreciative. Her head still rested on his shoulders. “We filled everything in the room that could pass for a vase, including a bottle of ginger ale. Sometimes when I—” She cut herself off, abruptly realizing she would say too much.
    “When you what?” Ty demanded as he turned her to face him. When she only shook her head, he tightened his grip. “Would you remember sometimes, in the middle of the night? Would you wake up and hurt because you couldn’t forget?”
    Truth brought tension to the base of her neck. In defense, Asher pressed her palms against his chest. “Ty, please.”
    “I did.” He gave her a frustrated shake that knocked her head back. “Oh, God, I did. I’ve never stopped wanting you. Even hating you I wanted you. Do you know what it’s like to be awake at three o’clock in the morning and need someone, and know she’s in another man’s bed?”
    “No, no, don’t.” She was clinging to him, her cheek pressed against his, her eyes tightly shut. “Ty, don’t.”
    “Don’t what?” he demanded as he drew her head back. “Don’t hate you? Don’t want you?