Chapter One

Paying little attention to where she was headed, Mercedes McFadden dug deep into her tote bag and wondered why, whenever she felt rushed, whatever she needed mysteriously disappeared into the abyss.

“Finally,” she muttered, grasping her sunglasses. She hurried up the steps only to come to an abrupt halt by a tasseled loafer attached to the long leg of a man casually bobbing his foot up-and-down in the narrow aisle. She raised her head and tossed her hair back to obtain a full view of the stranger’s body.

Held captive in that single moment, she stared into a pair of famous violet blue eyes. The same eyes that stared at her from tabloids and sports magazines alike, although even the glossiest covers didn’t do him justice. Sexy eyes. Knowing eyes.

Dante Edwards!

She recognized him immediately. The American-born, European-raised sensational tennis player now ranked number two in the world. What was this hunk, voted Sexiest Man of the Year, doing in the middle of the desert watching a junior girls’ tennis match? Sitting alone, no less, in the VIP box.

He appeared casual and self-assured leaning on the arm of his seat, looking cool and comfortable in the Arizona sun, dressed in spotless white linen—a sharp contrast to his dark wavy hair. The shirt was opened loosely at the neck, and the sleeves were neatly folded up to his elbows. A high-priced gold watch, from a sponsor no doubt, along with a gold signet ring accented his olive skin and manicured nails.

She couldn’t decide whether he reminded her of an ad for an expensive men’s cologne, or for a Mediterranean aperitif.

His crossed legs exposed part of his bare muscular appendage below the hem of his slacks. His bold gaze, arrogant and, God help her, inviting, traveled up and down the length of her body while he made no effort to remove his bronze limb that still swung in slow motion.

She felt heat penetrate and flush her cheeks, spurring her forward before she melted on the spot. With a half-nod and a slight upturn of her lips, she slipped on her sunglasses in an effort to compose herself. Gracefully, she stepped around the barricade and hurried on her way.

Mercedes not only couldn’t believe the effect this man had on her, she couldn’t believe she had acquired all those details about him in such a short time. It concerned her more that she’d even bothered.

As a sportswriter, she covered the very public and transient lives of national and international athletes and knew many of them were in-and-out of relationships as casually as they changed sweatpants. While she certainly wasn’t interested in becoming a notch on anyone’s jockstrap, she was definitely interested in landing an interview with Dante Edwards.

A quick glance up the stadium steps to make certain she was headed in the right direction and the path was obstacle-free, she spied her brother waving with enthusiasm.

She waved back and wondered if Max had seen Dante seated in the VIP box. She turned around to take a quick glance at the handsome, dark-haired man who had made her blush, only to find him staring back. An appreciative half-smile played about his lips as he took another slow, more deliberate look, something she hadn’t expected and which, had once again suffused her cheeks.

Even through her dark lenses, his eyes seemed to capture hers, interrupting her flight, causing an adrenaline rush that made her feel uncharacteristically lightheaded. With a brisk shake of her head to clear her mind, she entered the box and joined her brother.

Max said a quick goodbye to the man he had been speaking with and turned to give her a big hug. “Thanks for coming, Sis. Did you have a good trip?”

“As good as anyone could have flying these days. Thanks for the driver and limo. I enjoy getting off a plane to find someone standing there holding a placard with my name printed in bold letters. Good thing the driver was familiar with Surprise and didn’t think this town was an illusion in my mind like a mirage, because this place is a long ride from Sky Harbor International Airport. Explains how the city got its name, though. Someone probably couldn’t believe they had managed to cross this far into the Sonoran Desert and still be alive!”

Max chuckled. “Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, and thanks also for the first class ticket. I completed my latest assignment during the flight. You’re lucky I’m freelancing now and am my own boss, more or less.”

“That’s why I imposed on your generosity. Come and sit. Do you need anything?”

“An iced tea would be great, but I’ll have to wait ’til after the match. The desert makes me thirsty,” she added, not at all sure the desert had anything to do with her parched throat.

Mercedes got settled and dumped her copper-colored woven leather tote bag on the chair next to her, reached inside for her tablet and a pen, and sat back to people watch as the spectators filled the seats for the opening ceremony.

This particular stadium appeared small but not too intimate. With the crowd seated close to the players, the court look undersized, but she knew the dimensions had to be regulation.

Doing her best to act nonchalant, she stole a glance at the godlike creature a few boxes below her brother’s. He turned his face to the side, providing her with a glimpse of his magnificent Roman profile.

She appreciated the fact that her brother’s box was located above his, because the thought of Dante Edwards possibly seated behind her, staring, unnerved her. Although, she couldn’t say exactly why that would cause her to react in such a way.

She couldn’t imagine why he focused on her earlier either, unless maybe she reminded him of someone he knew; she got that a lot. Being a part of his world on any level, much less a romantic one was unthinkable to her. His father, retired now from the diplomatic corps, afforded him a lifestyle that pasted his picture at polo games seated with princes and princesses and at film festivals surrounded by beautiful women, mostly young models, entertainers, and starlets. Seeing him in person helped her understand why even older women, not as insecure as she, found him irresistible, à la Mrs. Robinson.

“Will you be traveling on assignment any time soon,” Max asked, jolting her out of her reverie, “or will you be planted in New York?”

“I hope to remain in New York for a while and spend the time getting my new home decorated and put that chore behind me. I need the freedom to be able to come and go without a huge project clogging up my already crowded mind,” she answered, nervously tapping her pencil for no particular reason.

“Makes sense,” Max agreed. “I can’t blame you for wanting to finish. You took on a huge project. I wish you’d find some time to come home to visit soon.”

“Soon. I promise. Tell me, how long do you plan to be in Arizona?”

“Until Sunday, same as you. The tournament will be over Saturday for Lynda, then I’ll head back to Florida.”

“Great, I wouldn’t want to spend the better part of a week here if you weren’t going to be with me the entire time. I didn’t want to fly all this way to Scottsdale and only stay a day or two. Now, what can you tell me about this girl whose talent you brought me all the way out here to evaluate?”

“I’ll get to that in a second. First, I want to let you know someone might join us later, possibly for dinner.”

“That’s fine. Tell me about your new interest before the match begins.”

“Her name is Lynda Smith, I’m sure you’ve heard of her. Besides being adorable, which plays to the press, she has all the attributes to survive in the tennis world, along with the talent. She’s friendly, kind…”

“But?” Mercedes asked, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head while she waited for an explanation.

“I simply need a second opinion, maybe because of her age—she recently turned fifteen. Since you were once a junior champion, I thought you’d be able to give me an honest appraisal and wouldn’t try to persuade me to take her on as a client unless you believe she’s that gifted. I have quite a full stable of talented sports figures and can’t afford to take on someone I’m not sure will be up to the challenge. I have neither the patience nor the time.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to study any of the films you sent before I came, although I have seen her play on TV. While you’ve been running the tennis circuit, I’ve been deluged conducting interviews and writing articles for the networks and magazines for the next Winter Olympics. This is a pleasant shift from thinking about bobsledding, ice-skating, and downhill slalom. What we need to focus on is her mental and physical stability and stamina, because she has already proven to be talented. We’ll see if she’s got enough strong points to handle defeat and come back the following week for more.”

“See, I knew you’d zero in on these factors and give me the benefit of your trained perspective,” Max said, patting her on the arm.

“The younger players with a lot of promise come out of boot camp so to speak, get an opportunity to play in a major tournament, are surrounded by cameras, realize they are on national TV and lose six-nothing, maybe six-two,” she added, shrugging her shoulder, “if they’re lucky, and the dejection becomes horrific for them. Does Lynda plan on going pro soon?”

“Her coach thinks she’s ready. She did well in the juniors at Wimbledon last year and if she can improve her standing this year and take the U.S. Open junior title, which is her goal, not to mention the junior championships right here in her hometown in the fall, she wants to move up and get some experience playing a top seed or two.”

“Sounds good. In order to be awarded points a player has to reach a round where the points are available. To be listed in the Junior World Ranking shows she has enough points to be in the main draw, and that’s something you can’t overlook.”

“That’s part of what interests me about her. She’s well aware of what she needs to accomplish.”

“I think Maria Sharapova was only seventeen when she won Wimbledon. The good thing about being fifteen is that she can still compete in the juniors and compete against the pros at the same time.”

“I’m not too keen about that rule. I believe the athlete should do one or the other, not both. This is one of those controversial subject matters, especially amongst the pros.”

“I agree. You’ll have to factor that into your decision. However, if you decide she should wait a few more years, her parents may choose to go elsewhere for an agent.”

“I’ve thought about that, and that’s why your opinion is important. You have to convince me she’s talented enough before I commit. On the other hand, I can’t afford to miss a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“The warm up’s almost over—let’s see what she has to offer.”

Max pointed below. “I noticed you nearly ran into Dante Edwards on your way up here.”

“Tripped over him, you mean?” she answered in a droll tone.

“What do you think?”

Mercedes frowned. “I’m confused. About what?”

He nodded toward Dante.

“Too handsome for his own good. What a shame those violet eyes, black hair, and good looks are wasted on a man. I think,” she continued, “I surprised him when I sidestepped past him; I doubt he’s used to that happening often. He has recently been featured on the covers of all the major publications in his quest to rank number one in the world. What’s left after someone becomes number one?” She asked, frowning.

“Staying number one.”

“Funny! But, what do you care, anyway?” She nudged her brother’s arm with her elbow.

“’Cause, he’s the person I’m inviting to join us later.”

Her eyes widened and her brother hurried to explain, “I made arrangements to meet him before you committed to come. Get this. He’s looking for a new agent. He called me in Florida and wanted to set up a meeting when he got back home. I told him I was headed for Arizona. He said he was in Vegas shooting a magazine ad and video for a collector’s car auction and would be here in Scottsdale at the same time I was to shoot another video. Consequently, not only did we make plans to meet, but you’re going to get the chance to see him in more ads and videos.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, our negotiations over breakfast earlier were cut short because I had to meet with Lynda’s coach. I promised Dante we’d get together later.”

“The possibility of signing two new clients in one day is remarkable. How wonderful for you, Max. Your agency seems to be growing by leaps and bounds. Snagging Dante Edwards will be a great boom for your business.”

“And maybe yours. I’ll be able to hire another agent and more staff members. You could possibly get an exclusive interview.”

“You think?”

“I think the way his eyes followed your every move when you came up the steps, he’d be good for your career as well as your personal life.”

“Max!”

“Well, looks to me like that will require someone with championship determination like his to break down your wall of distrust. Lord knows, no one else has.”

“I thought I was here to evaluate Lynda’s prospects, not for you to assess mine,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re right. After this match, we’re going to have lunch with Lynda, her parents and coach.”

“That will help give me an idea of how dedicated they all are to this venture, because without their full cooperation you don’t have a chance, or worse, you don’t want to get involved if you’d end up having to deal with backstage parents.”

At that moment, the loud speaker came on signaling that the first match was about to begin. “If we reach an agreement and I become Lynda’s agent, I plan on coming back out later this year to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America Tennis Championship—I think McEnroe and Courier are playing, among others. The senior champions help raise a lot of money. Maybe you could join me.”

“Sounds like fun. Want to play mixed-doubles?”

“Maybe. Then I might be able to convince you to join my agency and move back to Florida, since I’d have to expand my staff. I’d even let you have Dante as your client, and I’ll take on Lynda.”

“Max! You sound like Mom and Dad, envisioning me with every single, famous, handsome, rich man on earth.”

“We’re looking out for your welfare.”

With her head down, ignoring her brother, Mercedes shook her head and busied herself reading Lynda’s bio, then glanced up after she had familiarized herself with what she needed. Discreetly peeking over the rim of her sunglasses, she saw Dante heading toward their box, taking the steps two at a time.

Mercedes’ heartbeat quickened, and she grabbed an elastic band out of a pocket inside her purse in a feigned attempt to appear as if she hadn’t seen him approaching and proceeded to fasten her hair off her neck to keep as cool as possible not only in the hot sun but under his heated gaze.

****

In his line of thinking, this was too convenient, Dante concluded, bent on meeting the tall redhead seated next to Max McFadden. He was pleased she had not entirely escaped him when she sat with the man he hoped would become his new agent. All he had to do was pretend he only dropped by their box to set up another business meeting to discuss making final plans with Max and signing a contract before he left town. Max would have to introduce the woman, then he’d know if she happened to be Max’s girlfriend or not. He fervently hoped not.

This woman had immediately caught his attention. A leg man himself, he thought her unbelievably surefooted as she paid more attention to the contents of her purse than the stadium steps she climbed in those sexy stiletto sandals that showed off her pretty feet and long, shapely, tan legs. He rued they weren’t exposed to full advantage in a pair of white shorts, but instead teased a man’s imagination as they swished the knee-length skirt of her ladylike safari dress with pockets in all the right places.

He was convinced fate had brought her to an abrupt halt in front of him. When she moved her head back, flipped her thick, auburn hair over her shoulder, and unveiled her face, he was more than hooked as her emerald eyes locked with his.

The fire in those gold-flecked eyes displayed her annoyance at being blocked and stared down. He was paralyzed. Instead of her oohing and aahing all over him like most women, married or otherwise, she eluded him and made a beeline for Max, who gave her a big hug, but curiously no kiss on her inviting lips.

Dante didn’t know what to make of their greeting. If she’d been in his arms, his enthusiastic greeting, unlike Max’s, would most certainly have included a kiss. And no brotherly-like peck on the cheek, either. Crowd or no crowd. The more he thought about their welcome, the more emboldened he became. But, of course, if Max introduced her as his date or girlfriend, he’d walk away. He’d be disappointed, but he wouldn’t pursue a relationship.

As soon as he reached their box, Max looked up and stood.

****

“Dante. I planned to come down to get you as soon as there was a break,” he whispered. “I wanted you to join us.”

Mercedes stood with an alacrity that caused her brother to do a double-take. “I’ll move over, and he can sit next to you.”

“Dante, I’d like you to meet my lovely globe-trotting sister, Mercedes, whom I wish would settle down, come to work for me, and move back to Florida.”

Those beautiful blue eyes already trained on her quickened with open interest. Mercedes managed a smile but she would have words with Max later for introducing her as though he hoped to arrange a marriage for his spinster sister.

“Mercedes, my pleasure. I thought you looked familiar when I saw you earlier, except Max doesn’t have auburn hair. But there is a definite resemblance.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dante.” If Mr. Suave thought he had her cornered again, he had another think coming. She picked up her purse and moved down the row in order for Dante to have the seat next to Max, and then she placed her tote bag on the chair between Dante and herself, ignoring Max’s observant glance that ping-ponged between them.

Getting settled, Max offered, “We’re fraternal twins.”

Before Dante sat, he lifted Mercedes’ hand to his lips and lightly bestowed a continental kiss, shuttering his eyes for a second.

She found the warm brush of his lips against her skin disconcerting, yet gallant in a lovely way. She extracted her hand because she didn’t quite know what to make of him. By the look on Dante’s face, she was pretty sure Max wasn’t the only one that could read her mind.

“She’s undeniably prettier,” he told Max.

“You don’t have to remind me,” her brother replied, smiling. “For most of my life all my male friends ever wanted was for me to fix them up with or introduce them to Mercedes. Sometimes I thought she was the only reason they befriended me. Now my clients not only want a date with her,” he continued, “but they want to meet her for the press coverage she might provide.”

Dante’s brow rose. “You’re M. McFadden, the sportswriter?”

“One and the same,” Max answered for her, his brotherly pride shining through like a neon sign.

“I didn’t give the journalist much thought, but like most people, found the articles interesting and entertaining, and simply assumed M. McFadden was a man.”

“The majority of readers do and that works out well for me, allowing me to keep my identity secret. Well, with the exception of some of Max’s friends.”

“Actually I even thought of asking you if you were related to M. McFadden, Max. Now I know.” He turned back to Mercedes.

Mercedes noted that he seemed to like that idea very much. Knowing that Dante had a home in Florida, she wondered how hard it would be to keep her distance, if Max took him on as a client. Max always included his clients in family holiday celebrations.

“Do you travel with your brother often?”

“No,” Max offered. “She’s here as my scout, evaluating Lynda Smith.”

“A-a-ah. I won’t disturb you then, until the match is completed.”

Little did he know, he already had. Then she wondered what he actually meant about disturbing her? She found his European flair, slight accent, and the deep, rich sound of his voice, made trying to ignore him difficult. And, she was taken aback that he seemed impressed she was a sportswriter. After all, she wasn’t a famous female sportscaster or television personality like Hanna Storm.

She turned her attention to the tennis court, but couldn’t help stealing glances behind her sunglasses at Dante from time to time.

They watched the rest of the match and Lynda won both sets, six-three and six-one, in one hour and ten minutes. They applauded, and the crowds stood and hurried out for refreshments before the next match arrived on court.

Max leaned over and asked, “Can you give me a quick evaluation, Mercedes, before I meet with the Smiths?”

“Yes. Her first serve return is about sixty-five percent, maybe more. She held her serve, and I only counted one double fault. She has something even many of the top-fifty women players haven’t mastered; she puts a great spin on the ball. For someone her age, she has a lot of confidence and plays an intelligent game, adjusting her play as needed. I’m impressed.”

“Dante?”

“I agree. I believe she has a lot of potential.”

Mercedes got to her feet first, tucking her notebook in her purse, as Dante and Max rose in unison. What she didn’t need was Max trying to fix her up with Dante and she planned to scoot to the ladies room before he could. But as it turned out, her brother was still quicker than she.

“I’m going to meet with Lynda and her parents in the players’ lounge and will come back before we leave for lunch, Mercedes.” Max turned his attention to Dante and asked, “Would you mind keeping Mercedes entertained until I return? I have some business to discuss with the Smiths, and want to make arrangements to meet for lunch, but I’d like you to join my sister and me for dinner this evening, if you’re available.”

“I’d be delighted to keep her company and also meet you for dinner.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Hyatt at Gainey Ranch.”

“Perfect. Why don’t we meet you in the lobby, say six-thirty, and we can either eat there or go to one of the restaurants nearby. I’ll do a little research and make reservations.”

“Wonderful, I look forward to getting together.”

Without another remark, Max left her alone with Mr. Suave.

Dante turned and she found herself facing him nearly eye-to-eye, after she stole a glance at his perfectly shaped mouth.

With a debonair tilt of his head, his dark-lashed gaze searched the lenses of her sunglasses as if he hoped he could see her eyes in order to read her better. “I’ll be happy to stay with you and fight off any of those unscrupulous suitors Max mentioned until he comes to reclaim you, if you’d like.”

Charming and dangerous about summed up his portfolio, in her opinion. But on the other hand, perhaps this would give her an opportunity to ask for an interview, on her terms. She smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Thank you, that’s very chivalrous.”

“Would you care to sit?” He gestured toward the row of chairs. “The next match is about to begin, as soon as the players warm up for a few minutes.”

“Actually, I’d prefer to walk a little. I flew out here this morning from the east coast and have been sitting most of the day.”

“Perhaps you’d rather go over to the private terrace for club members and guests?” His gaze swept over her features, and he added, “The chairs there are more comfortable, and the umbrella tables will offer a respite from the sun.”

He cocked a thick dark brow, letting his glance lazily trail the length of her, right down to her feet before he said, “Or maybe not in those shoes.”

Mercedes laughed. “Actually, I’m used to high heels. I go on a lot of interviews and meetings in executive offices, and usually dress for business. But, deep in my tote bag is a pair of flip-flops to replace these python sandals, in case of an emergency. And, yes,” she said, grabbing her things, “the terrace sounds perfect.”

Dante reached for her hand and held on firmly as if this was the most natural thing in the world for them to do and led her up the stairs, as though they were more than acquaintances. She suppressed a grin as the saying, familiarity breeds, entered her mind.

Mercedes found his attentive European ways rather bold and presumptive. She held back, a tad resistant; yet, she had to admit she liked having someone else take the lead for a change.

He was a man she found to be more than gallant, as his subtle masculine cologne wafted around her when he shouldered a path through the crowd. His warm and possessive touch, more than the climb, had her pulse inexplicably beating as though she’d finished a marathon.

Her sometimes-lonesome existence and now being with her brother, made her more vulnerable to Dante than she ordinarily would be. Living alone and far away from her family had started to get old. The companionless evenings often seemed interminable and even a publishing deadline didn’t prevent her from feeling isolated. But she had recently purchased her first home and hoped the decorating project would help give her a sense of becoming a permanent part of New York City.

Dante’s hand, warm and possessive, held on and engulfed a deep-seated yearning in her heart to belong. Both liking him and wanting to resist him at the same time didn’t make much sense, but then she’d learned the hard way that self-preservation was a complicated thing. And Dante Edwards confused her.

“I need to text Max and tell him where to meet me.” She removed her hand from his and dug into her bag again. She left Max a message and continued walking with Dante. As they wended their way through the crowd, she heard oohs, ahs, and whispers as the audience recognized him. Their progress slowed the moment they left the stadium, as people approached him to ask for autographs.

Most of the local members of the club were in awe once they realized he was there, even though they had no idea why he had come to Surprise. That didn’t seem to matter. Getting the chance to greet him and be fortunate enough to receive an autograph seemed to be more than sufficient.

While they waited for him to sign his name, if they could tear their gaze off him, they often stared at her, but she didn’t feel compelled to offer a clarification for her presence nor apparently did Dante.

Overwhelmed by the close scrutiny, she wondered if the girlfriends of famous athletes, who had more of a right to be at their side than she did Dante’s, ever felt like the hanger-on she did right now—a one-night-stand groupie. She was anything but, and closed her eyes as a light unpleasant shiver ran through her body.

After thanking everyone, he led her away with a hand at the small of her back, for protection or possession she didn’t care, until they finally reached the terrace. He held a chair for her, and she gratefully sat at the table. “This is much more comfortable.”

“A glass of wine?” he suggested.

“Too early,” she managed to answer with all the careless aplomb she could muster. “Iced tea with lemon, please, lots of ice,” she told him. She needed something cold to lower her temperature.

Mercedes watched as he walked up to the bar and within seconds young players dressed in tennis garb surrounded him again, seeking autographs. Word had spread throughout the club that he was on the campus. He completed the task all the while smiling and chatting with the kids, giving a young boy a pat on the head. She admired his ease. He caught her looking at him and gave her a sexy wink.

“Sorry for the short delay,” he said when he returned. Placing the drinks on the table, he leaned in toward her and for a moment she thought he was going to try and kiss her, right there in front of the crowd, but instead he whispered in her ear, “I only write Dante—one big D with a swirl on the end. Saves time.”

After he was seated, she took a long, cool drink; grateful things were back on a more even keel. “Very clever,” she whispered back conspiratorially. “Like a doctor’s signature that no one can read. And one name, like Sting or Santana.”

He flashed a wide grin showing perfect white teeth and those famous eyes twinkled again as they assessed her.

“I suppose you’re used to that kind of admiration everywhere you go.” She tipped her head toward the gaggle of young admirers.

“The admiration? Yes. The intrusion? No. I try to stay out of the limelight, except when I’m at a tournament; it’s expected then. The fans spend big money to attend, and their support helps pay our salaries.”

“And when you’re not at a tournament,” Mercedes inquired, “are those tabloid and magazine stories about you distorted?” Maybe getting an interview with him might be harder than she thought.

He tipped his head from side to side. “Mm-m-m, mostly. But enough about me. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you play tennis? I know your brother used to compete in college.”

“Yes, but I only play for fun or at charity tournaments. I was a junior champion at one time.”

“Honest? I apologize. Your name didn’t ring a bell.”

“No need to apologize. That occurred ten years ago.”

“What happened?”

Mercedes turned her right hand over and exposed her scar. “I fell forward, landing all my weight on my wrist with the racquet still in my hand, the joint snapped backward and…well”—she shrugged—“my life was turned topsy-turvy. I still play tennis for pure enjoyment, but I couldn’t bring myself to compete again after the accident. I had pins in my wrist and hand for nearly a year. After all the physical therapy, I no longer had the strength or the will to do what would have been required of me to make a comeback.”

She watched sincerity and concern deepen the blue of his eyes as he reassessed her. Only another athlete steeped in the discipline of his sport at tournament level could really understand all the hurt, disappointment, upheaval, and broken dreams that accident meant to her present and her future.

She paused, remembering, and then steeled herself from looking back—that wouldn’t change anything. She pressed her lips together, tossed back a wisp of hair the warm breeze had worked loose, and lifted her chin, determined to put her best face forward, as she smiled at him.

Dante ran his thumb gently over her scar, and then touched her wrist to his lips with a light kiss. “I’m very sorry.”

Stirred to her very soul, she lifted her eyes from her scar to his mouth before meeting his eyes. She hadn’t expected such an open and deep reaction from someone she recently met, someone who was more like a stranger than even an acquaintance.

“You smell good,” he whispered.

Not certain how to respond to that remark, she attempted to recover from her reaction to his sensual gesture and without thinking, said, “So do you.”

The moment those words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back, hide her embarrassment, and bury the awkward moment that hung in the air like a blank cartoon dialog balloon.

She had no idea what made her blurt out those words and quickly said, “Don’t be sorry. As you can see, I’ve survived to lead quite a full and interesting life beyond tennis. Things have worked out better than I ever imagined. Although, at the time I felt devastated, and being a teenager, thought my life was over and I had no future. But that only lasted a few years.” She laughed. “Once I began to channel all my energy and concentrated on my studies instead, I enjoyed my college years to the fullest.”

His regard to her response appeared thoughtful and steady. He released her wrist and frowned slightly, then took a sip of tea. “Chasing down stories of rich and famous sports figures has put you at the top of your game in many ways. And obtaining interviews should be a breeze. One look at you, Mercedes, and I’m positive you don’t have to ask anyone twice.”

A flush of embarrassment flowed through her at the compliment. “I rarely make the arrangements for the celebrities I interview. Now that I have the right connections, editors and agents offer me assignments. Sometimes I submit a proposal to an editor with a suggestion on whom I want to base my next article, and after we come to an agreement, they make the detailed preparations to coincide with schedules, usually with the agents who beg for feature articles and interviews to give their clients the publicity.”

“Did you realize freelancing would be this easy?”

She chuckled and shook her head. “No. I consider myself fortunate now, but for a long time I used to write proposals and submit them and received my share of rude rejections. Even if I received an offer, we’d agree on deadlines and a price, usually a flat rate anywhere from a quarter to two dollars a word. Now the offers are much more lucrative.”

“If you’ve been writing this long to have such a well-known name in the sports world, I find it unbelievable most people don’t know you’re a woman.”

Mercedes squeezed more lemon in her tea, misjudged her strength, and squirted Dante in the face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, placing a hand over her mouth.

He wiped the juice off his cheek and looked at her, suppressing a grin. “I doubt your sincerity.”

She removed her hand and released a giggle. “I didn’t mean to squirt lemon on your face. Honest.”

He nodded. “I accept your apology, although your honesty is still in question.”

“Let’s start over…”

“You were about to explain your ability to hide your gender,” he said in jest, “although I doubt that’s possible.”

She straightened her back to put a little distance between them and hoped her pink cheeks and the amused look on her face would disappear.

“When I first attempted to write a story, I didn’t want to face a lot of rejections, and I used a pen name. That worked out well because when I finally established myself with a big magazine and they offered me a column, I was then able to introduce M. McFadden. The name offered me some anonymity and a fresh start as someone who was a true professional. I learned a lot writing as Mercedes Lockhart, but charging a flat rate now is more reliable and practical.”

“I agree. Learning about what you do is interesting and informative. Are you working on a story now as well as evaluating Lynda Smith for Max?”

“Currently, I’m working on a series for VIEW Highlife Magazine on the upcoming Winter Olympics. Of course, there are interviews with local athletes in different countries in various sports magazines, but this series focuses on the lifestyle in each country—the nightlife, fashion, food and wine, etcetera. The editor lives here in Arizona. Maybe,” she ventured, overcoming her usual lack of confidence for fear she might lose the opportunity, “you’d consider allowing me to interview you, perhaps after the U.S. Open?”

“Max said you didn’t live in Florida. Where do you live? Maybe we can work out something?”

“In New York City.”

He exhibited a lopsided grin, showing one dimple. “Perfect. That’s why you suggested an interview at that time, assuming I’m competing in the Open.”

She raised her shoulder a bit. “Well, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I hope to, that’s the only major I haven’t won, yet,” he added. “If I win that title, I should be ranked number one in the world. Would you want exclusive rights to be the first to interview me after the tournament?”

“Absolutely, but if an earlier time would suit you, I can adjust my schedule to meet yours.”

“I get to New York fairly often, sometimes for a day or two if I’m flying between my parents’ home in Italy to my home in Florida. I’d like very much to have you interview me, and will promise you the first one after the Open or if I become number one, sooner, whatever comes first, on one condition…”

“Now,” she sighed, “why doesn’t that surprise me? Let me guess, you require a million dollars up front?”

“No, no.” He laughed. “The only stipulation is for you to promise to have dinner with me when I’m in New York.”

“On one condition…”

He tilted his head and gave her a suspicious look. “What’s that?”

“Make that while you’re in New York, not when. In other words, not every time you’re in town, and our business dinner will be at my place…”

“Wait!” He interrupted. “That’s two conditions.”

“Let me elaborate before you object. I don’t want to go to a restaurant and have your fans disrupt our meal, nor would I want to spend the evening dodging paparazzi, and at the same time attempt to conduct a Pulitzer Prize interview.”

He held up his hands. “All right, I surrender. That would be a relief for both of us, presuming you know how to cook.” His eyes flashed and he ducked his head in mock defense, “Kidding. I look forward to my next trip to New York. Oh, and one more condition.”

Mercedes shook her head. “You’re pushing your luck, Edwards. All right, let’s hear what else you demand.”

“A very simple request. A phone number, email address, anything in order for me to get in touch with you ahead of time to let you know when I’d be in New York.”

Embarrassed to the core, Mercedes reached in her purse, pulled out a business card and said, “We have a deal. There for a second, I thought you were going to request lasagna for dinner,” she added in an attempt to recover.

As Dante pocketed the card, his eyes twinkled with satisfaction, and she had the feeling she didn’t stand a chance of escaping his charms, nor was she certain that’s what she wanted.