Maybe it had been the way that he looked in his own white shorts and T-shirt that had thrown her; she had taken one look at him as he stood on the doorstep, his legs tanned and muscled, his arms and torso rippling with power, and she hadn’t been able to say no to joining him for a game of tennis. What could possibly be wrong with a harmless game of tennis? she had told herself as she changed. Looking at him now she knew exactly what was wrong with it; she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything but the complete masculinity of this man. She had a handicap before they even started the match, and there was no such thing as a handicap in tennis!
‘You could always have asked Moira to pass on a message,’ James said softly at her silence.
Aura looked at him, and then quickly looked away again. She could have asked his secretary to give him a message. Why hadn’t she? She couldn’t actually have wanted to spend the afternoon with him; it would be pure madness to allow herself to be attracted to him. She was already attracted to him; the madness would be to do anything about it!
‘I didn’t think of it,’ she told him abruptly.
He looked disappointed that she wasn’t about to give him the same honesty he had promised her. ‘Did you know that when you lie the freckles stand out on your nose?’ he confided softly.
Her hand automatically moved up to cover her nose and those tell-tale freckles. ‘James——’
‘I wish your mother had agreed to come with us,’ he remarked thoughtfully, cutting off her protest. ‘She’s very pale, I think the fresh air might have done her some good.’
Aura turned away, her hand dropping back to her thigh. ‘She doesn’t go out much.’
‘What happened?’ he frowned.
‘Trauma,’ she supplied abruptly. ‘My father’s death,’ she added at his expectant silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told her gently. ‘It must have been awful for both of you.’
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged abruptly. ‘She likes you,’ she heard herself add, and then wondered why she had done it; the last thing this man needed was another dose of self-confidence, he was already arrogant enough for two men, had completely taken her over since they had first met. She had gone to the offices of Ballantine and Mayhew to do battle, and instead ended up with this forceful man in her life. ‘I’m not altogether sure she’s a good judge of character,’ she told him caustically.
He smiled. ‘Of course she is.’ He sobered. ‘Can anything be done to help her?’
‘Not unless you can bring my father back.’ She couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. ‘Unless you can do that I don’t think she wants to be helped.’ She turned her attention to their surroundings as she sensed his sharp gaze on her. ‘Are we almost there?’
‘Almost,’ he confirmed distractedly. ‘Aura——’
‘Do you really know John McEnroe?’ she asked sceptically.
He looked as if her disbelief had deeply offended him. ‘Of course I know him.’
Five minutes into their game of tennis Aura knew that whatever his coach had tried to teach James about the game, very little of it had actually been absorbed or utilised.
She eyed him mockingly after winning the first set six love. ‘OK,’ she sighed. ‘So who was he?’
‘Who was who?’ James was busy wiping the perspiration from his brow, having been running all over the court chasing the ball.
Aura felt a little sticky, but she hadn’t even worked up a sweat, sitting beside him on the wooden seat at the side of the court. ‘The John McEnroe you know,’ she said drily, sure it hadn’t been the John McEnroe.
‘He was my sportsmaster at school,’ James revealed unabashedly, his hair damp across his forehead. ‘I believe his opinion of my game was that I “showed absolutely no aptitude” for it.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘I can believe that. I’ve never won a set from anyone before, let alone whitewashed them!’
His eyes were warm as he gazed up at her, his arms resting along the length of his thighs as he sat forward. ‘My talents obviously lie in other directions,’ he told her softly.
Aura readjusted the colourful band about her forehead. ‘How did you and your partner ever go into business together when you seem to have so little in common?’ She deliberately opted for an innocent channel for his ‘talents’ to be directed in.
He shrugged broad shoulders, the T-shirt clinging damply to his back. ‘His father was initially my partner, and when he died I inherited Adrian,’ he added drily. ‘It has, to say the least, been a rocky partnership.’
She wished now that she hadn’t introduced the subject of Adrian into the conversation; just talking about him made her remember what a fool she had been about him. ‘Do you want to play another set or would you like to go and get an ice-cream? My treat,’ she offered.
‘The ice-cream can wait.’ He stood up fluidly. ‘I have to try and leave this game with a little of my dignity left intact.’
He was definitely an athletic man, obviously kept himself fit, and yet when it came to tennis he just didn’t have the co-ordination. It was nice to know there was something he didn’t do well!
She took pity on him in the second set and let him win one game, although she still won the match six-love, six-one.
‘I think I’ve suffered enough humiliation for one day,’ he said with a grimace, putting away their rackets. ‘A work-out in the gym and jogging are my usual forms of exercise.’
She had guessed he hadn’t attained that physique just sitting behind a desk all day, had found it hard not to let her attention sway to the masculine power of his body as he moved around the court rather than concentrating on the game. And she had no intention of falling a victim to that power again.
‘Come on,’ she teased. ‘I know a place where they serve ice-cream that’s home-made and hasn’t been crammed with a load of additives.’
The shop was run by a friend of hers, and the two of them strolled into the park opposite as they ate them.
‘You’re really into healthy food yourself, aren’t you,’ James remarked admiringly.
She nodded. ‘I have a friend who has a little boy who becomes a monster when he eats any food that contains the additives E100 to E300. When he was younger she fed him on all the things it’s easy for little children to eat, hamburgers, sausages, white bread, cakes, crisps—interspersed with the goodness of vegetables and fresh fruit—and he was like something demented most of the time. Helen, his mother, nearly had a nervous breakdown because he was so bad. He was aggressive, violent, didn’t sleep at night—and so neither did she. It became so bad that Helen finally insisted their doctor refer him to a psychiatrist.’
‘And?’
‘And apart from the fact that he was hyperactive they said there was nothing wrong with him,’ Aura drawled. ‘And so it went on, with Helen becoming more and more run down, and Jonathan being a little
