came from behind her. “They’re betting on who’s going to come out ahead during our exhibition match.”
Her head whipped around to look at him. “Our exhibition? But that hasn’t even been announced yet.”
“Oh, it’s been announced, all right. And it looks like there’s no getting out of it at this point. I have a feeling Peter Lloyd isn’t taking any chances. If this is as big a draw as he claims it will be, it’ll be something for him to crow about.”
All Tessa heard was the part about there being “no getting out of it at this point.” Had Clay been trying to think of a way to not go through with the demonstration? She thought he’d resigned himself to it, just as she had. Evidently that wasn’t the case.
“He can’t do that. Besides, what’s the point?”
“It seems he can and he did. All the money is still going to charity. It’s just an internal bet with no actual payout. I’ve even heard talk of the hospital matching the donations of the winner’s jar, although that would have to be approved by the hospital trustees.”
How had he heard all of this when she had known nothing? “Maybe it was Marcos.”
“Possibly, but I would lay odds on Lloyd. And so far it looks like you’re ahead by a long shot. It seems you’ve engendered some loyalty, Dr. Camara.”
She had? That was news to her. She was normally so busy she barely had time to throw a hello here or there. Which explained why she’d missed noticing those jars this morning.
Her sadness over Mr. Phillips was still hovering in the background, but even she could see the humor in this situation. “Well, you know… I think I’ve won every match we’ve ever fought.”
“Because we weren’t actually supposed to be fighting.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
She smiled. “Because I’m not.” Gesturing at the jars, she shrugged. “If this earns more money toward a good cause, then we’ll just have to make sure we really do put on that good show we talked about.”
“Are you saying you’re going to take me down?”
Reaching into her side pocket, she took out a few bills and peeled off a ten. Walking over to the jars, she stuffed it inside the one with her name on it. She turned back to look at him. “Oh, yeah, mister. You are going down.”
Dodge, dodge, dodge…retreat.
When was she going to miss a beat so that he could gain some ground?
Time and time again Tessa had pushed him to the very edge of the circle with no more than a twist of her body. She wasn’t aiming to hit him, since that wasn’t the goal of this match. But she was making him move his feet. And they sure as hell weren’t moving forward.
They were supposed to be putting on a show, but not one that had him stepping backward for the whole fifteen minutes of their exhibition.
Cut yourself some slack.
This was only their first training match. He couldn’t be expected to whip himself back into top form all at once.
Except his top form had never been any match for Tessa’s skill. And she now had those damn jars as incentive to make this a show everyone would remember.
Well, two could play at that game.
Concentrate.
He sidestepped, mentally keeping the circle of people around them in his mind. He didn’t want to go back so quickly that he careened into them—the idea was to stay inside the ring. If something happened the circle would open, but whoever broke it would automatically give up his place. In other words, he would lose.
Okay. He did a quick flip, a few muscles protesting at how much of a slacker he’d become over the past several years. His brain still remembered the moves, but his body was giving him hell over the contortions he was putting it through.
Tessa actually stepped out of the way.
One for me!
Until her foot found the back of his knee.
Dammit!
Down he went. Right onto his back.
He glared up at her, only to find her eyes alight with wicked laughter. She’d done that on purpose.
Just because she could.
And he found he couldn’t stay mad at her. Not with her face all bright and gleeful and happy.
Happy.
He hadn’t seen her like that in… over four years.
“Tessita.” Marcos entered the circle. Unlike Tessa, the man did not look happy. “This is not what we are looking for. It is okay for one of you to defeat the other, but you need to give him more than two minutes. Otherwise those watching will not see the true beauty of our capoeira.”
Ha! True. Two minutes did not constitute a match. Although his body could swear it had been closer to an hour. Marcos said it was okay for one of them to take the other down, but the director and Clay both knew who would be left standing and who would be on the floor when all was said and done. And that person was still grinning at him in that old familiar way—despite Marcos’s chiding words.
Except this time it brought back a not-so-happy memory from days past, when she’d said the words that had ended their relationship. He’d lain flat on his figurative back then, too, while Tessa had stood over him, scowling. He’d do well to keep that in mind.
Clay levered himself to his feet. Lord, he was going to be sore tomorrow.
He waited for Marcos to leave the ring and for the rhythm instruments to again pick up that hypnotic beat. All the other participants had run their matches just as they’d been programmed, entering and exiting the ring like seasoned pros.
And he and Tessa—the last match on the exhibition agenda—were gumming up the works.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” She yanked down the hem of her closefitting tank top, her skin gleaming.
This time Clay executed a series of moves that actually had Tessa swerving and doing some tricky maneuvers of her own to avoid him getting too close.
This was more like it. For three minutes they continued like that, the match feeling much more even all of a sudden.
She arched into a backbend and flipped out of it like an expert.
Of course it felt even. Because she was letting him gain the upper hand. Just as Marcos had suggested.
Time and time again she kicked and bowed and spun. Back. Away from him.
“Dammit, Tessa, you’re not even trying.”
She
