Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
The walk to the tennis court feels like a small hike. Arthur’s estate is enormous. I forget just how many acres he owns, but it’s a lot. I never see anyone but the staff here and my father, who has only visited me once since I first arrived. Sometimes I feel like I’m living on another planet.
Ted, the gardener, is pruning the hedges with his team, working slowly and precisely like his life depends on it.
The court is still wet in the corners from this morning’s dew. I grab a racket from the small shed by the fence and turn, and that’s when I see him.
Not Ted. Not Arthur.
Him.
He’s tall and broad, with a chiseled jaw and sharp eyes. His hair is auburn and messy, but in an intentional sort of way. He’s wearing a navy-blue track jacket that’s stretched across his thick chest and wide shoulders. And he’s walking right toward me.
This is my new tennis coach? Impossible. He looks like he was carved out of marble and should be on display in a museum or an art gallery for everyone to admire. As he walks, he twirls his racket casually in his hand. Something about the way he does it causes my stomach to go tense.
He’s like a walking personification of confidence and masculinity. I’ve never seen a man like this. I never even knew men like this existed outside the movies. How is it that he’s here right now? Am I dreaming? I must be. These last few months have been harder than I realized, and I’ve finally lost it.
But when he stops in front of me and his lips part, forming a crooked grin, and a voice like rough velvet speaks, I realize I’m in deep trouble. “Hi, I’m Rhett. You must be Cassandra?”
I nod, my mouth too dry to even answer. He has just the right amount of stubble on his face, and despite the fact that I already was told he’s thirty-two, he looks young. No, not young–beautiful. It’s this mixture of rugged and beautiful that I could never even have imagined until it stood right in front of me.
His presence hits me like a wrecking ball, driving a pressure into my chest that I was not ready for. I’m already starting to sweat. Goosebumps are breaking out all over my body. I bend down and grab my water bottle and take a huge swig, quenching my thirst, but also using the moment to try and get myself together.
He extends a hand–a large, rough, callused hand. I stare for a moment before taking it. It’s warm, and its sheer mass envelops mine. “Your father said you have zero training,” he says, tossing his racket into the air and catching it. “Is that right?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter, feeling so small, so silly. “But I’m a fast learner–”
I stop as his mouth twitches, just slightly, like he’s holding back a laugh. Like he caught a double meaning in what I just said but is keeping things professional.
My cheeks sting with heat, and I realize I’m blushing. I pull my hand from his and turn my back on him, walking down the court like I’m just taking my position. In reality, I’m fighting to keep myself together.
In this obscenely short skirt, I know Rhett can see my all of my thighs, if not more. I can practically feel his eyes on me as I walk away. The thought sends electric zaps through my body.
I can’t be feeling this way. I’m engaged to Arthur. He’s paying for these lessons. I have a future ahead of me–a future planned by my father. Even if I had no say in it, I can’t just go throwing a monkey wrench in the works because my new tennis coach is beyond gorgeous.
“We all have to play our roles in life, Cass.” That’s what my dad always told me. I take a deep breath and turn back to Rhett, nearly falling back as he tosses a ball to me. Out of reflex, I squeal and swat it away, causing him to chuckle.
“All right, I guess we’ll start slow,” he says, moving to his side of the net. He serves, and we rally. At least, we try to. I’m terrible. It’s obvious. But Rhett doesn’t make me feel like I am. He’s patient, calm, focused. His eyes are kind, but there’s something else behind them. Something that has me tingling all over.
I completely miss a return, and he jogs over to me. “I think we need to work on your grip,” he says, his voice soft but strong. He wraps his hand over mine, and my whole body heats up. My heart is already pounding from the exercise, but it rockets as I feel his fingers correcting mine.
I’ve never been this close to a man.
He’s touching me. I can feel his body heat. I can smell him–clean and washed with just a hint of his own scent beneath. Musky and manly.