Crossing the Line(6)

"Please," he added.

I bit back my first sarcastic response of 'who knew, the badass has manners' when I glanced over my shoulder and saw his expression.

Tortured. Mingled with fear and hope.

The hope is what convinced me.

If Kye hoped I'd hang around a little longer, I would. Not because I was some bimbo who'd do anything to break free of my rigid life. But because that expression on his face made me realize that the tough guy hid his vulnerabilities behind anger and a snide mouth. And I knew what it was like to hide behind a practiced front.

"Okay, I'll stay."

This time, his genuine smile made something in my chest twist.

Maybe I should've left after all.





Chapter 4




KYE





I had no idea why I asked the uptight princess to stay.

I should've let her stomp off in a snit after her shitfit.

But there was something about the way she'd stood up to me that had me intrigued.

I'd bet my left ball she was daddy's little angel. She'd virtually confirmed it when she'd blurted all that stuff about her private life.

So her tough girl act, when she'd shoved me around, made me admire her. She had spirit. Fire in the belly, as my mum used to say.

But I couldn't afford to think about Mum now. Not when Mia stared at me with those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes.

"Tell me why you want me to stay," she said, thrusting her chin up a little, daring me to drive her away again.

Considering she'd semi-lifted me out of my black mood, not a chance.

How long since I'd hung out with anyone, let alone a girl? After I'd been booted out of the tennis academy in Sydney for busting that bozo's nose, I'd spent a month at my dad's mansion in Double Bay, on what he'd labeled a good behavior bond.

Hadn't been so bad, as my dad was on location shooting an action flick in Darwin for three of those weeks. And that final week, he'd made arrangements for me to come here.

Woop-de-fucking-do.

"Honestly?"

She rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want an honest answer."

I stepped forward, almost invading her personal space. "I've been in a pretty shitty place lately and you've distracted me."

"So you want me to stick around and distract you some more." She pressed her palms to her heart. "Lucky me."

"I also like that you're a smart-arse."

"I love your accent." Her lips curved into a sexy grin that made me want to step even closer. "Arrrrse," she said, and giggled.

I found myself chuckling along with her. "Let me guess. Your only experience with Australia comes from drooling over the Hemsworth brothers."

To my surprise, she blushed. "I may have seen The Hunger Games five times." She held up both hands, fingers spread. "And The Avengers ten. What of it?"

"Means you've got a thing for Aussie guys." I bumped her with my shoulder. "Lucky me."

She wrinkled her nose, but her blush intensified, making me want to touch her cheeks to see if they felt as hot as they looked. "You'll be the exception to the rule."

"Yet you're here with me now instead of at that party?" I grinned. "Interesting."

Our gazes locked for a long moment and I felt a jolt of something … powerful. I could attribute it to hormones, considering I hadn't got laid in six months, but the spark in her dark eyes made me want to do more than chat with her.

She blinked and the moment vanished. "Already told you, I would've done anything to escape that party."

"Know the feeling." I glanced at her arms, knowing she wasn't a tennis player by the lack of muscle definition. "Considering I'm new at the academy, I had to be there. What's your excuse?"

"Family obligation." She shrugged, but I glimpsed tension flattening her lips. "You're a player?"

"Guilty as charged." I performed a fake serve. "Don't hold it against me."

Her gaze slid over me and my cock hardened. "You don't look like a player."

"I think you just insulted my muscles."

The faintest pink stained her cheeks again. "I meant your clothes." She gestured toward the clubhouse. "You don't look like the dweebs that hang around there in their Sunday school best."

"Thanks. I think." Funny, she'd echoed my thoughts from the brief time I'd spent at that party.

"You’re aiming for grand slams?"

The million-dollar question. A few months ago, I would've said yes. I knew I was being fast-tracked for the APT after putting in good performances on the pro tour. Even though I was older than most rookies and had missed out on the bulk of the junior tour, the coaches kept pushing me.

Until I'd screwed up.

According to my dad, Dirk Cresswell had a reputation for turning careers around, hence my last ditch stand.