Without more than a few words between us, I followed him outside to the Jeep. The benefit of his shower was that he changed into shorts and I got to see his muscled legs for the first time. Every inch of this man was sexy. Even with all the muscle, he moved with the grace of a panthersleek and deadly. I wanted to ride his hips and force him to lose control. Hell, I wanted to lose control.

He drove us back to the airplane and I wondered if he was crazy. If he took me on the plane, even for a short flight, I'd be in no shape to train.

"I need to back the plane out of the hangar. Stay out of the way," he ordered with barely a look in my direction.

I grit my teeth but didn't ask questions and did as I was told. The engine engaged and the plane rolled out. I felt relief when he cut the engine. Brack then jumped down and removed a few things from a stowage compartment.

No way!

"Those are not tennis rackets." I looked at the short nubby things in horror.

"I don't play tennis," he replied as he entered the hangar.

"I don't play racquetball, you jerk. Do you listen to anything I say? Do you know anything about me at all?"

He didn't bother looking my way. "I know every detail about the last three men you've fucked. I know you think you're some kind of prima donna of the tennis world. And I know you can't defend yourself. Anything else you want to share? Because I'm all ears."

I didn't know whether to scream or stomp my feet. If I combined them I'd look like the lunatic he was turning me into. "Why on earth would you need to know about the last three men I've fucked?"

Now he did look my way and actually rolled his eyes. "Your stalker is getting his info somewhere. You have two friends, Bethany and Valery. They are possible leaks. If it's not them, chances are good it's one of your boy toys."

Bethany was a friend but Valery and I only traveled the circuit together. We were in no way friends because we competed against each other. Though she was my arch nemesis on the court, we were forced to hang out when bored. "Those guys were fuck buddies." I hoped he stewed on that.

"Fuck buddy- boyfriend- boy toy. It makes no difference. Are you going to stand there all day bitching about semantics or do you want to play a game?"

"Where the hell will we play?"

His satisfied smirk had me wanting to scream again. "The hangar. It doubles as a racquetball court." He tossed me a racquet and I followed him inside.

He wasn't lying. The back and sidewalls were cement. There were lines drawn on the floor. Brack opened a can of balls and tossed me one. "Warm up."

I stared at the ugly, hard, blue non-fuzzy ball. I couldn't believe I was reduced to racquetballthe three-time reigning Grand Slam winner playing racquetball. And I stood there holding a fucking miniature racquet in my hand. This would kill my game. Jerry, my singles coach, would wring my neck.

I watched as Brack did a few stretches with cold muscles. Idiot! "Do you know anything about exercise and the proper way to warm up or did tossing me around get your muscles all hot and bothered?" I couldn't help my sarcasm.

He stopped stretching. "Obviously I'm doing something wrong, so enlighten me."

That surprised me. I figured he would rather pull a muscle than learn something from me. I started running in place. "Warm your muscles up before you stretch or you'll pull something. You don't want to strain your dick."

He laughed and his entire face changed. He was so fucking sexy. Too sexy and too fuckable. He followed my lead and ran in place. The hangar was cool, but I knew that wouldn't last long with the outside temperature climbing. I twirled the racquet in my palm as I went through my routine. It wasn't a tennis racquet, but the grip comforted me. It was also a little large for my hand, but I didn't dwell on it. For the first time in days, I'd be swinging a racquet. No, I wasn't happy, but I needed to take what I could get.

I'd seen racquetball played a few times, and I planned to wipe the floor with my bodyguard. Complete annihilation. I'd leave him writhing on the floor in defeat. And just to kick him when he was down, I'd aim for his balls every chance I got. If he had hopes of fathering children, he should have taken me seriously.

Ten minutes later, I was warm enough to stretch my calves, arms, and shoulders. Brack mimicked every move I made. Keeping smart-ass comments to myself was impossible. "So what are the rules of tennis for sissies?"

He barked out a laugh and stretched his arms behind his back. His t-shirt hugged each muscle. "It moves faster and you use three walls instead of someone across the court lobbing the ball back."

Oh I'd give him a lob or two or ten. I'd take his head off if given the chance.

He gave me a cheeky grin. "You should practice hitting the ball against the wall a few times before we start."

Not a chance. "I don't think so."

Brack started reciting the rulesserve, fault, hinder, scoring, blah, blah, blah. I paid just enough attention to grasp the concept. I jumped up and down on my toes a few times and for the strangest reason felt a tightening in my stomach. This was normal before a major match, but not before something as stupid as this. Racquetball was child's play, so why was I nervous?

Brack bounced a ball in his left hand with ease. "You want to serve or you want me to start?"

"Be my guest." I'd enjoy looking at his ass. Play commenced and I didn't have time to ass gaze.