Caprice by Amanda Carpenter Read Free Book Online Page B

together quite nicely,
    but he had been thrown off stride from the beginning, and she never
    let him regain control, making him run for every one of his returns.
    She couldn't blame him for being amazed at her ferocious playing.
    She was rather pleasantly surprised herself. But the running,
    pivoting, sheer hot work of it felt good to her. It was as if she were
    exorcising her own private devil, instead of plastering Jeffrey all over
    the court, which she granted was probably the case.
    At the end, she laughingly told her chagrined opponent, 'You ate too
    much for breakfast! The same thing happened to me last week after
    lunch. Don't feel bad, you probably could have creamed me.'
    Jeffrey mopped his sweaty brow and glanced, askance, at the now
    empty court behind them while the others hooted at him in good-
    natured derision. 'Somehow,' he replied, with a quick heaved breath,
    'I don't think so.'
    Caprice was hot and breathless herself, but still feisty, so she rounded
    on Emory with a predatory leer, remarking conversationally, 'As I
    recall, at breakfast you laughed at me.' He began to protest volubly as
    she took Jeffrey's racquet and tossed it to him, handle upright.
    'Come on, Emory!' Petra coaxed.
    'Put your money where your mouth is!' Roxanne taunted.
    Amidst his excuses, Caprice smiled dangerously. 'That's all right,' she
    said gently. 'You don't have to play if you're afraid to.'
    That did it. Emory marched to the court with his jaw squared, while
    Jeffrey threw himself on to the grass to watch with glee. This time
    first serve ♦ was determined by a flip of a coin, and Caprice lost. As
    she took her standard receiving position at one end, half crouched for
    a sprint in an unpredictable direction, out of the corner of, her eye she
    saw a dark, elegant, strolling masculine figure coming their way.
    His first serve, she sent into the net. His second, she returned
    decently enough, but lost the volley, and soon the game. All the
    while, she was terribly, totally, tensely aware of that aloof, watching
    shadow under the pines.
    Sunshine beating down on her head, lungs working hard, feeling the
    muscles in her thighs tremble, she held the ball for a moment,
    bending over at the waist while she took a breather. Silence, from the
    sides and the other end of the court. Go away. The ball thrown, her
    body arched into sleek motion, coming down to the asphalt with both
    feet planted, feeling the jar of it all through her body. Emory lost the
    volley.
    Quit looking at me, damn you. They switched sides. Her side hurt
    her, and she pressed her hand deep into the flesh under her ribs. And
    she was mad. This time, however, it was mostly directed at her own
    stupid reaction to someone she barely knew, but it had the same
    vitalising effect as it had on her first match, and she proceeded to
    send Emory into agony with a diabolic finesse. He was too fleshy,
    too heavy to be really quick at short, intense spurts, and he, too, had
    eaten a hearty breakfast, so it was really to no one's surprise that she
    carried that match, too.
    Afterwards, Emory was ribbed as much as Jeffrey had been, while
    Caprice stood in silence and held her hands up to her forehead,
    panting. 'You OK?' Roxanne asked quietly, and she nodded without
    expending energy to speak back.
    She could suddenly feel Pierce's approach with every part of her
    blood-pounding, hot body. Jeffrey turned to her, then, and said, 'Hey,
    you know who you really need to play is Pierce, here. He'd be a good
    challenge for you.'
    She pressed her hand to her side, feeling soreness where she'd had the
    stitch. 'No.'
    Pierce had been saying something to Gwynne, his head bent to her,
    black hair and dark eyes, and white, white smile. Jeffrey, with a
    typical obtuseness, ignored or didn't hear her short reply, and turned
    to his older brother. 'Wouldn't you like to play Caprice? I'll bet she
    just might be able ta beat even you. What do you say, want to make a
    date of it tomorrow morning?'
    'I