Opposites Attract by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online

commiseration. The next match was a persistent shadow over the thoughts of the winners and the losers. As the music blared and the drinks were poured, they discussed every serve, every smash and error and every bad call. Rome was blissfully indolent over its reputation for bad calls.
    â€œLong!” A dark, lanky Australian brooded into his wine. “That ball was inside by two inches. Two bloody inches.”
    â€œYou won the game, Michael,” Madge reminded him philosophically. “And in the second game of the fifth set, you had a wide ball that wasn’t called.”
    The Australian grinned and shrugged. “It was only a little wide.” He brought his thumb and forefinger close together at the good-natured razzing of his peers. “What about this one?” His gesture was necessarily shortened by the close quarters as he lifted a drink toward Asher. “She beats an Italian in the Foro Italico, and the crowd still cheers her.”
    â€œBreeding,” Asher returned with a mild smile. “The fans always recognize good breeding.”
    Michael snorted before he swallowed the heavy red wine. “Since when does a bloody steamroller need breeding?” he countered. “You flattened her.” To emphasize his point he slammed a palm down on the table and ground it in.
    â€œYeah.” Her smile widened in reminiscent pleasure. “I did, didn’t I?” She sipped her dry, cool wine. The match had been longer and more demanding than her first with Kingston, but her body had rebelled a bit less afterward. Asher considered it a double victory.
    â€œTia Conway will go for your jugular,” he said pleasantly, then called to his countrywoman at a nearby table. “Hey, Tia, you gonna beat this nasty American?”
    A dark, compact woman with striking black eyes glanced over. The two women measured each other slowly before Tia lifted her glass in salute. Asher responded in kind before the group fell back to its individual conversations. With the music at high volume, they shouted to be heard, but words carried only a foot.
    â€œA nice woman,” Michael began, “off the court. On it, she’s a devil. Off, she grows petunias and rosemary. Her husband sells swimming pools.”
    Madge chuckled. “You make that sound like a misdemeanor.”
    â€œI bought one,” he said ruefully, then looked back at Asher. She was listening with half an ear to the differing opinions on either side of her of a match by two players. “Still, if I played mixed doubles, I’d want Face for a partner.” Asher acknowledged this with a curious lift of a brow. “Tia plays like a demon, but you have better court sense. And,” he added as he downed more wine, “better legs.”
    For this Madge punched him in the shoulder. “What about me?”
    â€œYou have perhaps the best court sense of any female world-class player,” Michael decided slowly. “But,” he continued as Madge accepted her due with a regal nod, “you have legs like a shot-putter.”
    A roar of laughter rose up over Madge’s indignation. Asher leaned back in her chair, enjoying the loosening freedom of mirth as Madge challenged Michael to show his own and be judged. At that moment Asher’s eyes locked with Ty’s. Her laughter died unnoticed by her companions.
    He’d come in late and alone. His hair was unruly, as though he had ridden in a fast car with the top down. Even completely relaxed, dressed in jeans, his hands in his pockets, some aura of excitement swirled around him. In the dim light his face was shadowed, all hollows and planes, with his eyes dark and knowing. No woman could be immune to him. A former lover was helpless not to remember what magic his mouth could perform.
    Asher sat still as a stone—marble, pale and elegant in the rowdy, smoke-curtained bar. She couldn’t forget any more than she could stop wanting. All she could do