Page 12 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

BLAKE

M y phone buzzes as I’m heading out the front door of my rental home.

I ignore it.

It rings again.

No one is going to interfere with my morning run. I pull my mobile from my pocket, ready to send the call to voicemail—until I do a double take.

Bri is calling.

Without thinking, I answer, “What’s up, Tennis Princess?”

She laughs. “Hello, Blake.”

“I couldn’t resist. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Not the way you say it. Umm ...never mind, that came out wrong. I’m calling to ask a favor.

I need to take you up on the invitation to stay at your house.

It turned out to be impossible to find a place that can accommodate me, my bodyguard, and my chef at the last minute. Can we move in later today?”

I swallow hard.

What the hell was I thinking? The last thing I need is the perfectly toned goddess living under my roof while I try to break my losing streak at Wimbledon. She is distraction personified. I never should have invited her to stay here.

Who would have thought she would accept my offer? Sure, my cock was hoping, but she’s a real-life princess. She doesn’t stay in the house of a mere tennis player—not even a rather wealthy one.

Shite. I’m screwed. I can’t exactly uninvite royalty.

I could get rid of her if I refuse to play mixed doubles. That won’t work though. Noah says my clothing sponsor insists that I play. They’ll cancel my multi-million-pound contract if I back out. I’d also be extinguishing Bri’s first, and maybe only, chance to compete here. I can’t do it.

This situation will require me to rein in my emotions. I can do that, but I’m worried that her mere presence in my home will impact my focus. Will I have the same effect on her?

Given my body’s reaction to her when we met on the court, the close proximity definitely will be a challenge. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s also intelligent, witty, talented, and kind. She makes me want to break my self-imposed ban on long-distance relationships. But I can’t—not for anyone.

What am I thinking? She’s not going to want me anyway—she’s a damn princess.

Whew. I’m safe—for now. But I can’t let her keep sending my thoughts into a spin like this.

Letting out a deep breath, I finally answer, “Sure. Glad to help out. I’ll let my team know you’ll be arriving.”

“Brilliant. Thanks so much. I’ll owe you for this.”

I don’t say it, but I wouldn’t mind collecting that debt with another weekend like two years ago if it were after the tournament. The problem is our chemistry. The electricity between us is palpable even over the phone. It’s going to be difficult to stay away from her.

But I’m in my gentleman mode, so I say, “No worries. We’ll enjoy your company. I’m hoping your chef can cook for all of us. Our catering service cancelled at the last minute.”

“Of course. I’ll let Chef Fausto know that he’ll need to stock the kitchen and prepare meals for your team too.”

“Perfect. See you soon.”

At least I’ll eat well.

Then again, there are other things I’d like to savor besides the chef’s cooking.

I’m in so much trouble.