Page 23 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

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F ifteen minutes early, I slip quietly out of my room and head downstairs to make sure everything is ready for step two of my plan.

As I step onto the patio, the scene stops me in my tracks. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and secluded. I wish we had more time to enjoy this place, but at least Blake and I will make use of it tonight.

Soft music plays in the background as I follow a candlelit path to the bubbling hot tub.

A woven basket is filled with rolled, plush white towels.

A small table holds a silver tray of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Two champagne flutes sit beside a wine chiller.

The only thing missing is champagne. Instead, a bottle of sparkling water is nestled into the ice.

The scene is perfect—actually, it’s too perfect.

I asked Fausto for a spa-like setup, but he clearly misunderstood. This looks less like a relaxation spot and more like a stage for seduction. No wonder Fausto raised an eyebrow when I made the request. He thinks I’m going to fuck Blake in the hot tub.

And when Blake sees this display and the skimpy red bikini I’m wearing, he’s going to think the same thing.

Bloody hell, I’ve mucked this up. The goal was to relax Blake, not turn him on, or worse, scare him off.

As I try to think of last-minute changes, footsteps sound behind me. I turn just as Blake approaches. His arms are spread wide, and his gaze sweeps the area, silently questioning the setup. Finally, his hooded eyes land on me. “What’s all this?” he asks with a knowing smirk.

Seeing him look at me that way makes me melt.

Heat radiates from his bare chest, and I can’t help noticing the growing bulge in his swim trunks. I’d love to let him wrap his hard body around me and remind me of all the things his talented hands and cock can do.

Did I subconsciously want to send the wrong signal? How could I, knowing he may be a criminal. No, it’s even worse. Based on what I found in his room, he’s likely a criminal.

But my body just doesn’t seem to care. I’m so screwed.

Mustering all the self-control possible, I say, “Fausto set this up for us. He felt bad about the crème br?lée and wanted us to celebrate your win today while relaxing.”

That’s technically true. I just left out the part where I asked for Fausto’s help.

“Fausto’s idea of a healthy, high protein dessert was rather funny,” Blake chuckles.

I’m relieved at the lighter topic.

“When he first said high protein dessert, all I could picture was a steak covered in sugar.”

We both laugh at the image. Soon I’m laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face.

Finally, catching my breath, I wipe my face, saying, “It’s not even that funny, but if we don’t talk about something else, I’m never going to stop laughing.”

“I know. I should be more upset about the challenges in communicating my food needs during the tournament, but I’m sure Fausto means well. Besides, having you around calms me,” he says, closing the distance between us.

He stops so close to me that I feel his breath on my lips as I stare into his eyes. The sexual tension between us is palpable. I can’t let him kiss me no matter how good it would feel.

I really can’t.

Gathering my wits, I say, “I’m freezing. Let’s get in the hot tub.”

I step backward, drop my robe, and slide into the warm bubbles.

Blake pours two glasses of sparkling water and climbs in beside me. Our fingers brush as he hands me a glass, sending a tingling sensation up my arm. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes tells me he felt it too.

I’m playing with fire. Slowly, I shift along the seat to put some space between us.

Raising my glass, I say, “Let’s toast. Here’s to your win today and to many more to come.”

“Thank you. I can only hope.”

“The jets feel so good.” I sigh, leaning my head against the side wall and closing my eyes.

“They do. This was a wonderful idea. The damp, cool weather here always factors into how fast my muscles recover after matches. This is the first time we’ve had a house with a hot tub.”

“I’d insist on one every time if I were you. It’s much better than vying for time in a hot tub at the gym.”

“Agreed. And this one’s co-ed. The view is much better,” he smiles, tipping his glass in my direction.

“That’s nice of you. I could say the same from where I’m sitting.”

What am I doing? I need to cool things down, not heat them up more. I wonder if there’s a way to turn the temperature down on the hot tub. Maybe that would help.

“Oh, I can assure you my thoughts are anything but nice.” He grins.

I blush, hoping he’ll chalk it up to the hot water.

This conversation is supposed to be about the mission. I need to redirect it before it’s too late.

In a playful tone, I say, “Don’t get any ideas. We’re here to relax so we can play better tennis—nothing more.”

“Unfortunately,” he mumbles.

“I missed that. What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

He bites his lip, clearly frustrated. He received the message. Still, I feel a flicker of disappointment. Maybe I’d hoped he wouldn’t give up so easily.

Trying to stay focused, I say, “Oh. Okay. I’m glad we have time to chat. I need your advice.”

He doesn’t know that I spent all afternoon concocting this cover story. Hopefully, it sounds believable.

“About what?”

“I need to share a bit of background. For as long as I can remember, I’ve worked hard and driven myself to succeed at tennis.

It’s the only thing in my life that I’ve earned for myself.

My title brought me the rest. That’s why I value my tennis victories so highly.

They weren’t given to me because of my title, my parents, or our wealth. ”

“I hadn’t thought of your situation that way.”

My story so far is completely true, making it easy to tell with conviction and emotion.

I’m proud of what I’ve done. Yes, my family’s position gave me advantages, such as great coaches at an early age.

But I put in the hard work. Day after day I’d wake at five in the morning to practice regardless of the weather or my mood. It meant that much to me.

“Most people don’t. It’s particularly annoying when I’m accused of playing tennis for fun to get out of real royal work.”

Even at my level of tennis, I deal with a number of issues that my critics don’t know about or understand.

Like you, I’ve made sacrifices to pursue my passion.

He nods as I tick off my list that includes injuries, early morning practices, strict diets, no relationships, and missed events with friends and family. Tennis is far from all fun.

Blake’s eyes widen in astonishment. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “That’s infuriating. Do they even understand how hard it is to play at this level? I bet your royal duties are easier.”

“No kidding. I love tennis or else I wouldn’t put myself through the training. But I also push myself to help my country. That brings me to the reason I need advice. As you probably know, my parents have never allowed me to have sponsors or accept prize money from tennis tournaments.”

“No, I didn’t realize that. I thought we shared the same clothing sponsor. Isn’t that why we’re playing mixed doubles together?”

“I’m only allowed to wear their logo for this tournament. It’s the first exception the palace has made. I’m hoping there will be more now that it’s my brother’s decision going forward.”

“Is that because your parents stepped down and Xander is now king?”

“Exactly. And Xander is more likely to let me cut back on my duties and play in more tournaments. If that happens, I’ll be able to earn money for the foundation that I’d like to start. That’s why I need your advice. If this change occurs, I’m going to need a manager. Do you know of anyone?”

“Not that I can think of. I’ve been quietly keeping my ears open for a new one myself.”

“Why? Hasn’t Noah been your manager for years? From what I’ve heard, he negotiates extremely favorable contracts for you.”

His jaw clenches as he shakes his head.

“Noah’s been my manager forever. For a long time, I thought he was the best in tennis. More recently, he’s made some financial decisions that were major mistakes. He also wants me to sign up with sponsors that would be terrible choices.”

I’m dumbfounded. “He can’t make you do that, can he?”

“Not technically, but when I object, he becomes impatient. I’m no longer that na?ve young player he needs to boss around.

I want even more say in the business side of my career, and my manager should support me.

Unfortunately, at times, Noah seems to have forgotten that I’m the client.

After much consideration, I’ve finally decided to find a different manager after this tournament and start over. ”

We drift closer, and I rest a hand on his arm. He leans into my touch.

“Thanks for warning me about Noah. Otherwise, I might have considered hiring him when you have a new manager.”

“He may be fine for someone else, just not me. He’s like a parent who still thinks of me as his child. He might treat you differently though.”

Despite their problems, Blake is hesitant to completely destroy Noah’s reputation. That speaks to Blake’s character and loyalty that comes from a long relationship. My guess is that his decision to part ways with Noah has been a particularly difficult one.

We need more information, so I push forward. “I hate to pry, but you mentioned he made some business mistakes. Would you be willing to share the details? It would help me decide whether to keep him on my list of possibilities.”

“I don’t like talking about it, but for you I will under one condition. You must promise not to repeat the information to anyone else,” he says solemnly, taking my hand from his arm and intertwining our fingers.

“Of course.”

I’ll try to keep my promise, but my team may need the information. Right now, I hate my job. Deceiving someone I’m growing closer to is tearing me up inside.