Page 9 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

BLAKE

J osh is doing double duty on the practice court today.

He’s nagging me about minor flaws in my game while also serving as my practice partner.

The drills he’s taking me through are particularly brutal—my punishment for insisting we play during the warmest hours of the afternoon.

But that’s part of my new plan. If I practice in the harshest conditions, any other time of day will seem easy.

During a quick break, I grab a towel to mop off the copious sweat running down my face and neck.

Pulling the cloth away from my eyes, I notice two women walking toward us from the far end of our court.

The glare from the sun makes it hard to recognize them, so I don’t pay much attention.

There must be a mistake, though, because we reserved this court for another hour.

I’m relieved when Josh jogs toward them. He’ll take care of the scheduling mix up before they reach me.

While he deals with the women, I hustle back onto the court to practice my serve.

I’ve only served half a dozen balls when Josh shouts, “Blake, come over here for a minute.”

“Can’t you handle the scheduling problem? I need to keep practicing.”

“It’s not about court reservations. We need to talk.”

“Give me a minute.”

I toss a ball into the air and swing with my full strength, lunging into the court. At impact I let out a loud “Grrr,” releasing my annoyance at the unwelcome interruption. My perfect serve skims across the net at over 135 mph, landing exactly where I aimed.

With that satisfying result, I take my time walking to the side of the court where Josh is.

“What’s the problem?” I ask Josh, ignoring the uninvited guests.

“There’s no problem. I want to introduce you to Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Catalinius.”

My jaw drops as I finally take a closer look at the women standing next to Josh, my focus landing on the one with the silky, mahogany hair tied back in a bouncy ponytail. Involuntarily, my scowl turns into a smile.

“Bri. What a surprise,” I say, ignoring all proper formalities.

I haven’t seen her up close for two years. I’d forgotten the mischievous light in her stunning emerald eyes and the way her smile exudes energy and a love for life.

It looks like she just finished a practice session, but she’s gorgeous even with a sweaty sheen coating her lightly tanned skin.

I can’t help noticing that her arm and leg muscles are more defined than they were the last time I saw her.

That would have required a significant amount of time in the gym.

She may be a princess, but her work ethic must be stellar, which is a hot surprise.

I’d love a chance to have those long legs wrap around me again while I pull her tempting ponytail.

Bri interrupts my fantasy, saying, “It’s good to see you, Blake.”

“It’s been too long. Were you looking for me ?”

“I was hoping we could set up our practice schedule. We need time playing together before our first match.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you’re ranked in the top five for singles, but as you know, doubles tennis is different. And we’ve never played as partners before. We need to get comfortable with each other and coordinate our signals before our first-round match.”

I point at her and then back at myself. “Are you supposed to be my doubles partner?”

That can’t be possible. Partnering with Brianna would be too strange after our one-time encounter two years ago. It would be awkward at best and more likely extremely frustrating, at least to my cock. I don’t have time for distractions like this.

I look at her, almost pleading for her to tell me I’m wrong.

Instead, she looks hurt yet defiant, as she responds, “I’m a solid doubles player. I promise that I won’t embarrass you.”

Shite. I’ve just insulted her. That wasn’t my intention.

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t realize you were supposed to be my partner. Of course, I’d be honored to play with you. But the problem is that I need to focus on winning singles this year. And you need to focus on your own singles matches. Shouldn’t we skip the mixed doubles?”

A look of horror crosses her face but is quickly replaced with a neutral expression.

Looking upward, she bites her upper lip, clearly deciding what to say next. After an awkward silence, she lowers her eyes to mine, saying, “I’m not playing singles. My wild card is only for mixed doubles.”

Did I hear her correctly?

“Are you saying you can only play at Wimbledon if we play together?”

“Exactly.”

“Fuck.”

“Don’t you dare speak to Her Royal Highness in that manner,” says the other woman, whom I now recognize as Martina, Bri’s coach.

“Martina, it’s fine. Blake and I are friends. Give us some space to discuss this.”

“As you wish, but I’ll be nearby as will your guard.”

“Thank you. Blake, let’s walk to the back of the court so we can talk privately.”

“Of course.”

I walk by her side, taking in her intoxicating scent. It’s a mystery how she smells so sweet after a workout. I accidentally drift closer, and our arms almost brush, but I catch myself just in time. Reaching the back of the court, we stop. We’re far enough away from the others to talk privately.

Brianna turns to face me.

Before she says anything, I need to clear the air.

“I’m sorry, Bri. I wasn’t intending to be disrespectful to you. It’s the situation. This is the only major I’ve never won. I need to focus. But if I do that, I’ll let you down.”

“We can make this work. We only need a little practice time. You’ll still have plenty of time to prep for your singles matches. I’d love to see you win this year.”

“I don’t see how this could work.”

“I’ve wanted my chance to play at Wimbledon my entire career.

This may be my only opportunity. And it would be a disaster for me, and my family, if the press reports that you don’t think I’m an acceptable playing partner.

My career would be over. No one would ever invite me to any future tournaments. Please don’t do that to me.”

Her eyes well with unshed tears as her head falls in defeat.

A tear rolls down her cheek. I step closer, gently lifting her chin with my index finger so our eyes meet.

The genuine hurt on her face rips at my heart. If someone told me I couldn’t play after years of waiting for an invitation, I’d be crushed.

I pull her into a hug, which is probably not allowed—but hell, what’s a bloke to do?

“I could never deprive you of your opportunity here. Of course, I’ll do it.”

Heaven knows my ache to win here is crushing me. I can’t be responsible for inflicting that level of pain upon her.

“Thank you.”

As we pull apart, our coaches approach.

Josh asks, “Have you two worked things out?”

“We have. Can you and Martina set up a couple of practice sessions this week?” I ask.

“Will do,” Josh says.

“Mr. Knight, you’ve cursed, made the princess cry, and engaged in inappropriate PDA with her. If this partnership is going to work, it will take more than a couple of practice sessions,” Martina chides.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. We’ve meshed well together before,” I say, winking at Bri.

She blushes, which ignites a different type of fire in me.

Detailed memories of our prior night together resurface. There’s no doubt she’s a distraction I don’t need right now. I’d love to spend more time with her, though. The timing is just off.

“Where are you and your team staying?” I ask.

“Martina and my physio have a small place nearby. Tonight, I’ll be at the castle with Stephen and Adrian. I’m not sure where I’m staying after that. I’ve been told not to worry about it.”

“We have an enormous house with plenty of extra space. We’re only using 4 of the 7 bedrooms. You can stay with us if you would like.”

Why did I blurt that out? Us staying in the same house would be a disaster.

“The palace is insisting that I stay somewhere that can accommodate me, my bodyguard, and my chef, but thanks for the invitation.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I’ll let them know that it’s an option, but I’m sure that they’ve made arrangements by now.”

I barely keep myself from saying I hope not. I’m definitely warming to the idea of having Bri around for the next two and a half weeks. I wouldn’t mind a repeat of two years ago.

Wait a minute. Have I lost my mind?

Playing doubles is enough of a distraction without having Bri living under the same roof. I have to find a way to remain focused on singles while allowing Bri to fulfill her dream of competing at Wimbledon.

Bloody hell! How will I do that?

This whole situation has thrown me off-kilter. My mind is racing through options.

“Did you want to practice a little now?” I ask, hoping to get it over with, so I can get back on schedule and execute my plan.

What am I saying? I’m not through with my singles practice. She needs to go—even if a certain part of my body disagrees.

“I can’t today. I have an hour drive to dinner tonight.”

“Are you meeting friends?”

“Yes. I’m catching up with Adrian and Stephen.”

“Prince Adrian and Prince Stephen?”

“That’s right. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers, but we don’t see each other very often.

They live in a castle not too far from here part of the time, so this is the perfect opportunity.

I’ll be too busy after the tournament starts, so they invited me to dinner and to stay at the castle tonight. ”

I’m not sure what to say when someone nonchalantly mentions having dinner at a castle to chat with a couple of princes. I go with, “That’s nice.”

“It will be. Oh, and before we go, let me give you the contact information for me, Erin, and Martina.

She hands me a card with their information and says, “See you soon.”

Smiling and waving, she turns and leaves the court.

My eyes follow her perfect, swaying bum. It’s a visible reminder that I need to stay away from her except for tennis. She’s trouble.

Hell, her friends are British princes, and her temporary hotel is a castle. I can’t offer her that level of luxury. What was I thinking, inviting her to stay at my house? She wouldn’t want to have dinner with me, much less spend another night in my bed. Our prior night was meant to be a one-off.

I wonder if she regrets it. Why do I even care?

Shaking my head, I realize it’s for the best that I’m reminded of our differences. We’ll keep our tennis partnership purely platonic and limit our time together.

“Josh, let’s get back to work. We’ve wasted enough time on that foolishness.”