Contractually Yours: An Arranged Marriage Romance (The Lasker Brothers Book 4)
Contractually Yours: Chapter 16

I keep quiet as I pad along the hall Saturday morning to avoid disturbing Luce in case she wants to sleep in. I need to grab some coffee before my tennis match with Grant at Tilden Courts, where I play from time to time when I need to decompress. I always ask Grant, Emmett or Huxley to join me.

Other members at the club have expressed interest in being my opponent, but no thank you. They’re more interested in socializing than playing. Or talking business while pretending to exercise. It helps them write off the five-figure annual membership fee as a “business expense.” They’re the kind of guys who bring up their latest merger and acquisition in bed to write off money pay for escorts, too.

Mr. Vaguely Disapproving Butler isn’t around, for once. So I make my own cup of coffee and finish it, along with a bagel from the pantry and a fresh tub of whipped cream cheese from the fridge.

My phone rings, and the screen shows it’s Grant. I put it on speaker on low volume, while grabbing another bagel.

“You already on your way to Tilden?” he asks.

In my peripheral view, I spot Luce making her way down the stairs. She’s dressed casually in a scoop-neck shirt and short pleated skirt that shows off her legs. Damn, they look tasty. My teeth ache with the need to nibble on them. And the rest of her body.

She waves good morning, and I nod oh so casually, then clear the sudden knot in my throat so I can answer Grant. “Not yet. Why?”

Need some privacy? she mouths.

I shake my head.

“I can’t go,” he says.

“Why not? Did you break something?” Grant’s ultra-competitive, and would never back away from a match.

“Aspen’s on her period.”

I sense Luce moving around in the kitchen, brushing past my back to reach the espresso machine. Heat starts to sizzle, the charge in the air crackling. I focus on the conversation. “And…?”

“She wants me to rub her lower back.”

“Jesus. Can’t she do that herself?”

Luce chokes on her coffee, then starts coughing quietly. Without thinking, I reach over and gently slap her back.

“That isn’t how it works.” Grant’s tone says, I’m shocked you aren’t a virgin, given your ignorance.

“Who am I going to play with, then?”

“Emmett? Huxley?”

“They’re busy today.”

“Noah might be free.”

“No. The only time we played together, he pulled a hamstring trying to return my first serve. And that wasn’t the lowest point of our time there, either, because it got worse. Much, much worse.”

Grant makes a vaguely thoughtful sound. “Yeah, he’s pretty awful. I don’t know what to say. Aspen needs me.”

“I can play with you,” Luce says.

“Who’s that?” Grant says, at the same time I say, “No.”

“Hi. I’m Lucie. Or Luce.” She smiles. Not sure why she bothers. Grant can’t see it.

“Hi, Lucie. I’m Grant. Nice to meet you. And yes, if you can take my place, that’d be great.”

“I don’t play with women,” I say.

“Don’t be sexist,” Grant says, then hangs up.

I grit my teeth. Pussy-whipped asshole!

“I’m really not that bad,” Luce says, sipping her coffee.

“I’m sure you aren’t.” At least she has some cardiovascular fitness, and she’s flexible, so she won’t pull something as soon as we start. But I look at her pretty face and recall the softness of her palms. Does she even know how to hold a racket properly? “But I’m actually good, and I want to go all out. Won’t be able to do that with you.”

“Oh, you can go all out with me,” she says, giving me a look over the rim of her coffee mug. “Or is there some other reason you don’t want to play with me?”

“It’s not you. It’s almost everyone. Only three of my brothers can keep up with me, and I’d never ask the other three.”

“I promise I won’t be like Noah. I won’t pull a muscle or whatever was much, much worse.”

Does she think I’m stupid? Whenever a woman speaks in that tone of voice, something worse is bound to follow. “No.”

“Come on. Besides, it might be a fun couple time.”

“A fun couple time?” As far as I’m concerned, the only fun couple time we can have is horizontally in the bedroom. Or vertically in the shower. But not on a tennis court.

“We’re married. We should try to get to know each other and get along.” She flashes a hopeful smile. “Make the best of the situation.”

“I don’t think crying and gnashing your teeth because you lost is considered a fun couple time.”

I made the mistake of playing with one of my girlfriends once, and it didn’t end well. She screamed like a banshee, attracting a lot of embarrassing attention. And then she developed a migraine for two weeks. I finally dumped her because I got tired of her snit. I wasn’t going to play another game with her, and no, I wasn’t going to lose on purpose, just to make her feel better about herself. It wasn’t my fault tennis wasn’t her game. Or that her sportsmanship left so much to be desired.

“Couples break up over stuff like that.” I wish I could reach into Griffin’s mind and pull up relevant stats. I don’t need Luce throwing a temper tantrum. If half the stuff I read about her is true, she’s going to be a sore loser. And I never throw a game.

“Well. If your ego can’t handle it…” Luce shrugs.

I snort. “That’s so transparent, you make Noah look like a CIA operative.”

“This same Noah who pulled a hamstring?”

“Yes. He could make a wine glass look opaque.” I sigh. “All right, fine. But no crying. No bitching. No whining. No screaming.”

“I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“And no migraines and headaches or whatever women develop when they’re mad but don’t want to admit they’re mad.”

“Wow.”

“Wow isn’t an agreement.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. And the same conditions apply to you.”

“I won’t lose, so it’s a moot point.”

Amusement ripples over her. She probably thinks I’m some weekend dabbler. “If you’re that confident, you want to up the stakes?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“What are you wagering?”

I narrow my eyes. “If by some miracle you win, I’ll get on my knees and go down on you until you come three times.”

She flushes, but the sparks in her eyes betray her. “Fine, even though it sounds like a reward—for you.”

“Believe me, it’ll be a reward for you. If you’re worthy.”

The slight smile on her pretty face says she’s more than worthy, regardless of the outcome of our match. Her confidence is hot.

“All right. And if you win,” she says, “unlikely as that is, I’ll do the same for you. But you only get to come once. Even though you’ll be begging for more.”