Page 2 of Pleasure Lessons

He’s like a walking personification of confidence and masculinity. I’ve never seen a man like this. I never even knew men like this existed outside the movies. How is it that he’shereright now? Am I dreaming? I must be. These last few months have been harder than I realized, and I’ve finally lost it.

But when he stops in front of me and his lips part, forming a crooked grin, and a voice like rough velvet speaks, I realize I’m in deep trouble. “Hi, I’m Rhett. You must be Cassandra?”

I nod, my mouth too dry to even answer. He has just the right amount of stubble on his face, and despite the fact that I already was told he’s thirty-two, he looks young. No, not young–beautiful. It’s this mixture of rugged and beautiful that I could never even have imagined until it stood right in front of me.

His presence hits me like a wrecking ball, driving a pressure into my chest that I was not ready for. I’m already starting to sweat. Goosebumps are breaking out all over my body. I bend down and grab my water bottle and take a huge swig, quenchingmy thirst, but also using the moment to try and get myself together.

He extends a hand–a large, rough, callused hand. I stare for a moment before taking it. It’s warm, and its sheer mass envelops mine. “Your father said you have zero training,” he says, tossing his racket into the air and catching it. “Is that right?”

“Y-yes,” I stutter, feeling so small, so silly. “But I’m a fast learner–”

I stop as his mouth twitches, just slightly, like he’s holding back a laugh. Like he caught a double meaning in what I just said but is keeping things professional.

My cheeks sting with heat, and I realize I’m blushing. I pull my hand from his and turn my back on him, walking down the court like I’m just taking my position. In reality, I’m fighting to keep myself together.

In this obscenely short skirt, I know Rhett can see my all of my thighs, if not more. I can practically feel his eyes on me as I walk away. The thought sends electric zaps through my body.

I can’t be feeling this way. I’m engaged to Arthur. He’s paying for these lessons. I have a future ahead of me–a future planned by my father. Even if I had no say in it, I can’t just go throwing a monkey wrench in the works because my new tennis coach is beyond gorgeous.

“We all have to play our roles in life, Cass.”That’s what my dad always told me. I take a deep breath and turn back to Rhett, nearly falling back as he tosses a ball to me. Out of reflex, I squeal and swat it away, causing him to chuckle.

“All right, I guess we’ll start slow,” he says, moving to his side of the net. He serves, and we rally. At least, we try to. I’m terrible. It’s obvious. But Rhett doesn’t make me feel like I am. He’s patient, calm, focused. His eyes are kind, but there’s something else behind them. Something that has me tingling all over.

I completely miss a return, and he jogs over to me. “I think we need to work on your grip,” he says, his voice soft but strong. He wraps his hand over mine, and my whole body heats up. My heart is already pounding from the exercise, but it rockets as I feel his fingers correcting mine.

I’ve never been this close to a man.

He’s touching me. I can feel his body heat. I can smell him–clean and washed with just a hint of his own scent beneath. Musky and manly.

“Don’t overthink it,” he tells me. “Don’t try too hard. It needs to be natural. Come easily.”

I glance up at him.

Big mistake.

He’s so close I can count the flecks in his luscious brown eyes. His gaze is hypnotic. His lips are a thin line of seriousness, like he’s holding something back. His face is a mystery, which only makes me want to know everything about him.

“Where are you from?” I blurt out. He lets go of my hand and steps back, eyes me curiously, then shrugs.

“Nowhere fancy.”

“You mean like here?” I suggest. He tilts his head and glances around, then nods. “Yeah, well you wouldn’t like it so much if you were trapped here like me.”

Rhett’s eyes narrow like he’s examining me. My heart flutters, and I feel myself blushing again. I rub my cheeks like I have an itch to try and hide it. He leans down and picks up a ball, not saying anything. Did I annoy him? I’ve always been an awkward girl.

Just when the tension’s getting to be too much to bear, he says, “You know, you’re not what I expected.”

This makes me happy, despite having no idea what he means.

“No?” I ask, hoping he’ll go on. But he doesn’t. He just shakes his head.

“Nope.”

He goes back to his side of the court, and we continue the lesson. It’s all I can do to keep myself together–me in my short skirt, missing three out of every four returns like the total amateur I am.

When he leaves, he doesn’t offer much of a goodbye. No smile, no nod. In fact, he doesn’t even say anything. It’s almost like he’s in a hurry to get away from me.

But I know he’ll be back tomorrow. He’s my new coach. And I think…no, I’msureI’m in very deep trouble.

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