Game of Love Read Online Free PDF

American.
He was leaning against the lift’s back wall, studying his mobile. He wore a crew neck sweater, tight around his sculpted shoulders and chest, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms. He had not seen her yet. She hesitated, considering her next move while Tish inched forward.
    The American glanced up. A momentary pause, before his eyes lit up with recognition. But he said nothing, just smiled. When the door began to close, he leaned forward and stopped it, letting it slide back open. “Going down?” he asked, tone even.
    “Yes,” Tish said, and sauntered in. “That’s one impatient door. Thank you.”
    “Any time.”
    Gemma stepped in then spun toward the closing door. The lift dropped, while her heartbeat accelerated. She zeroed in on the panel, watching the floor numbers flicker past one by one. Was he staring at her? She studied her reflection on the semi-shiny surface of the door, happy with her choice of clothes. She shifted her gaze to see if he was checking her out. His head was down, focused on his mobile, not her.
    The lift chimed. Lobby.
    The door had barely opened when Gemma slid out and marched toward the bar.
    Tish hurried to catch up. “What’s the rush?” she asked.
    Gemma was not ready to speak quite yet. Instead, she listened to the footsteps behind her. The light tapping of leather soles against marble tiles. She glanced over her shoulder. He was following.

    Tucked in a far booth at the bar, Gemma read through Twitter, Facebook, and e-mail messages, pretending to catch up on things, but her thoughts were disjointed.
    She now knew who she’d play in the semifinals. A rematch against Sonia Wilkins, no less. Her American albatross. The experts were already wondering if Sonia would dismantle Gemma again, just like she had in Australia months earlier. It had to be against Sonia if she wanted closure.
    That had been her last tournament–the one that nearly ruined her career. But she was back thanks to Xavi–her Malibu home house-sitter, her personal guru–the man who had become her confidant. With his help, she had returned, determined to win a major by crushing all distractions in her path there.
    At least that had been the plan. Right now, she had a distraction at hand. The American. Even Tish had noticed Gemma’s wandering eyes. Thankfully, he hadn’t been following her, but joined two older men. She glanced in his direction, unable to deny an interest, a curiosity.
    What was this American’s story? Was he the typical scoundrel she met in places like these? Possibly. After the way he had ogled her during breakfast, there could be little doubt he’d seen something he liked.
    She glanced again. His humility and youth confused her. The way he dressed and the way he carried himself shouted power–the type of man she’d fancied in the past, but had sworn off after Johnny. But the way he had taken a stand for the waitress was unexpected, beautiful in a way. To this day, no one had ever taken a stand for her.
    “You keep staring at him. You want me to call him over?” Tish asked, never lifting her face from her mobile.
    “What? You’re mad,” Gemma said, feeling a flush creep up her ears.
    Tish lifted her eyes. “He’s no Johnny Flauto, but handsome in his own ‘Merican way.”
    “Shut it, will you?” Gemma said. She could do without hearing Johnny’s name everywhere she turned. “If you weren’t my best friend–”
    “And only friend.”
    Gemma glared. “Fine, if you weren’t my best and only friend, I’d sack you for insubordination.”
    “Promises, promises.” Tish’s green-gold eyes sparkled as she turned her attention to the American while she fiddled with the beads on her long braids. “Do you sometimes wonder if a relationship with a normal person would be different?”
    “Normal? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You know, as opposed to celebrities and such.”
    Gemma shrugged. She didn’t know, nor did she care. All relationships were trouble.