Opposites Attract by Nora Roberts

breath, Ty released her.
    â€œYou’ve always known how to hold me off, haven’t you, Asher?”
    Knowing the danger had passed, she let out an unsteady breath. “Self-preservation.”
    Ty gave an unexpected laugh as his hands dove for his pockets. “It might have been easier if you’d managed to get fat and ugly over the last three years. I wanted to think you had.”
    A hint of a smile played on her mouth. So his moods could change, she thought, just as quickly as ever. “Should I apologize for not accommodating you?”
    â€œProbably wouldn’t have made any difference if you had.” His eyes met hers again, then roamed her face. “Just looking at you—it still takes my breath away.” His hands itched to touch. He balled them into fists inside his pockets. “You haven’t even changed your hair.”
    This time the smile bloomed. “Neither have you. You still need a trim.”
    He grinned. “You were always conservative.”
    â€œYou were always unconventional.”
    He gave a low appreciative laugh, one she hadn’t heard in much too long. “You’ve mellowed,” he decided. “You used to say radical.”
    â€œ
You’ve
mellowed,” Asher corrected him. “It used to be true.”
    With a shrug he glanced off into the night. “I used to be twenty.”
    â€œAge, Starbuck?” Sensing a disturbance, Asher automatically sought to soothe it.
    â€œInevitably.” He brought his eyes back to hers. “It’s a young game.”
    â€œReady for your rocking chair?” Asher laughed, forgetting caution as she reached up to touch his cheek. Though she snatched her hand away instantly, his eyes had darkened. “I—” She searched for a way to ease the fresh tension. “You didn’t seem to have any problem smashing Bigelow in the semifinals. He’s what, twenty-four?”
    â€œIt went to seven sets.” His hand came out of his pocket. Casually he ran the back of it up her throat.
    â€œYou like it best that way.”
    He felt her swallow quickly, nervously, though her eyes remained level. “Come back with me, Asher,” he murmured. “Come with me now.” It cost him to ask, but only he was aware of how much.
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œWon’t,” he countered.
    From down the street came a high-pitched stream of Italian followed by a bellow of laughter. Inside the club the band murdered a popular American tune. She could smell the heat-soaked fragrance of the window-box geraniums above their heads. And she could remember, remember too well, the sweetness that could be hers if she crossed the line. And the pain.
    â€œTy.” Asher hesitated, then reached up to grasp the hand that lingered at her throat. “A truce, please. For our mutual benefit,” she added when his fingers interlaced possessively with hers. “With us both going into the finals, we don’t need this kind of tension right now.”
    â€œSave it for later?” He brought her reluctant hand to his lips, watching her over it. “Then we pick this up in Paris.”
    â€œI didn’t mean—”
    â€œWe deal now or later, Face, but we deal.” He grinned again, tasting challenge, tasting victory. “Take it or leave it.”
    â€œYou’re just as infuriating as ever.”
    â€œYeah.” The grin only widened. “That’s what keeps me number one.”
    On an exasperated laugh, Asher let her hand relax in his. “Truce, Starbuck?”
    He let his thumb glide back and forth over her knuckles. “Agreed, on one condition.” Sensing her withdrawal, he continued. “One question, Asher. Answer one question.”
    She tried to wrest her hand away and failed. “What question?” she demanded impatiently.
    â€œWere you happy?”
    She became very still as quick flashes of the past raced through her head. “You