Grass courts, tennis whites and the fiercest competition in the world. Wimbledon. After two crazy weeks in Paris, the girls of the Outer Banks Tennis Academy are headed to London with just one thing on their minds: winning. Indiana Gaffney is fresh off a surprise win at the French Open junior tournament. Sponsors are clamoring for her attention, but what she wants more than anything—aside from a wild card to Wimbledon—is to be with Jack Harrison, but international fame and a secret relationship rarely mix well. When Penny Harrison dreamed of playing at Wimbledon she never imagined agonizing pain shooting through her ankle with every step. With just a month until the tournament and the whole world expecting her to win, she’s determined to play, with or without the support of her coach or the love of her life, Alex Russell. For the first time ever, no one expects anything from Jasmine Randazzo. After a crushing first-round defeat in the French Open juniors, the tennis world has given up on her, but worse than that, so have her parents, her best friend Teddy and maybe even her coach. With everyone writing her off, can she find it within herself to go after her dreams?
Jack was asleep on his stomach in his bed, the covers shoved down at his waist, the muscles in his back rippling as he shifted in his sleep. One arm was shoved up under his pillow, holding onto it for dear life, the other tossed carelessly out to the side. Indy slipped off her shoes and then her socks, kneeling gingerly on the mattress, trying not to disturb him at first. She lifted a leg over his body, settling herself slowly onto his lower back. He grunted but didn’t stir. Slowly, she slid her hands up over his back, then brought them down again, letting her nails scratch lightly on his skin. Again, she repeated the motion with a little more pressure, before kneading the palms of her hands against his shoulders, massaging the muscles. He tensed beneath her and then, with a groan, relaxed into her touch.
“I’ll give you a half hour to stop that,” he mumbled into the pillow and then groaned again when she hit a particularly tense spot. “Jesus, you’ve got strong hands.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear. Such a sweet talker, Jack,” she said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade.
He pushed up off the mattress and she moved up onto her knees to give him room. Settling back down, he took her hips in his hands and drew her against him. “You want sweet talk?”
“Mmmm,” she said, sliding down against him harder and rolling her hips a little, but his hands, tightening against her waist, stopped the motion. Then, before she could respond, he’d rolled them over, pressing her full body into the mattress.
‘No, I don’t think you do,” he muttered. “Sweet talk isn’t what does it for you, Indiana.”
Indy raised her eyebrows. Where was he going with this? “No?”
“Nope,” he said, leaning over and putting his mouth, hot and open, against that spot just below her ear. “You see, I’ve noticed something.”
“What’s that?” she breathed, her body arching into his; but he held her down.
“I’ve noticed that you like when I kiss you here,” he said, brushing his lips against her skin, “but you love it when I…” he trailed off, scraping his teeth along the same spot, making her whole body jolt. “And,” he began again, “I’ve noticed that you like my hands in your hair.” He cupped the back of her head, freeing her ponytail free; she nodded. “But you love it when,” he trailed off again, tugging sharply at the locks of hair in his fist. Indy groaned and threw her head back at the sensation. “So, no Indiana, I don’t think you want sweet talk. In fact, I’m pretty sure you want the opposite.”
How had he known that about her? She hadn’t even know it herself, not really. She’d had a few boyfriends, but none of them had made her feel like this and most of the physical stuff had consisted of heavy, unpracticed hands groping at her. This was different. Every touch was purposeful, every little bit of contact, soft or not, meant to bring her pleasure. Her mind reeled when his mouth collided with hers, his tongue pushing past her lips. It was a little sloppy and pretty damn rough and she friggin’ loved it.
Jennifer Iacopelli was born in New York and has no plans to leave...ever. Growing up, she read everything she could get her hands on, but her favorite authors were Laura Ingalls Wilder, L.M. Montgomery and Frances Hodgson Burnett all of whom wrote about kick-ass girls before it was cool for girls to be kick-ass. She got a Bachelor's degree in Adolescence Education and English Literature quickly followed up by a Master's in Library Science, which lets her frolic all day with her books and computers, leaving plenty of time in the evenings to write and yell at the Yankees, Giants and her favorite tennis players through the TV. 
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