When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,47

not speaking to me, remember?” She pulled away from him, the threads of dark hair that had escaped from her swim cap clinging to her neck.

It occurred to him that he might be sulking. He’d called bullshit on her. Maybe it was time to call it on himself.

But she was already half a pool length away. She had a strong kick, a long reach, and a smooth stroke—better form than he did. But he was stronger, and he set out to prove it, although being in waterlogged gym shorts instead of swim trunks handicapped him.

As he finally drew even with her, he spotted an ugly bruise on her arm from where she’d been attacked. That mark felt like failure on his part for not keeping a closer watch, but if he mentioned that, she’d only insist she wasn’t his responsibility.

He stayed even with her for a few strokes, the smell of chlorine strong in his nose. When she reached the deep end, she did one of those underwater flip turns he’d never quite mastered and took off again, showing no intention of stopping to talk to him. He pushed awkwardly off the end of the pool. He couldn’t match her style, but he damn well could beat her on endurance. He checked out the clock on the wall.

6:32

It was on. One highbrow opera diva versus one superbly trained NFL quarterback.

6:39

He didn’t try to stay even with her and let her swim at her own graceful pace.

6:45

He chugged along—all strength, no style. One end of the pool to the other.

7:06

Her stroke had grown choppy. She was tiring, but she refused to stop before he did.

7:14

The fading light outside the windows had developed an orange tint. He’d only been swimming for forty-two minutes. She’d been swimming longer.

7:18

It belatedly occurred to him that her bruised shoulder had to be bothering her, yet she refused to give up. He was an ass.

He blocked her as she approached. “Uncle.” He set his feet down. “Damn, but you’re strong.” He took some deep, unnecessary breaths so she wouldn’t feel bad.

She didn’t seem to. They stood in a little less than five feet of water, so he could only see part of what looked like a modest black bikini. Her face was flushed, right along with the tops of her breasts. It was time to get this over with, and he tried not to look at the bruise on her shoulder. “I wish you’d been honest with me,” he said.

She pulled off her goggles and moved to the side of the pool. “It’s not exactly something I wanted to talk about.”

“You push me to talk about things I don’t want to talk about.”

“Like . . . ?” She climbed the ladder, giving him an unrestricted view of her very fine butt. When he didn’t respond, she looked down at him from the pool deck. “Like talking about how being a backup makes you feel? Or what’s going to happen to you when you age out of the game? Or those mystery phone calls you’re always making? Or how about your track record as a serial dater?”

“Serial monogamist. There’s a difference.” She stood above him, water sluicing down her long, strong legs, goggles dangling from her fingertips. “You should have told me the truth instead of playing that recording every morning.”

“I’m telling you now.” She dropped her goggles on one of the white-cushioned loungers, pulled off her swim cap, and tossed her hair. As she wrapped herself in one of the pool towels, he drew his gaze away from her legs and climbed the ladder. She turned toward the long windows that looked out on a garden. He fetched a towel for himself, giving her time.

“In less than a month,” she said, “I’m scheduled to sing Amneris in Aida at Chicago Municipal Opera.”

“I know that. And the big gala at the Muni is the next night.” He hooked the towel around his shoulders. “I’m going to take a wild stab and guess that performing has become a problem.”

Her head wobbled in a jerky nod as she turned back to him. He’d never seen her look so defenseless. “When I try to sing—really sing, as opposed to warbling Garth Brooks with a karaoke machine—nothing comes out the way it should.”

“How long has this been going on?”

She collapsed at the end of one of the loungers. “It started the day I opened that email. I had a concert that night, and I noticed a constriction in my chest. The more