I stared at the television. There was a huge red blob sitting over top of Copacabana beach. From what I could pick out of the forecast, the storm wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. On the other side of the red were swirls of green. In any language I knew that meant more rain.

I sank onto the pillows on my bed and was hit with an overwhelming scent of Pierce. Holy shit, he smelled amazing. I thought about rolling my face into the pillow, but that would basically put me in the same category as a thirteen-year-old girl.

I rolled on my side and watched the rain slide down the pane. I did the right thing kicking him out. There was no way I could treat him and remain neutral. Every nerve in my body was screaming out to pounce on him. That wasn’t professional or ethical.

I had to throw him out.

I jumped when I heard my phone beep. I picked it up from the table and read the text from Sergio.

Bella, join us for dinner.

I sighed. I wasn’t up for the dynamic duo. But maybe they would be a distraction from my room. I could only watch the weather for so long.

I typed back a quick message.

Where are you going?

Meet us downstairs.

They probably didn’t have an idea, but I’d tag along.

See you in five minutes.

I grabbed my purse and the set of keys I had received at check-in and locked the door as I headed for the lobby.

Sergio and Paulo were waiting for me near the front desk.

“Hey.” I waved.

“Ciao, bella.”

I leaned in for a customary kiss on each cheek from the guys.

“Any word on the match?” I asked.

“No,” they answered. “Too big of a storm.”

I had figured that would be the answer. As long as there was lightning they couldn’t put fans in aluminum seats.

“I guess we should eat then.” I smiled. I needed them to distract me. Food worked. Ridiculous Italian athletes worked. Anything other than seeing Pierce Miller and his irresistible blue eyes.

* * *

At least the one good thing about going out was that I could finally tell my parents I had seen a part of Rio other than the athletic venues. I tried to take a few pictures of the restaurant and the elaborate fruit displays. My mom would ohh and aww over those. She seemed disappointed every time I told her I was focused on work.

Sergio and Paulo sat on either side of me while I looked over the menu. I didn’t know much about Brazilian cuisine other than the meat was served in copious amounts.

“What are you guys ordering?” I asked.

“Everything.” Sergio rubbed his belly.

I had a sudden snap to remind him he shouldn’t eat too much grease or fat before another match, but I kept my mouth shut. I was tired of arguing with them. Let them load up on bacon, sausage, and burgers. He could stuff himself with steak until he had to be rolled out of here.

“Yum,” I faked enthusiasm.

I wasn’t that experimental. I wanted to be. The new me, the me that had packed up everything she owned and moved to another country, was supposed to be an adventurous free spirit. The kind of woman who would try the spicy food that came with a warning label. Taste all the different cocktails. Attempt to salsa on the dance floor when the music started.

Instead I ordered a salad with grilled chicken and some kind of rum drink that looked like a mojito. I advised the guys not to drink the night before a competition, but I didn’t see why I couldn’t have one drink. The Italians were incredibly laid back about alcohol anyway.

I handed my menu to the waitress when I saw him walk in.

I gripped my thighs and tried to turn away as if I hadn’t spotted him in the doorway. Shit.

Paulo laughed. “I see the Americans.”

“Really?” I stared ahead at the colorful flower arrangement on the center of our table.

Sergio stood up. “Why don’t we invite them over?”

I tugged on the side of his pants like a child begging their parent not to embarrass them. “Sit down. We don’t want to do that.”

“Oh, Bella. It’s fine.” He waved to Pierce and his partner Scott. I noticed a beautiful woman walked between them.

There was a twinge of jealousy that sprung out of nowhere. Of course he would have someone. Why wouldn’t he? He was sexy and sculpted like a god. Women would want to go out with him.

“Sergio. Paulo.” Scott Lauer walked up to the table, followed by Pierce and the brunette. She was cute and petite. I was eaten up with jealousy. I tried not to glare at her. It wasn’t her fault.

“Ciao. Ciao.” Paulo pulled out a seat for the girl. “Sit.” He took the back of her hand to his mouth and that’s when I saw the glittery diamond. It was huge.

I exhaled louder than I should have. She was married. Scott put a protective hand on her shoulder and slid the chair in for her.

“Nice of you to offer your table.” Pierce smirked, taking the seat next to me.

How did this happen? Dinner with the Italians had suddenly turned into dinner with the one person I was trying to avoid in Rio tossed in with an irrational dose of unnecessary jealousy. I was losing it.

“I didn’t.” I backpedaled with rudeness. I put up instant boundaries. “It was Sergio. He doesn’t know who he should be friendly to or not.”

“Hi, I’m Reyna.” The girl who I had decided was married to Scott held her hand out across the table. “I’m Scott’s wife.” I still felt relief.

“Hi. I’m Sierra. Team Italy’s trainer.” I smiled.

She exchanged a look with Pierce and I tried to distinguish what it meant.

“I’ve heard you’re pretty good.” She picked up a menu.

I was the one who looked at him this time. What had he been saying about me? Had Pierce actually been talking to someone else about our mini rehab session?

“I do the best I can for my athletes.” I felt extremely awkward with the Italians at the table.

Although, they were busy threatening to pound Scott’s face into the wet sand tomorrow.

“Maybe you can help me with this thing I have in my neck,” she suggested. “Ever since we’ve been in Rio it’s been hurting and I can’t seem to figure out what’s wrong.”

“Sure. I can try to help after dinner.”

“Oh, thanks. That would be amazing. Scott is really good at neck rubs, but I think it’s more than he can handle.” She ribbed him playfully, but he shot back something snarky at Paulo, missing his chance to play the doting husband.

Pierce leaned toward my ear. “My knee could use some more work.” It was more like a growl than a whisper. It shot a tingle down my spine that quivered toward my toes.

“Did you ice it some more?” I spoke out of the side of my mouth.

“I think I forget the routine.”

I almost flipped backward out of my chair when I felt his hand squeeze the top of my knee. I tried to look normal, but I was a bundle of raging hormones that had nowhere to escape.

“Why don’t I come by again?” he asked. “Remind me.”

I quickly scanned the table. No one noticed the exchange. Reyna and Scott were deciding what to order and Paulo and Sergio were flirting with the waitress from the bar.

No one even knew what was happening right in front of them.

“I already said no,” uttered.

“That was then. This is now.”

Pierce Miller wasn’t the kind of guy who accepted no for an answer. He was cocky and arrogant. He was surreal in the looks department. And he had more confidence than was in all of Copacabana beach.

I placed my hand sideways toward my mouth in case someone decided to pay attention.

“That’s a bad idea.”

“And why is that again?”

His hand moved farther up my thigh and slid to widest part, curving to the inside over the denim of my jeans. I resisted closing my eyes.

“Because we represent different countries. We’re on different sides of the court.”

He chuckled and made a slow withdrawal of his palm. “What if we say nine?”

My eyes narrowed. “Do you ever listen?”

“I promise to listen to anything you say tonight.” He winked.

And my stomach flipped. My core flinched. My eyes refused to blink, and my mouth hung open. All the steadfast things I had told myself seemed to disappear. There was no sanity when Pierce was around.

He could use his knee. I could pretend. But we both knew we wanted the same thing—one night together.