McNeil's Match by Gwynne Forster

Author:Gwynne Forster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Lynne unpacked her bags in Toronto’s Grand hotel, undressed, put on her bathing suit and the white terry robe she found in the closet and headed for the swimming pool. Refreshed after two laps in the Olympic-size pool, she went to her room, showered and got in bed for a nap. The flight from San Antonio to Toronto took longer than a trip from New York to London. “I have to call Sloan,” she said to herself just before she fell off to sleep. Two hours later, the ringing telephone awakened her and a glance at the window told her that darkness encroached.

“Hello.”

“Hello, sweetheart. Just checking to know if you got to your hotel safely, and if you’re comfortable.”

“I am. It’s a lovely hotel. Worth the money. I meant to call you, but as soon as I unpacked, I did two laps in that enormous pool and that made me sleepy. Your call woke me up. I wish I’d stayed awake long enough to call you. How’s your toe?”

“Much less painful than it was yesterday, but I have to keep my weight off it. When do you begin practicing?”

“Tomorrow morning. The tournament starts day after tomorrow.”

They spoke at length about nothing significant, but each word told of their deep caring for each other. “I really don’t have anything special to say to you,” he admitted. “I just called to...to let you know I care deeply for you.”

“I know, and it’s such a welcome and wonderful feeling to have this loving relationship with a man who feels this way about me and lets me know it. I care for you, too, hon.”

“If I could walk, I’d be there with you, but I’m with you in spirit.”

“I know. Send me a blessing.”

“I’ll do that. Blow me a kiss and say goodbye.”

She made the sound of a kiss. “Goodbye, love.”

He also made the sound of a kiss. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”

Lynne struggled out of bed, barely able to resist getting back into it and daydreaming about Sloan. She dressed and went down to the lounge to look around. She didn’t want to eat alone, but she did it for most of the six years of her marriage, so she could do it now.

A woman walked past her, stopped and looked at her more closely. “You’re Lynne Thurston? I’m Ingrid Lund from Sweden. Do you have a dinner companion?”

“No, I don’t, and I’d love to have company.”

They entered the dining room together and, as they followed the maître d’ to their table, men who they passed eyed them with frank appreciation. “Have you seen the draw?” Ingrid asked Lynne. “I doubt I’ll get past the first round. Imagine starting with Sharapova!”

“I don’t envy you,” Lynne said. “I don’t even want to know who I’ve got.”

They talked tennis talk, because that was what they knew they had in common, exchanged phone numbers and home addresses and promised to stay in touch.

“I’m glad you’ve rejoined the tour,” Ingrid told her. “You were a great player, and you will be again.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.