Love Match

  Game, Set and Match

  Parker King is riding high after winning the prestigious Wimbledon Tournament only to be shot down by a feisty airline pilot

  named Emily Parish. King Kong as she's known on the courts falls hard, but will

  it be because of the person who wants to kill her or for love?

  Chapter

  1

  Whack. The ball flew over the net at one

  hundred and thirty miles an hour hitting right inside the line flying off in a

  wicked slice that proved to be untouchable by the player on the other side.

  Even the ball boy had a hard time trying to chase it down as it went in a

  direction he wasn't expecting. The server waited for the boy to get out of the

  way and for her opponent to get set before she let another one fly.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the type of tennis that has been missing

  from Wimbledon since the time of Martina. This is just an awesome display of

  straight forward power tennis." The commentator spoke softly into the

  microphone from the booth to tennis fans watching the match from home. From center

  court the crowd cheered when the clipped English accent said, "Forty

  love."

  "Yes, Joe, it seems that Parker used her time in England after the French

  to work on that first service, and isn't Jill sorry about that. It was the one

  thing that was missing from Parker's arsenical of weapons and now her war chest

  seems complete. Parker has matured into an outstanding player," continued

  the female commentator. For a brief moment the woman behind the microphone

  relived what it was like to be so close to the coveted title Parker King was

  sure to win by mornings end. The crowd was on their feet again as 'Kong' served

  up another ace to win the third consecutive game of the first set.

  Parker King was the new darling of the tennis world, loved by the crowds that

  flocked to see her play as well as the companies that lined up to sign her to

  wear their logos. At a little over six one, shoulder length dark brown hair

  slightly streaked, skin that was touched by the hours she spent in the sun and

  eyes the color of blue ice, she was a natural favorite.

  Anyone that saw her on a court would have to be blind not to see the fire that

  burned within her to win. Opponents, no matter what their ranking, cringed when

  they saw her name on the board as their next game. The power she displayed on

  the court had earned her the nickname Kong from the fans, and Parker was never

  one to disappoint getting to the final without dropping a set and losing only

  eight games in her time in England.

  "Jill has got to be more aggressive at the net if she wants to get back

  into this match," Joe Welch, former male champion said to his two other

  partners in the booth. The crowd drowned the rest of what he was saying out as

  Parker returned a lob so hard that the ball bounced into the stands behind her

  opponent Jill Seabrook after it had bounced just inside the line.

  "Love forty," the judge said into the microphone pointing to the King

  side of the net, followed momentarily by, "Game Miss King."

  Jill went

  into her return stance looking defeated already as Parker flashed her coach in

  the stands a winning smile. Sitting next to him was Parker's guest for the

  match displaying her own smile down to the number one player in the world.

  After they collected the title, it was back to the US for the rest of the

  summer to prepare for the Open, and after a grueling schedule Parker was more

  than ready for that.

  Whack. The little yellow ball flew millimeters over the net landing just inside

  the line. Parker pumped her arm once pleased with the shot sending the crowd to

  their feet.

  "What a rifle shot, Gene!" exclaimed the third commentator as Jill

  scrambled after the serve.

  "Quiet please," said the judge as the crowd was on their feet again

  chanting "Kong." Less than forty minutes later Parker was doing her

  curtsey and holding up the women's singles trophy over her head. She walked the

  complete court so that everyone present could see the large silver plate in her

  hand. In an interview she had once said that the victories were as much the

  fans as they were hers, and Parker liked to share the moment with those that

  paid the price to come and see her. Her last stop was in front of Gary Bertrand

  her coach.

  Gary had been at one time, a rising star in the tennis world until the day he

  collapsed on center court at the US Open with a blown knee.

  Instead of

  accepting defeat, he had turned to coaching finding a tall gangly kid that over

  the years he molded into a champion. The coach smiled like a proud father now

  as he watched the woman that she had turned into walk the circuit of the court

  showing off the spoils of her victory.

  "Come on, Alicia, let's go congratulate the new champion down in the

  locker room," said Gary to the young woman next to him.

  The shapely

  redhead was an up and comer herself in music industry and was wild about

  Parker. She had been able to attend the prestigious tournament because her

  band's tour schedule put them in the area during the finals.

  It had been

  complete pandemonium a couple of nights before when the three of them had gone

  out to dinner and the two young women had been recognized. In a country that

  thrived on tabloid sensational stories it had been like a gift from the

  heavens.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Bertrand, I have a message for you." The young man

  with the traditional Wimbledon colors on handed Gary a note, which made him

  frown the moment he started reading. He absolutely hated when Parker used him

  to blow off her date.

  "Alicia, honey, why don't you head on back to the city and wait for Parker

  to call you. Something must have happened on one of those last serves and she

  is in with one of the trainers now." The look of concern on the pretty

  face made him feel like an ass, but there would be a heavy price to pay if he

  showed up with her in tow in the locker room.

  "Is she going to be ok?" It had been Alicia's plan to walk out of the

  grounds on Parker's arm and hope there would be more photographers around. The

  publicity she and the band had racked up in their time in England had been

  priceless. The young singer had no regrets being seen on the arm of the tennis

  world's bad girl. Nor did she regret the stories that placed her in Parker's

  bed.

  "She's going to be fine. This is just typical Parker believe me." If

  you only knew, honey, thought the coach as he looked at the young woman

  before him. If Parker was true to form it would be the last time he would see

  her unless it was by chance. Like in a restaurant where the typical scenario

  ended with Parker wearing a drink before the dessert cart came out. It still

  amazed him sometimes that women wanted to go out with the good-looking tennis

  star considering her track record, but they were all convinced that they were

  the one that was going to tame th
e bad ass Kong. Scratch another one off

  that list.

  Gary entered the green room singing the line 'just another notch in my lipstick

  case' softly as Parker was finishing up her post game interviews. He shook his

  head in her direction making her laugh at his reaction to the favor she had

  asked of him in the note. She was going home and didn't want the complications

  that the increasingly demanding Alicia would pose. Gary congratulated her with

  a scowl on his face for using him as the heavy before cuffing her on the back

  of the head and sending her into the locker room to change.

  He would cut her some slack like he always did considering there was no time to

  just kick back and not worry about the next tournament. It was the U.S. Open,

  and the only one that continued to elude the American player with more trophies

  than women she had slept with. Gary knew it wouldn't take much prodding on his

  part to get Parker to work hard for the title that would make her a true

  champion. The French, Australian and now the Wimbledon trophy were going home

  with them and he could almost taste the slam.

  *************************************************************

  ***********

  The men's final was still going on by the time they arrived at the airport.

  Parker was anxious to get home after being out of the country for over three

  months. The two police officers that had been assigned to them kept the crowds

  at bay as Gary and Parker sat waiting for their flight. The Bobbies stood far

  away enough to give the couple some privacy, but close enough to send a message

  to any overzealous fans. They would let in a few autograph seekers in at a

  time, most of them young teen girls thrilled to sit this close to their idol,

  before putting their arms out and closing ranks.

  Parker took the time to ask them about their own tennis game and gave pointers

  to those that seemed serious about the sport. The tennis gear had been replaced

  by a lightweight linen suit over a tight white t-shirt. Without the jacket on,

  everyone close enough could see the muscle rippling through Parker's arms as

  she autographed everything from tennis balls to tournament programs. A groan went

  up through the crowd as boarding for the flight began and the player and coach

  picked up their stuff to leave.

  As on most flights, the crew of Virgin flight 756 was waiting at the door to

  greet their passengers. The small blonde standing toward the front would have

  recognized their famous passenger the minute she turned the corner of the jet

  way even if she hadn't been carrying a large bag full of rackets. She had spent

  the morning watching the talented Parker King completely obliterate her

  opponent. Seeing her in person, everyone standing at the door agreed the player

  was even better looking in person.

  "Welcome aboard, Ms. King, I hope you enjoy your flight, and

  congratulations on your win" said Captain Emily Parish. She had stepped

  out of the cockpit, as was her habit before every flight to join the crew in

  greeting passengers at the door leaving the coat with her ranking draped over

  her seat.

  "Thank you, ma'am. But if you really love me, could you fetch a cup of hot

  chocolate and a sandwich if you have it? Thanks, sweetheart," said Parker.

  The attendants around Emily put their hands to their mouths to hide the smiles

  and laughs that were about to come out at the young woman's assumptions. Emily

  was a great pilot but a perfectionist that made her a little hard to work for,

  so having someone bring her down a peg was amusing and more than a little

  entertaining.

  "I'll see what I can do in between flying the plane and all,"

  said

  Emily trying to control her temper. Her crew looked straight up and kept quite

  knowing what kind of effort it took on the small pilot's part not to tack on

  butthead to the end of her statement. Parker did have the decency to look

  apologetic at her mistake, but didn't offer a verbal one as she shrugged her

  shoulders and moved past the group to her seat.

  "Way to go, champ, she'll probably send us back to coach just to prove a

  point. Now that we're alone, want to tell me what's up with Alicia?" Gary

  put his bag in the overhead compartment before moving into the window seat

  giving Parker the isle.

  Both their smiles were in place as the other passengers started streaming in

  offering congratulations as they past like they were old friends. Parker nodded

  her head at each well-wisher ignoring her coach for the moment. "Come on,

  Parker, sitting next to me at one of these tournaments seems to be the kiss of

  death for any relationship you seem to be in. I want you to have a life outside

  of tennis and be happy, kid. Believe me it will instill the desire to win in

  you more than this bullshit you've been doing with these girls."

  "I have the desire to win, Gary, so give it a rest. You aren't my mother.

  I just want to go home and take it easy for a while with no complications. Is

  that a crime? Alicia was fun but she's got her own gig to worry about without

  me screwing it up for her. Trust me, buddy, when I meet the one all the

  fairytales talk about you'll be the preverbal first to know."

  When the

  first edition copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' came out of her carryon, Gary

  knew the conversation was over for now. The shoulder length hair formed a

  curtain around her face from the outside world, as Parker got lost in another

  classic story. This is the Kong no one writes about, thought Gary.

  Parker was so much more than just tennis, but those other parts she kept

  hidden.

  The bad girl of tennis was in reality a very private intelligent person that

  loved to read as many books as her schedule allowed for.

  But Gary knew that

  didn't make as interesting headline news as the crying Alicia would the minute

  she figured out she had been dumped. The frown of that thought changed quickly

  as he saw the captain walking down the short aisle of first class with a tray

  in her hand. Maybe the woman did have a sense of humor after all.

  "Sorry it took so long, but we had to send out for the marshmallows. We

  wouldn't want it said that Virgin didn't go the extra mile to make our

  passengers happy," Emily said sarcastically as she put the tray down for

  Parker. The tirade stopped momentarily when the book in the woman's hands

  snapped quietly closed and the pilot was pinned by almost white colorless eyes.

  It was as if Parker's eyes were chameleons that had taken on the color of her

  shirt. "I hope Godiva is good enough?" Emily asked not straightening

  up back into the isle. The phrase 'the eyes are the windows to the soul' popped

  into her head as she was drawn into Parker's personal space. It was as if Emily

  could feel the power sitting so close to her as Parker exhaled and put her head

  down and looked at the offering the captain had brought.

  "Actually, I'm more of a Hershey girl myself, Captain," said Parker

  without looking up again. Having been on the receiving end of scorned women

  before, the tennis player decided an apology was in order before this turned

  into the flight from hell. "Would it help if I apologized, Ca
ptain? I

  didn't mean to insult you in anyway. The fact that you are the captain of this

  aircraft never entered my head when I stepped on board, which I imagine makes

  me a chauvinist pig of the female variety. So I'm sorry and go forward with the

  knowledge from this day on that I learned a valuable lesson in not making

  unfounded assumptions. Thank you for the hot chocolate and the sandwich, chicken

  salad I see, and for helping me choose the book I'm going to read on the way

  home." Parker's own little sarcastic speech made Emily look down to

  Parker's lap wiping out her own assumptions of dumb jock.

  Looking into those seemingly colorless eyes when they suddenly appeared again

  made Emily suddenly think her lover back home in New York. The color of Gail's

  eyes were on the opposite end of the spectrum from Parker's, and Emily couldn't

  help but compare. This would be her last transatlantic flight for a while and

  she would be back to a more normal schedule that would allow her to be home

  more. Gail was waiting in Tampa for her for a little vacation before they both

  headed back to the city. Hopefully the time alone would put the fire back into

  the relationship that seemed to be fizzling out with Emily's constant absence

  and Gail's constant complaints and possessiveness.

  "It's all right, Miss King. You join a long list of others who've made the

  same assumption. I apologize for taking them all out on you." Emily walked

  back to the cockpit without another word leaving Parker leaning into the aisle

  watching the sway of her hips as she departed. The way the skirt fit told

  Parker that the Captain did more than just sit in the cockpit flying planes.

  She was a beauty in motion.

  "Forget it, tennis pro," said one of the male attendants who had had

  the tray snatched out of his hands by the captain. "The ice queen is very

  much involved with a trader in the big apple so you got no chance there, big

  guy."

  Looking at his nametag Parker smiled before answering the obviously gay man.

  "No worries, Willy, cold fish are not my type, or don't you read the

  rags?" Willy laughed along with her as Parker dropped her gaze and went

  back to her book. She dropped in a handful of marshmallows into the cup Emily

  had delivered before taking a sip.

  Ten hours later Emily's voice came lilting out of the speakers informing