Opposites Attract

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    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not have any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
    OPPOSITES ATTRACT
    An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author
    PUBLISHING HISTORY
    Harlequin Books edition / June 2005
    InterMix eBook edition / October 2012
     
    Copyright © 1992 by Nora Roberts.
    Excerpt from
The Perfect Hope
copyright © 2012 by Nora Roberts.
    Cover photo © Shutterstock/Alena Root.
    All rights reserved.
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    ISBN: 978-1-101-56969-6
    INTERMIX
    InterMix Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
    a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
    375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
    INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

For Joan Schulhafer,
    leader of tours, handler of details and good friend

Chapter 1
    “Advantage, Starbuck.”
    Isn’t it always? Asher mused. For a moment the large arena held that humming silence peculiar to indoor sports events. There was an aroma of roasted peanuts and sweat. The overhead lights heated the scent somewhat pleasantly while the crush of bodies added enforced camaraderie. A small child sent up a babbling complaint and was hushed.
    Seated several rows back at midcourt, Asher Wolfe watched Ty Starbuck—tennis master, gypsy, eternal boy of summer and former lover. She thought again, as she had several times during more than two hours of play, that he’d changed. Just how wasn’t yet completely clear. More than three years had passed since she’d seen him in the flesh. But he hadn’t aged, or thickened, or lost any of his characteristic verve.
    Rarely over the years had she watched a televised match—it was too painful. Too many faces were familiar, with his the most strictly avoided. If Asher had chanced to come across a write-up or picture of him in the sports pages or in a gossip column, she had immediately put it aside. Ty Starbuck was out of her life. Her decision. Asher was a very decisive woman.
    Even her decision to come to the U.S. Indoor Tennis Championship had been a cool-headed one. Before making this trip, she had carefully weighed the pros and cons. In the end logic had won. She was getting back into the game herself. On the circuit, meetings with Ty would be unavoidable. She would see him now, letting the press, her colleagues and fans see clearly that there was nothing left of what had been three years before. Ty would see too, and, she hoped fervently, so would she.
    Ty stood behind the base line, preparing to serve. His stance was the same, she mused, as was his sizzling concentration. He tossed the ball up, coming back and over with the wicked left-handed serve that had become synonymous with his name, a Starbuck.
    Asher heard the explosion of his breath that forced the power into it. She held her own. A lesser player than the Frenchman, Grimalier, would never have gotten a racket on the ball. His return was quick—force meeting force—and the rally began.
    The crowd grew noisier as the ball smashed and thudded. Echoes bounced crazily. There were cries of encouragement, shouts of appreciation for the prowess of the two players. Ty’s basic entertainment value hadn’t