Chapter 1

July

'Jesus!' My brother exclaimed, ducking as the ball rebounded off my racket and launched itself at his head. 'Have you not been listening to anything I have said?!'

I rolled my eyes, huffing as I lowered my racquet from where I still held it poised for battle. "I did not ask for you to teach me how to play tennis, Seth! Besides, you know that sporting activities and I do not get on." I scowled, my younger brother should have known better. I had never been good at sport. In high school I was always the last picked for a team and I spent more time in the hospital from injuries than I actually did playing.

"Look," Seth began as he loaded the ball machine with balls once more. His persistence was inspiring, despite his foolish notion that I would ever be safe enough to play tennis. "Remember to wait for the ball to come to you and swing your racquet in an upward arc to finish over your opposite shoulder." He showed me with his own racquet once more.

With a scowl I mimicked him. Going through the motions was easy, hitting the damned green ball that approached me like a missile, was another thing entirely. The growl of the ball machine I had dubbed 'The Monster' drew my attention, alerting me to the commencement of our second duel. The ball machine grumbled maliciously until an airy 'pop' resounded and it launched another missile ball my way. I watched it approach, panicked by its speed and the ferocity of the machine that launched it, I swung blindly. There was nothing but the unsatisfying whooshing sound as my racket slid through the air. Finishing the arc my brother had drilled into me, I heard the clinking of plastic chains as the ball found the court's perimeter fence behind me. I had missed, again.

"See?" I threw my arms out in frustration. "Hand-eye co-ordination is not my thing either!" With a defeated sigh I pouted, "Can we just go home now?"

Seth huffed, turning the machine off as it prepped to launch another ball at me. Sport, particularly tennis, had always come easily to him. The product of my mother's second marriage, Seth had taken after his father, Phil, who had played cricket in his youth. He had reached national level and was forced to stop through injury just as his career promised to go international. Seth had taken after his father's talents and was born to play tennis, his agility and ability to hit the ball was uncanny. He played for his school and our county and was already up for selection at national level. His talent had caused my parents to sell up and move to an area where he could access the best tennis coaches and clubs.

It almost seemed sacrilege that I was stood on one of the grass courts of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, or better known to the world as the home of Wimbledon. It was an honour that my brother had been allowed to play on the courts but as a Lawn Tennis Association sponsored player, he got a pass every now and again and snuck me in this day. The national tennis gods had their eyes on Seth and Seth had his eyes on the top and with Wimbledon starting in a few weeks he was getting training in before the junior tournament began. I, however, only had my eyes set on a cup of tea and a good book at home.

With a mumble about gathering his stuff from the clubhouse, my brother stalked off the court officially ending the horrendous lesson. I began to pick up the various balls strewn across the court from my impressive number of miss-hits. As I picked up the final balls and balanced them on my racquet to carry them back to the ball bag. Dropping them in, I kept one out. Eyeing the ball speculatively for a moment, I held my arm out and threw it into the air as I swung my racket, taking special care to swing as my bother had said. With a crack the strings hit the ball and it sailed over the net and clear of the court markings on the other side.

Out.

By miles too.

I scowled for the umpteenth time and watched the ball as it rolled to the corner of the court. Suddenly, the thump of a heavy bag in the grass behind me, caught my attention.

"If you step forward into the ball and keep your body open and facing forwards, you will be able to control the ball more." The humour in the deep, huskier tones grated my already frayed nerves and I turned to find one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen leant casually against the fence. His good looks stopped my anger in my throat and my jaw dropped a little as a blush coloured my cheeks. Great, my sporting failure was witnessed by another and not only that, a Greek god.

His tousled bronze hair glistened in the hazy, late afternoon sun, wet from a shower most likely since his clothes were crisp, clean and dry. His jeans were fashionably worn and hung low on his hips as a T-shirt clung to his torso, his arms crossed across his muscled chest. His eyes were hidden behind large dark, aviator sunglasses and his chiseled jaw cut in well-defined lines beneath them. At his feet lay a large balck and yellow racquet bag, the word Babolat emblazoned across its front.

I licked my lips, suddenly wishing I hadn't just pulled on my brother's old, worn sweats and a T-shirt I meant to throw out years ago. My hair, despite being in a ponytail, was falling out in disarray about my face and I wore a nice sheen of sweat from the summer afternoon. Sexy.

He indicated with his chin to the ball I had just hit, "Try again." His lips curled into a sinfully crooked smirk and I found myself ensnared beneath his charm, despite the teasing gleam in his eye. I went to move, but faltered, flustered and unsure, yet finally my legs worked and I scuttled over to the ball. Picking it up from its grassy bed, I walked back over to the end of the court.

"Stand in the middle, at the base line." His voice commanded, and willingly I obeyed. I cast him a sideways glance, wishing I was dressed in one of those short skirt/dress ensembles the top female players wore. Instead, I looked like a tom-boy. "As you throw the ball up, step into it as you hit it. It would be easier to do if you were receiving the ball from the other side of the court though."

I threw the ball up a little to the right for my racquet arm to receive as I stepped forward with my left foot. "Good! Now, keep watching the ball and swing. Keep facing forward." I did as he said, my arm swinging forward and up across my body. The racquet touched the ball with the lightest touch and the ball flew away with a graceful arc that landed it neatly within the baseline on the opposite side of the net.

"Better."

I smiled delightedly, inwardly celebrating that this beautiful stranger had managed to draw some form of skill from within me.

"Thank you!" I grinned looking between the Graecian god and where my ball had landed. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped when a small woman with short, wild black hair came hurrying up to him. "Edward! Come on! You're late, again! We have a meeting in an hour and we have got to get to the other side of London!" She was a ball of energy in her designer suit as she ushered him to pick up his bag. She was beautiful too. Her small stature took nothing away from the vibrant personality that radiated from her as she said something I could not hear and they both laughed. Reaching down to pick up his bag, Edward looked back at me, smirking and dipping his head in salute as he turned, following the young woman as she lead the way back down the path between the courts.

I watched them until they turned the corner and were gone from sight. The sound of my brother clearing his voice from the entrance of the court startled me. His eyes were wide with disbelief as he looked between me and where the couple had just disappeared. "Oh my god Bells, that was Edward Cullen!"

I blinked, "Who?'

Seth merely stared at me for a moment, his jaw slack and shock written across his face. He seemed immobilized by my ignorance for a moment before he seemed to shake himself out of it, his head shaking as he chuckled softly in disbelief. "No one Bells." He turned away from me to pick up the last ball and place it in his ball bag and as he did, I was sure I heard him say 'Unbelievable".