Unknown - driven

Like Afghanistan.

The game had been a walkover. Cat displayed a wicked, curving overhand serve no-one?including herself?knew she had, and Dylan was, quite simply, Dylan. Their opponents never had a chance, though they gave it a game effort.

The tournament was a modified round robin format, with the six teams broken up into two three-team groups. Each team would play the others in its group in a one game to fifteen winner take all match. Then the winners of each group would play one another for the right to face the world?s top professional two-woman beach volleyball team.

And that right would likely come with a royal butt-whipping.

Today, Thursday, was reserved for the preliminary rounds. Friday would host the group winner face off and the “championship” game against the pros.

The weekend itself was reserved for the true showpiece of the tournament, the annual three-on-three basketball pro-am.

The fans, however, were enjoying the preliminary “festivities”.

And if the beer vendor, who was so intent on ripping the rest of Dylan?s scant clothing off with his eyes that he walked into a support post and was currently wearing his product, was any indication, volleyball would be back next year for certain.

Cat looked over at Dylan, who was sitting regally in her canvas chair, looking totally cool and unruffled, and felt a brief stab of envy. Cat herself was hot, sweaty, sore, and had a pound of sand in places where sand had no place being.

She was also a hormonal wreck. It was bad enough seeing the woman of her dreams half clothed and facing her. But when Cat stood behind the service line and looked at that perfectly sculpted back, legs longer than the Nile, and a posterior worthy of the envy of every god, past, present and future, her mind was insisting on sending her images that would make a streetwalker blush.

People wondered where her wicked serve came from. She didn?t.

Sexual frustration, plain and simple.

And the very object of that frustration was walking toward her, oiled, sleek, and mouth-wateringly gorgeous.

“Ready?”

Any more ready and I?d explode into a million pieces right in front of the crowd.

She didn?t say that out loud, of course.

At least, she didn?t think she did.

By the look on Dylan?s face, however, there was a distinct possibility that her thoughts had been well and truly read.

Cat rose with a sigh. It was going to be a very long day.

Leaning her shoulder and head against the cool cement of the tunnel, Cat more or less patiently waited for Dylan to finally break away from every Tom, Dick, and Harriet who clamored for her much valued attention. She?d faced the press and crowds for a small eternity herself, but it was obvious exactly to whom they all paid homage. Which suited Cat just fine. The crowd gave her a major case of the willies.

She smiled, though, remembering one small girl, her hair all gone from chemotherapy treatments, and how she?d pushed with determination through the writhing mass, Cat?s rookie card in her small hand. Her right leg ended in a prosthesis, which made her determination all the more fierce and, to Cat, exceptional. The young girl had given her a shy, gap-toothed grin, and held up her card to be signed. Cat was, the girl said, her absolute favorite player in the whole world.

Smitten, and damn near tears, she?d signed the card, knowing that the pure, undiluted joy of that simple act would be something she would always remember.

She?d also posed for pictures with the girl, whose name was Randy, and they?d talked until her mother led her away, smiling, waving, and holding the signed card to her chest as if it was the most priceless of treasures.

Coming back to the present, Cat smiled, shook her head, and wiped the mist from her eyes.

They?d won all three of their games, of course, though the last game was a bit close for awhile. An Olympic high jumper had paired with the number three ranked tennis player to give them a match worth sweating for. In the end, however, they?d managed a 15-8 victory, and the crowd, ever appreciative of their efforts, nearly fell in on itself with joy. Cat guessed, privately, that most of that joy centered on the fact that they?d just been granted another day in which to see their Goddess in her cocktail napkin ensemble.

Cat chuckled a little at the thought.

A shower, cold and stinging, had done wonders for her disposition, if not exactly for her state of cleanliness. She could still feel fine granules of sand etching their way into her skin, and she shifted slightly, shaking one sore and aching leg to release some of the irritation.

“Come on, Dylan,” she murmured in the still air.

A tall shadow fell across her, and she smiled, looking up. Dylan was dressed in casual jeans and a crisp white T-shirt that accentuated her muscular build. Her hair was wet, shining, and slicked back away from her face, bringing her chisled features into even greater definition.

Cat felt the effects of the cold shower evaporate in an instant as another surge of warmth rushed through her body, causing a distinct weakness in her legs once again.

“Oh, what you do to me,” she breathed.

Looking down at the smaller woman, her hair still damp and slightly curling from her shower, her green eyes darkening with desire, Dylan knew that the feeling was entirely mutual. She smiled and held out a hand. “Let?s get outta here.”

Relaxing against the soft leather seat of Dylan?s rental, Cat looked on as their hotel passed slowly by on the right.

“Um?Dylan?”

“Mm?”

“Our hotel?s going bye-bye.”

Dylan chuckled. “I figured we could use some time away from the press. It?ll be a madhouse there. I don?t know about you, but I?m about interviewed out for the day.”

“True, but I was kinda hoping for another shot at a shower. I?ve got sand in places even I don?t want to know about.”

Dylan chuckled again, causing Cat to discover yet again how much she liked the sound of her laughter.

“Trust me.”

“I do.” Cat was smiling, but her eyes were dead serious.

Dylan?s gaze softened, and she took her eyes away from the road long enough to lift a hand to brush against the incredibly soft skin of Cat?s cheek. “Thanks,” she replied softly.

“No problem,” Cat replied in an equal tone.

As Dylan returned her attention to the highway, Cat rested her head against the seat, feeling the ghost of Dylan?s touch deep in the marrow of her bones.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. We?re here.”

Cat blinked her eyes open, unaware that she?d even fallen asleep. Stretching stiff and aching muscles, she groaned softly, and ran a hand over her face to clear sleep-hazy eyes.

“Where?s here?” she burred, voice hoarse from her unintended nap. “And how long have I been out?”

“About forty five minutes,” Dylan replied, coming around to the passenger?s side and opening the door for Cat. Reaching down, she eased the younger woman from the car and steadied her as she steadied herself on her aching legs.

Cat looked around, taking in a deep, bracing breath of cool, pine-scented air. “It?s dark.”

“Mm. That usually happens at nighttime, yes.”

That earned Dylan a stinging backhand to the midsection, which she absorbed easily as she began to lead her sleepy passenger up the long, secluded drive.

Cat?s eyes widened as a fairly large, low-slung house came into view among the towering pines. Through the huge glass windows came a flickering light that could only be a fire in the hearth. She looked over at Dylan. “I?I?m not too sure I?m much for company,” she admitted softly.

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “I wasn?t aware I constituted ?company?.”

“Not you, silly. Whoever?s got the fire going. They don?t just light themselves, you know.”