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work between us, because we want different things.” She sighed deeply. “I’m leaving, since we fully understand each other.”
    And then she headed for the exit door without looking back.

Chapter 4
    “T his is the Holy Terror, and you’re tuned to WLCK, the Keys’ most important stroke on your radio. Although some of you die-hard football fans want to get a head start discussing the coming season, today on Sports Talk we’re talking about Wimbledon, the oldest tennis tournament in the world, which starts shortly. There’re many tennis fans out there in the audience, and I want to hear from you.”
    Sherri stood in the glass-enclosed booth next to where Terrence sat with a computer monitor flashing in front of him. Mark, the person who was usuallyavailable to screen incoming calls for Sports Talk, had called in sick and with a limited staff working during the summer months, she’d pitched in to help, which would have been fine if it hadn’t put her in close contact with Terrence.
    It had been almost two weeks since that night he had invited her to dinner. Two solid weeks during which time they’d passed each other in the halls and sat across from each other in meetings while trying to ignore the sexual tension radiating between them. Sexual tension that her parting words to him hadn’t been able to eradicate.
    Sighing deeply, she checked the clock in the hall. Terrence’s show lasted an hour, and it had just started. Even separated from him in the booth, she felt the effect of him just by listening to his voice. He had what most in the industry would refer to as a stroking voice, one that could pull a listener in.
    He had gone into advertisements, giving five minutes before he was ready to take the first call.
    As if he knew she was in the booth, he turned off his mike, took off his headset and looked her way. Their gazes locked. She felt the sensations she’d been trying to ignore, sensations she’d convinced herself had actually been a figment of her imagination. At this very moment he was proving herwrong. He was also making her remember that night the two of them had shared dinner alone. The kisses. Their dance. For her the Holy Terror experience was coming back in full force.
    Her lips tightened when he leaned back in his chair and continued to study her. He should be keeping an eye on that computer monitor instead of on her. Likewise, she should be screening his incoming calls. She tried to ignore him but felt his gaze still glued to her, like that of a hungry predator with its next meal in focus.
    Her only saving grace was that the jingle was about to end. She watched as he sat up straight in his chair, put his headset back on and turned the mike back on. Only then did he shift his attention from her.
    She released a deep sigh. It was destined to be a long hour.
     
    “Hi, Holy Terror, this is Monica.”
    Terrence couldn’t help but smile. Monica Kendricks was a frequent caller no matter what sport they were discussing. And she was a notorious flirt. “Monica, what can I do for you today?”
    “Several things,” she said in that feminine chuckle that actually had the tendency to grate on his nerves. “But the one I’m safe in requesting ofyou is for you to end a disagreement between me and several of my girlfriends. They say the nineteen courts at Wimbledon are composed of just rye grass but I remember reading somewhere it was Bermuda grass.”
    The first thing that came into Terrence’s mind was who gave a crap. Were there really women somewhere who’d been arguing about the type of grass on the courts at Wimbledon? He shook his head. “I hate to tell you this, Monica, but you lose. All the courts at Wimbledon are composed of rye grass.” And before she could comment, he moved to the next call.
    “This is the Holy Terror.”
    “Holy, this is Thomas.”
    “Yes, Thomas. What’s your question?”
    “It’s about Serena and Venus.”
    “What about them?”
    “Rumor has it you use to date