“Sure,” he replied tentatively, unsure what she meant by this offer, but feeling sure that it must be good. Love showing in his grin, he watched her walking away. A friendly breeze blew as she reached the service line, immodestly lifting her pleated blue skirt. “Oh, yes.” Mesmerized, he backed away slowly. Her blonde hair danced in the gusts of wind. His gaze drank her beauty, keen on her lean legs and freckled shoulders. She bounced a ball rhythmically. He stopped at the baseline and crouched slightly, both hands firm on his racket.
Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov