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“Do it.” He continued to guide me, though he mostly allowed me to pull back, then sweep forward with the club, hammering the bowl of the trap with so much force, sand went flying—so, too, did my ball. Right up and out of the bunker and onto the green, rolling sweetly to the hole and plopping in.
“Holy shit!” I shrieked.
Dane’s arms instantly dropped and he took a step back. My dad’s head whipped around and he gave us a curious look.
My pulse raced from Dane and my great shot. “It’s in the hole!” I yelled at my father. “No hand wedge this time!”
His gaze narrowed on me. Then shifted to Dane. I felt like a teenager busted for breaking curfew. And with a man four years older than me—one my father did not appear to approve of me hanging out with.
More tension ensues.
“Grab your ball,” Dane said. “I’ll rake.”
While he tidied up, I retrieved my ball. Ethan and my dad putted theirs in. Dane chipped onto the green. His ball also rolled straight into the hole.
“Show-off,” I teased quietly.
“I like to win, remember?”
Sure enough, he trumped my score and Ethan’s. Came in several strokes away from my dad but that was to be expected when you played with someone of PGA caliber.
We left the clubs for the staff to clean and I hit the ladie
s’ room inside the lobby of the gorgeous restaurant that featured a patio almost wrapped all the way around it and overlooked the lush lawns. Across the courtyard from the dining room was an outdoor cantina, where I met up with the men.
A Bloody Mary bar was set up and I loaded a small plate with bleu cheese–stuffed olives and shrimp-and-bacon skewers. I dropped a cilantro sprig into my cocktail.
A cool breeze swept through the covered patio. The huge double-sided fireplace was lit and tall heaters with glass pyramid-shaped tops had roaring flames inside them. Not exactly necessary but they added to the ambience.
We settled at a round stone table for four and talked about the course and the club. Although it was quite striking, it didn’t compare to 10,000 Lux by any stretch. Even the Robert Trent Jones property couldn’t compare to the Lux. It was in a class unto itself. As was its owner.
I tried not to hang on his every word, but that was near impossible. I tried not to stare too long at him. That, too, was near impossible.
He sat next to me and I could feel his heat, sense his presence, drown in all the tingly sensations he so easily evoked, without even touching me.
And that was another ragged-edge feeling, because I wanted his hands and mouth all over my body. Desperately. Like nothing I’d ever imagined.
I pressed my thighs together as desire hummed between my legs, taunting me. My napkin slipped from my lap and Dane and I reached for it at the same time, my shoulder bumping his rock-hard biceps.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He collected the napkin and lightly placed it in my lap. My pulse spiked. I was sure my father caught the hitch in my breath. Ethan, too. Damn it. I willed some composure. But I was just so intensely aware of Dane. And my body was so responsive to him that his nearness sent me into sensory overload.
Lust quickly vanished, however, when I caught sight of Mikaela Madsen strolling casually across the courtyard. Heading in our direction. My spirits plummeted with every step she took toward the busy cantina. Naturally, she’d be a member at this exclusive club.
She reached our table and the men stood as Dane made introductions. I reluctantly followed suit.
She was gracious, dripping saccharine as she greeted Ethan and Dane—her hand on his arm, as seemed to be her custom. As though she had some sort of claim over him.
Did she?
Eventually, she turned fluttering eyelashes on my father and damn it all to hell, she knew exactly who he was. And he didn’t mind in the least the way she fawned over him.
When her attention finally fell on me, she said, “I’ve seen you with Dane—at Tlaquepaque and then at the Delfino’s last night.”
“Yes. Meghan is a former client. And a friend.”
“She’s very sweet. We play tennis together on occasion.”
