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He looked at me skeptically. Hopefully. “Does that sound okay? Or am I thoroughly, unredeemable-y repulsive?”
I laughed again. “Not thoroughly repulsive. Marginally...”
“So you’ll stay on for the rest of the week? And be my date to the thing?”
Watch it. Kai’s not capable of being serious. Or feeling…feelings. You’ll only get hurt…
“I’d love to be your date to the thing,” I heard myself saying.
“Great.” Kai offered his hand, businesslike. “Daisy Watson, I hereby officially rehire you to work your mystical voodoo on me. Even if it means no more kissing or sexy interludes in the pool.” He shook his head. “Fuck, I must be crazy.”
Or I am, I thought and put my hand in his strong one.
We shook on it and then held on. Because neither one of us wanted to let go.
Kai
The “media thing” was a lot bigger than Jason and my publicity team had made it out to be. The country club in Wailea, a forty-five-minute drive down the west coast of Maui, was decked out in lights and swarmed with people in formal-wear while waiters circulated with trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Members of the press wandered among the crowds trailed by cameramen who grabbed impromptu interviews with ATP officials.
Just the kind of shit I hated.
Jason Lemieux, who had flown in to attend—mostly to babysit me—sat across from Daisy and me in the limo, smiling like a proud parent.
I wanted to scowl at him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Daisy. She wore a satiny dress that fell over her lithe body like melted copper. It highlighted every curve, dipped low to reveal her perfect breasts, and generally made it hard for me to think.
I caught her staring at me a few times too; her eyes had widened at the house when she first saw me in a tux. I’d never given a shit about how I made a woman feel before unless it was to hear her scream my name in bed. But Daisy’s stare and the blush that colored her cheeks was better than any compliment.
This is bad, I thought. I fantasized about tearing that dress off of her later—nothing unusual there. But I also had fantasies of the morning after, of making her laugh, of holding her and making her feel safe.
Christ, this is really bad.
I felt like I was about to face off against Rafa Nadal in front of thousands, naked, and with a ping-pong paddle instead of a racket. I hated not being in control of my emotions. The “meltdowns” they accused me of weren’t me losing my shit; they were me directing my pain, anger, and grief outward so they wouldn’t burn me up from the inside.
No anger or pain with Daisy, but I felt just as exposed. Weak. I hated feeling weak.
Daisy’s hand was on my arm. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I said. The limo pulled up to the curb and I offered Daisy my arm. “Be prepared. The camera flashes are blinding and they’re all going to want your picture.”
Daisy made a face as we neared the line of paparazzi. “Kai Solomon’s new girl?”
“You’re so damn beautiful, they’re not going to register I’m even there.”
Her blush was visible even under the lamps that held the night at bay, and I felt myself surrendering to her. To whatever I felt for her. Being with Daisy was like slipping into cool waters on a scorching day, and I decided to stop fighting it. To stop trying to control how I felt and just be with her.
“I know this is only the start of our first date, but I don’t think I can handle the sheer volume of arse-kissing and bullshit we’re about to face unless I can kiss you first.”
She pretended to think about it. “I suppose. If it’ll get you through the night without cursing someone out or throwing a drink.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said with a laugh and put my lips to hers in a soft kiss. After going without touching her days that felt like months, just that kiss was enough to make me want to rearrange my entire life to make sure I kept Daisy in it.
Jason cleared his throat. “Excuse me? Young people? They’re waiting.”
We headed up the walk, enduring a million flashes and calls from reporters asking me how I felt about my chances at the Open, and—more importantly—who was my date? I said nothing but kept moving until we made it into the elegant main ballroom of the country club.
My smile could not have been wider, my heart lighter…until I saw Brad Finn in a tux, talking to a group of reporters.
I jerked to a stop. “What the fuck, Jason…?”
