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“Well, now, I appreciate that. You be sure and tell ’em all thanks for me.”
He disappeared, and Maryann settled Emma at a window table. “You can watch him from here. And, honey, won’t it be a glorious sight to behold? Nobody hits long irons like Kenny Traveler.”
Emma gave her a look that she hoped was friendly but reserved. She had no interest in watching Kenny Traveler hit long irons.
Until she saw him.
Although he still wore his tan shorts, he’d traded in his work boots for a pair of golf shoes, and the University of Texas T-shirt had been replaced by a dark brown golf shirt with another logo, although she was too far away to see which one. His muscles were fluid and graceful as he hit one shot after another. The balls flew off the tee, soaring so far that she couldn’t see them land. She wasn’t surprised by his grace, but the display of power coming from a man so fundamentally lazy left her feeling light-headed.
He was a complete mystery to her. She had the feeling that dark waters lurked beneath that lackadaisical exterior, but she had no idea how deep they ran or how far they flowed. She thought of what he’d said in the car earlier when he’d made it evident that he still wanted to go to bed with her. “What difference does it make whether I happen to be a professional gigolo or a professional golfer? I’ve got all the necessary equipment, and I’m happy to let you use it.”
But it did make a difference. She could somehow have respected herself if she’d bought his services, but she couldn’t respect herself if she became a groupie for a rich, professional athlete to regard with secret contempt.
All day she’d tried to avoid thinking about last night, but as she ate her grilled chicken sandwich and watched him hit one ball after another, his strength made her grow warm and restless. She forced herself to think logically. A tattoo and a change of wardrobe weren’t going to be enough to completely discourage Hugh Holroyd, merely give him second thoughts. She’d known all along she’d have to do something more dramatic. Take a lover? The idea had been nibbling away at her for some time. But not Kenny Traveler. After what had happened last night, that would now be immoral. She couldn’t exactly explain why; she only knew it was true. She needed to find someone else.
The thought depressed her so much she lost her appetite. Kenny Traveler wasn’t honest or trustworthy, but he certainly was sexy, and, despite her aversion to rogues, she wanted it to be with him.
She took a glum poke at her tuna sandwich, then signaled the waitress for a cup of tea she didn’t want. Anything to draw her attention away from the tantalizing figure on the driving range.
Kenny dropped her off at the hotel before he went back to his condo to change into what he called his “tattoo parlor clothes.” At seven-thirty, she headed down to the lobby to wait for him. When she arrived, she looked around for someone who might be a detective, but all she saw were businessmen and tourists.
Kenny came in through the revolving door. He wore a pair of navy slacks and a white polo shirt with a Dean Witter logo. She wondered if he owned any clothes that didn’t have a product endorsement on them.
As he caught sight of her, he froze. “What in Sam Hill did you do to yourself?”
“Who’s the Antichrist?”
“We’re not talking about that now; we’re talking about the fact that I dropped off Mary Poppins and I came back to find Madonna.” His gaze took in her new outfit, purchased at one of the mall’s inexpensive teen boutiques. The sleeveless black T-dress was perilously short and closely fitted, with a zip-neck. Unzipped. Or at least unzipped far enough to be noted in a memo to London.
“Really? You think I look like Madonna?”
“You don’t look anything like Madonna.” He lowered his voice to a growl that only she could hear. “What you look like is a nymphomaniac Mary Poppins. There wasn’t a single thing wrong with those clothes you had on today, and I want you to change right back into them.”
“Gracious, Kenny, you sound like an outraged father.”
His scowl grew more pronounced. “You’re happy about this, aren’t you? You’re happy to be walking around without leaving anything to the imagination.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?” Perhaps she’d gone too far. If a playboy like Kenny Traveler thought she was dressed too obviously, maybe she needed to be more subtle. She tugged the zipper all the way up. “There.”
He continued to regard her critically. “You’ve got makeup on.”
“I’ve had makeup on all day.”
“Not as much as you have on now.”
“It’s tastefully applied, and don’t try to tell me it’s not.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is—between what happened last night and your tattoo obsession and now this—I’m getting a real bad feeling. It’s one thing to want a little freedom on your summer vacation; it’s another to change into a different person. Suppose you tell me exactly what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“Not a thing.”
He drew her off to the side, keeping his voice low. “Look, Emma. Let’s speak frankly here. You have an itch you want scratched—perfectly understandable—but you can’t let just anybody scratch it. Dressed like that, you’re pretty much putting yourself on the auction block.”
“Nonsense. You’re going to be with me all evening, aren’t you? How can anything happen?” She headed for the lobby doors.
