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Sunny might not have heard about the luncheon kiss, but she would almost certainly have heard about Ted’s legendary lovemaking skills, and Meg suspected she’d be doing everything she could to find out for herself if the stories were true. Meg also knew Ted wouldn’t touch her. Having that much faith in a man unsettled her. Hadn’t she trusted men before? But none of those men were Ted.
Ted . . . who’d claimed her in front of the town and damned the consequences. A stupid, boneheaded thing to do that meant everything to her.
She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. “We know each other well enough that I can be honest, right?”
The sight of his narrowing eyes wasn’t encouraging, so she dumped her dignity and tried a pout. “What I’d really like is a golf lesson.”
“A golf lesson?”
“You have such a beautiful swing. It reminds me of Kenny’s, but I can’t exactly ask him for a lesson, and I want to learn from the best. Please, Spence. You’re such a great player. It’d mean a lot more to me than another trip to Dallas, where I’ve been at least a thousand times.” More like once, but he didn’t know that, and twenty minutes later, they were on the practice range.
Unlike Torie, Spence was a miserable teacher, more interested in having her admire his swing than helping her develop her own, but Meg acted as though he was the king of all golf instructors. As he droned on, she found herself wondering if he was as committed to building an environmentally conscious resort as Ted believed. When they finally sat on the bench to take a break, she decided to go on a fishing expedition. “You’re so good at this. I swear, Spence, your love for the game shows through in everything you do.”
“I’ve been playing since I was a kid.”
“That’s why you have so much respect for the sport. Look at you. Anybody with money can build a golf course, but how many men have the vision to build a course that’ll set the benchmark for future generations?”
“I believe in doing what’s right.”
That was encouraging. She amped it up a little. “I know you’ll say all the environmental awards you’re sure to win aren’t what’s most important, but you deserve every bit of the recognition that’s coming to you.”
She thought she’d gone too far, but she’d once again underestimated his bottomless ego. “Somebody has to set the new standard,” he said, echoing words she’d heard from Ted.
She pressed a little harder. “Don’t forget to hire a photographer to take photos of the landfill the way it is now. I’m not a journalist, but I’m guessing the various award committees are going to want really good before and after pictures.”
“Now don’t be putting the cart ahead of the horse, Miz Meg. I haven’t signed anything yet.”
She hadn’t really expected him to reveal his final decision to her, but she’d hoped. A hawk soared overhead, and Spence started making noises about a romantic dinner at one of the local vineyards. If she had to eat with him, she wanted to do it someplace where she’d have lots of company, so she insisted that only the Roustabout’s barbecue could satisfy her appetite.
Sure enough, they’d barely been seated before reinforcements began to arrive. Dallie sauntered in first, followed by Shelby Traveler, who hadn’t even taken time to put on her mascara. Kayla’s father, Bruce, still wearing his workout shorts, rushed in next, darting dirty looks at Meg while he ordered. They had no intention of leaving her alone with Spence, and by nine o’clock, their group occupied three tables, with Ted and Sunny noticeably missing.
Meg had taken a shower in the locker room before they’d left the club and changed into her spare outfit: an unimpressive funnel-neck gray top, swirly skirt, and sandals, but dressing down didn’t discourage Spence, who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He took advantage of any excuse to press against her. He ran his finger over her wrist, readjusted the paper napkin in her lap, and brushed her breast with his arm as he reached for a bottle of Tabasco. Lady Emma did her best to distract him, but Spence had all the power, and he intended to use it to get what he wanted. Which was how she ended up standing in the parking lot under the red and blue neon roustabout sign with her phone pressed to her ear.
“Dad, I have one of your biggest fans here,” she said when her father picked up. “I know you’ve heard of Spencer Skipjack, the founder of Viceroy Industries. They make the most luxurious plumbing products. He’s basically a genius.”
Spence grinned, and his chest inflated in the neon flicker like one of Chef’s pre–car crash soufflés.
She’d pulled her father away from his ancient Smith Corona typewriter or from her mother. Either way, he wasn’t happy. “What’s this about, Meg?”
“Can you believe it?” she replied. “As busy as he is, he gave me a golf lesson today.”
His annoyance shifted to concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Absolutely not. Golf is the most amazing game. But then, you know that.”
“You’d better have a good reason for this.”
“I do. Here he is.”
She shoved the phone at Spence and hoped for the best.
Spence immediately adopted an embarrassing intimacy with her father, peppering a movie critique with plumbing advice, offering the use of his private jet, and telling Jake Koranda where he should eat in L.A. Apparently her father didn’t say anything to offend him because Spence was beaming when he finally handed her phone back.
Her father, however, wasn’t nearly as happy. “That guy’s an idiot.”
“I knew you’d be impressed. Love you.” Meg flipped her phone shut and gave Spence a thumbs-up. “My father doesn’t usually take to people so quickly.”
One look at Spence’s beaming expression told her the conversation had only intensified his fixation on her. He curled his hands around her arms and began to pull her to him just as the Roustabout’s door flew open and Torie, who’d finally realized they were missing, came flying out to the rescue. “Hurry up, you two. Kenny just ordered three of every dessert on the menu.”
