"Never gonna happen. Can you come up with an option where I wear actual clothing? It needs to be an emotionally epic moment, not physical."
"I think you're going in the wrong direction here."
"You're gonna be a real pain in the ass as a brother-in-law."
They looked at each other and shared their first real laugh.
And then, suddenly, she had it.
"I know what to do. But I'll need to recruit help."
"What's the plan?"
She relayed the basic details. His eyes widened and he finally nodded. "That's a good one. Even though you're not naked."
"Thanks. I'm making the call."
She reached out to grab the phone to talk to Wolfe.
NATE CHECKED HIS WATCH and decided to wait another five minutes. Wolfe was rarely late. He hoped he showed. Since the fight with his brother, things had settled a bit, but loneliness and thoughts of Kennedy still ravaged his mind. He was looking forward to a good game to test his skills and some male conversation for distraction.
The phone buzzed and he slid it out of his pocket. "Standing me up?"
A low chuckle. "Sorry, man, I got caught up in a project and can't make it out."
"No problem. I'll miss kicking your ass, though."
"I'm closing in on you, buddy. Shaved off two strokes in my game and closed my big deal. It was a beautiful thing."
Nate grinned. "Damn, huge congrats. I knew you could do it."
"You made it possible. Also realized there's an untapped market in the hotel industry on the golf course. I left something for you in the office. Show Ron some ID and he'll give it to you."
"ID, huh? The plot thickens."
"Enjoy. And don't call me back with any bullshit. I can't return them."
"Now I'm worried. I guess I'll thank you in advance, then."
"Welcome. I found you another partner, too. Should be in the office waiting for you."
"You think of everything. Now go make some money, for God's sake."
"Check in with you later."
Nate hit the button and slid the phone back in his pocket. Pride surged through him for his friend's accomplishment. He headed to the office, showed his license to Ron, and got escorted to the back room. There in the middle of the room lay the most magnificent golf clubs ever created.
He leaned over to inspect them. Shock held him immobile. His hand trembled as he ran a finger over the solid platinum and gold finish. Son of a bitch. The HONMA five-star custom set golf clubs were extremely rare, and crazy expensive. Trump played with them. How the hell had Wolfe managed?
As if his friend anticipated the question, Nate's gaze snagged on the small envelope taped to the bag. He reached out and opened it up.
Nate,
Thanks for everything. I sent a video clip of your swing and got these custom made in London. Of course, I got my own set, so watch out. The student eventually surpasses the teacher.
See you next week.
--Wolfe
It was a while before he was ready to actually slide one of the clubs out and hold it in his hand. The metal glistened, and the handle fit in his hand like it was meant to be there. Emotion clogged his throat, but he fought it back because he knew Wolfe would groan about getting all mushy and refuse to acknowledge his gratitude. He was damn lucky to score a friend like that.
The door opened. "Nate? Your partner is waiting out here for you."
"Coming." He hoisted the clubs onto his shoulder, still bedazzled, and walked out of the office to the main fairway. Then stopped short.
"Hello, Nate."
Kennedy stood before him.
Holy crap. She was gorgeous. Thick waves of hair fell past her shoulders, streaked with candy caramel color. The tennis dress thing was different from the last one she wore. This dress was shorter, and in fire-engine red. Her bare golden legs went on forever and ended in a pair of scarlet golf shoes.
His voice didn't work. He kept trying, but it got stuck halfway up his lungs and caught in his throat. His dick seemed to work fine, though. It rose to full staff salute and pushed painfully against his pants. This was not happening. Was it? Was he dreaming or was he just completely stupid to think she ever secretly loved him at all?
He quickly ran through endless physics equations to calm his mind and be able to walk without highlighting his arousal. "What are you doing here?"
Her tongue shot out to dampen glossy pink lips, showcasing that one crooked tooth he was so crazy about. "Golfing. Wolfe couldn't make it."
Temper warred with his sick desire to spend time with her. "And you're okay with this?"
She blinked. "Sure. Aren't you?"
He grit his teeth. No. No more games and pain and hoping for something from her she wasn't able to give. "No, I'm not. Are you trying to deliberately mess with my head? Why are you here, Kennedy?"
She flinched, and suddenly the fake calm dropped from her face and was replaced by truth. Those whiskey eyes filled with longing and a hint of--fear? Was that even possible? What was going on? "I need to talk to you," she murmured. "To explain. Some things."
His heart leaped with hope. He squashed it like an annoying gnat. "I think we've said everything we need. I can't do this with you anymore. I'm going home."
He turned and prayed for the strength to reach his car. To drive away and heal from this woman who stole his heart and turned his world upside down and didn't want him.
"Wait!" She jumped out and blocked his path. Twisted her fingers and looked up from thick dark lashes with pleading, puppy dog eyes that walloped away his breath. "Please, just give me a chance. Play three holes with me. If I win, you listen to everything I have to say. If I lose, I'll walk and never bother you again."
He looked at her in astonishment. "Are you kidding me? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"I triple dog dare you. Three holes. You owe me that."
He owed her? Was she kidding? Pure temper warred with his survival instinct to get away and save himself. She wanted to challenge him to a game? Fine. But this time he was playing for keeps. On his own holy ground of the golf course, Nate intended to finally finish this relationship and not look back. On his terms.
"Be careful what you wish for, Ken," he growled under his breath. "I've finally had enough."
The woman had the guts to smile at him. "So have I. Let's do this. This time I brought my own clubs."
He smothered a humorless laugh. Damn her to hell. But he realized this was the only way to end it. Once he won, she'd leave him alone, and maybe he'd finally be able to get on with his life. It was a poetic sort of finale, but more like an opera where everyone died at the end rather than a romance novel.
"Fine. We won't need the cart. Follow me."
He grabbed her clubs, refusing to allow her to carry them up the hill, and trudged off. She kept up, but he refused to look back. All he needed to see was that perky rear barely covered by the ridiculous dress. How could they make such stuff to play golf in? It wasn't decent. What would ha
ppen if she had to bend down to get one of the balls?
Smoke steamed out of his head, but he reached the first hole, released her clubs, and got his head in the game. "Ladies first."
She took her spot in the tee box. Glued her gaze to the ball, shimmied a bit back and forth while the red skirt swung in rhythm, drew back, and socked the ball with a perfect arc. It landed nicely on the edge of the fairway. Usually, she commented and chatted nonstop while they golfed. This time, she remained quiet, as if this game was actually important to her.
Nate knew the feeling.
He yanked his emotions under wrap and set up. His approach shot was flawless, and he watched as the ball landed right by the tee, set up for perfect par.
She frowned. "Nice shot," she offered.
He glared. "Thanks."
They trudged to the fairway and finished up.
Score: Four strokes for her. Three for him.
The second hole she upped the stakes, with a gorgeous powerful line drive that got it close to the green. How on earth did she just happen to have the perfect natural swing that no one in his life had ever possessed? Was she wearing red panties to match the dress? Would he find out if she bent down? He actually smelled her, the scent of bare skin and arousal, spice and musk, and all woman. His brain ping-ponged between lust and golf, but he swore to win and managed to knock the ball right to the green. Then wrapped it up quickly while she fumbled on the final putt.
Score: Four strokes for her. Two for him.
"It's over," he said quietly. "You'd have to get a hole in one and that's impossible."
"I can do it."
Frustration singed his nerves, and he clenched the club around his fingers. "It's over," he said again, more forcefully. "Besides needing a hole in one, I'd need four strokes handicap."
She stuck her chin out, got on tiptoe, and spoke right in his face. "I'm not a quitter. We said we'd play three holes."
He grit his teeth and swore. "This is ridiculous and unnecessary. Fine. Let's go."
He marched to the third hole and she kept pace. The rolling green hills spread before them, and sun streamed over the land like a gift from the gods. Birds sang with Disney cheer, a light breeze caressed the skin, and he'd never been so fucking miserable in his life. Last hole. He should've known she'd never give up, except on herself.