Honestly, it hadn’t crossed her mind that a skirt would provide . . . opportunities.
For access.
But mother of God, it was crossing her mind now.
Zigzagging, ricocheting, and tumbling.
“Yes, please,” she whispered against his damp mouth. “Please.”
“I’m going to eat it now and fuck it later, aren’t I, belle?”
Her core squeezed so dramatically, her eyes started to water. “Yes.”
“Josephine.” His teeth closed around her earlobe and tugged, scraping down to her shoulder and back up, before he ground his erection once, twice, against her panties. “This is one stroke of mine that doesn’t need any work. You think about that good and hard when I’m sucking your clit.”
“Oh my God.”
He took off the ice-blue shirt, snagged her mouth for an explicit kiss, then started to go down on his knees— A knock came from somewhere. Her chest, maybe?
No.
The door.
Someone was knocking on the door of the conference room.
“Son of a bitch,” Wells cursed, slamming a fist down on the table, using his wrist to swipe sweat from his upper lip. “What?”
A few seconds ticked by. “Wells Whitaker, it’s Kip Collings.” A pause. “The tournament chairman.”
Josephine’s jaw nearly dropped to her ankles.
Kip Collings? she mouthed at a visibly frustrated Wells.
If they ever made a Mount Rushmore for golf, Collings would be on there. He was the guy who basically showed up only to hand the trophy to the winner. He was that important.
And he was about to catch Josephine in a bra, making out with her golfer.
“Mind if I come in for a moment?” Collings chuckled. “I’ll be brief. I know your tee time is approaching and you’re busy preparing.”
“Or something,” Wells muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose.
“Go unlock the door,” Josephine squeal-whispered, jumping off the table and tugging on the white polo shirt. “It’s the chairman.”
“I almost had those panties off, Josephine. Frankly, I don’t care if it’s the pope.”
“Don’t say ‘panties’ and ‘pope’ in the same breath. We’re going to get struck by lightning out there.”
“Fuck,” he said, wincing. “Please don’t make me laugh when my dick is hard. It hurts.”
“But I like your laugh.”
“I like every fucking thing about you,” Wells rasped, sweeping her face with an intense look, before shooting his gaze down to the ground. Meanwhile, Josephine felt herself floating upward toward the ceiling on little white, puffy clouds. “You ready, belle?”
She gulped. “Yes.”
“One second, Chairman,” Wells called, yanking his shirt back on and leaving it untucked so it covered the . . . situation. Then under his breath, “You old cockblocker.”
Josephine smacked him in the shoulder.
Wells took his time crossing to the door, unlocking it with a palpable air of resentment and holding it open for the chairman. The older man came through the entrance with brown eyes twinkling, set deep in his age-lined, russet face. “You’ve caused quite a stir, you two.” Kip eyeballed Wells. “For the right reasons, this time.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Collings,” Josephine said, trying to calm her flustered state.
“Nice to meet you, too, young lady.” He jabbed a good-natured finger at Wells. “You’re keeping this one in line, I hear.”
She maintained her smile. “He’s gotten this far. He can keep himself in line.”
She felt, rather than saw, Wells turn a surprised look on her.
“Right.” The chairman considered them both. “Well, whatever magic you two are making together, keep it up.”
“Oh, it’s up,” Wells muttered.
Josephine kicked him in the ankle. “Yes, sir.”
The chairman chuckled, obviously missing nothing, but far from scandalized. “Our viewership doubled yesterday with the news of this possible comeback. And I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but a young woman as a caddie? Hell, people find that mighty interesting. I can’t say I blame them after seeing you two in action, but it’s more than that. Man or woman or otherwise, Miss Doyle, you’re damn good at reading a course.” Collings patted his pocket and pulled out a key. “Speaking of which, I personally saw to it that you have your own bag room going forward. I’m sorry you’ve gone three days without enough privacy.”