There was only one thing Wells wanted in this life—and it was to fuck this woman.
He wanted to get her somewhere dark, tear down her panties, and bury his cock between her soft, sexy thighs. And for some infuriating reason, everyone and their mom wanted to stop him. A crowd followed him to the clubhouse when he turned in his scorecard. Reporters shoved microphones in their faces, using the C-word on a loop. Comeback. Comeback.
Is she responsible for your comeback?
Josephine, how do you feel about being a good luck charm for Wells Whitaker?
Will we see you at the Masters together?
If Wells was even remotely capable of responding with anything but please I need to come inside my caddie, he would have told them yes, Josephine was unequivocally responsible for his comeback. Two weeks ago, he was a corpse. He’d never expected to pick up another golf club as long as he lived. Now he had a beating pulse. A purpose. The potential revival of his career. His blood was flowing again.
He had hope, because of Josephine.
And he just wanted to worship her for all that he was worth. Praise her and get lost in her and . . . demand to know what the hell they were to each other.
That’s right—he wanted specifics.
Were they a golfer and caddie who incentivized sex as a strategy?
Stranger things had happened.
Maybe friends with benefits? Boyfriend and girlfriend?
Shit. He liked the sound of that last one. A lot. It was too soon, though, and what would it mean for their dynamic on the course? Would they have to keep their love life and golf separate in order to be ethical? In order to have a healthy relationship, in which she wasn’t constantly having to refocus him and talk him out of killing people?
Labeling what they had could complicate everything.
Josephine would have to be out of her mind to want to be his girlfriend, really.
Still, it had a nice ring to it.
Oooh. Rings.
Wow. Pump the brakes, man.
They were almost to the lobby of the hotel when a crowd swelled through the doors, holding up their phones to take pictures of Wells and Josephine.
They traded a pitiful glance and reversed direction.
Josephine laughed, stumbling a little as he pulled her along.
“What could possibly be funny at a time like this?” he demanded to know.
“You’re dragging me all over this family-friendly golf resort looking for a place to”—she waved a hand—“collect on our wager. There is something funny about it.”
“I promise you, Josephine, there is not.”
“Wait!” She yanked him to a stop on the path. Eyes wide, she slowly drew a single key out of the pocket of her skirt, holding it up to the light. Sun glinted off its majestic surface like the angels were ordaining it the new Holy Grail. “We’re forgetting I have my own bag room.”
“Where is that from here?” He pressed both thumbs into his eye sockets. “Christ, I’m so fucking horny, I’ve lost my sense of direction.”
“This way.”
“Fair warning, Josephine, I don’t even have two seconds of foreplay in me.”
“Aw, honey.” She batted her eyelashes at him over her shoulder. “I don’t need it.”
Wells’s tortured groan would echo on the pathway to the clubhouse for the next century. And it only grew louder when they saw that it was blocked by a group of autograph seekers.
“I know it’s wrong to wish for a flash flood to sweep them away, but . . .” Wells trailed off.
“Don’t do it.”
“Too late.”
“For shame, Wells—” Josephine broke off on an intake of breath. “Wait. There’s Ricky. I’ve got an idea.” Josephine waved at the caddie as he left the clubhouse and he changed direction to approach them, glancing between Josephine and Wells curiously.
“Ricky, remember that rare bearded dragon you were hoping to buy if Tagaloa finished high enough in the money?”
The young man smacked a hand over his chest. “Ouch, way to rub it in.”
“If you create a diversion for us, no questions asked, Wells will buy you that lizard.”
“I’ll buy you ten lizards,” Wells deadpanned.
“Done.”
Josephine’s friend ran in one direction shouting about a wet T-shirt contest in the hotel lobby and, miracle of miracles, the crowd migrated with him. Distraction in place, Josephine and Wells wasted no time running the remaining distance to the clubhouse, veering around the corner to where her personal bag room was located.
Josephine’s hands shook as she tried to put the key in the lock, so Wells took over, all but kicking the damn door open to get them inside. A couple of caddies caught them in the act of disappearing into the bag room together, but Wells couldn’t care less about the gawkers when this woman was in front of him, stripping off her white polo shirt as soon as the door was locked behind them. Her sports bra followed and she let it drop, and shook out her ponytail like a goddess, her tits bouncing around with the sultry movement.