Under Parr

by Blair Babylon

  Sunlight streaming in through the skylight behind her illuminated his face and the square angle of his jaw.

  But his eyes never strayed from hers.

  He said, “You’ve been on my mind ever since you left. I thought what you wanted for the club was incompatible with what I needed to do to save the club from bankruptcy and Last Chance, Inc. It took me a while to work out how to do both what you wanted and what I needed.”

  “You didn’t do all this just for me. I mean, you couldn’t have. You shouldn’t have.” Tiffany walked back toward him. Her heart was full, but she was clear-eyed about their future or lack thereof. “I went back to TSU so I could become a professional golfer. I’m entered in a qualifying tournament in a few weeks.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Jericho, I want to be a professional golfer on the LPGA tour. I’m good enough to be one. The rest of my professional career is going to be traveling to tournaments all over the world. I can’t stay in Newcastle.”

  “I know what being a professional golfer entails. I built you this world-class practice facility so you can come back here and live with your family between tournaments and during breaks. Without this, you’d have to live somewhere down in Florida or California, somewhere with year-round golf. You can’t golf in the winter here in Connecticut.”

  She smiled, wishing it were funny. “Orange balls, so they won’t get lost in the snow.”

  “And they bounce off the water hazards.” He wasn’t smiling. If anything, his expression was intense. “But now you can live here if you want to. With this, you’ll have a practice facility. You’ll have elite-level coaches right here on staff. Timmy Johns from Greens of Grass has already committed to work here.”

  Tiffany raised her eyebrows. Timmy Johns was the best swing coach in the Northeast. The only reason he hadn’t left to join an elite PGA prep academy was because his family was in Newcastle and he didn’t want to leave them.

  Jericho continued, “You can have your home base here if you want to. You can be a pillar of the community. Your family and all those NFA golf team kids can see that they can get golf scholarships for college and be professional golfers. There will be a path for them here.”

  Tiffany gazed up at the cavernous practice facility, soon to be staffed with coaches she needed, a part of the puzzle she had been lacking.

  Still staring at the skylight and rafters, she asked Jericho, “What’s the catch?”

  “There’s no catch. It’s here for you if you want it.”

  Tiffany turned and walked back toward Jericho. If she’d been playing around, she would’ve let her hips swing as she walked, but she wasn’t playing. “What about you?”

  That’s when Jericho broke eye contact. He looked off to the side, and his lips pressed together before he said, “As we say in the venture capital business, I’m a separate legal entity. I need to be around Newcastle Country Club for the rest of the year to optimize its net worth because there is that rather important wager I committed myself to, but I can stay out of your way if you want. After that, I have options. I can work from almost anywhere with a computer, or at least travel to possible acquisitions and then back to my home base, wherever that is. This golf facility is for you when you’re not away playing a tournament if you want it. I’ll stay in my office in the clubhouse. I won’t bother you when you’re here, if that’s what you want.”

  She was standing in front of him by the time he finished that speech, and he turned back. He was looking up at her, his gaze guarded and his expression carefully neutral. “Like I said, I’m excellent ex-boyfriend material. Women just love having dated me. I’m a grown man, and I act like one. I won’t ever make a scene. But whatever you want, it’s yours, including me.”

  Breath filled her lungs. “Including you?”

  “This facility is a moonshot to win the bet with Gabriel Fish, but I’ve been building it to lay it at your feet. You were right about the club’s place in this community. Pop Golf will be another asset to Newcastle, but this was always for you. I fell in love with you months ago, probably during one of the times you told me how important the club and Newcastle were to you.” He closed his eyes and chuckled. “When you talk about something you’re passionate about, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You could convince me of anything. Whatever you say is important, I believe you, and I want to make it happen. So this is it.” He flung his arms out to the sides, indicating the arena-sized building, his words echoing off the raw cement and unfinished steel girders. “Pop Golf is my love letter to you, my valiant attempt to give you everything you need. Whether or not you want to give us another chance is up to you. No matter what, now you can fulfill your dreams on tour, and then you can come home to Newcastle. And if you want to, if you’re willing to give me another chance, you can come home to me, too. Sometimes, I can travel with you, and sometimes, I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

  When Tiffany had ripped out her knee in college and realized she wasn’t going to be able to play competitive golf, she’d been devastated, but she’d metaphorically picked herself up and continued on her path even though she wasn’t sure what her journey was anymore.

  When Jericho had given it all back to her by getting her in to see Dr. Cooper and then Coach Robinson had offered her a spot in the intensive, her life had all come rushing back as if the last year and a half of desperation had been a time loop she’d merely had to step away from.

  Suddenly, her feet had been back on the uphill path to her dreams.

  When Jericho had begun methodically dismantling Newcastle Golf Club and admitted it was all for a stupid bet, even though it was an astronomically expensive stupid bet, the path had diverged again, and she’d walked away from him. She’d had to. She couldn’t have watched that. She couldn’t have been a part of that.

  Walking away had been hard, so hard. She’d forced herself to accept that she would be walking alone until she found someone else, and Jericho Parr would never be with her through life.

  And yet, she’d found the path under her feet had led her back to him, and all she had to do was take one more step toward him.

  Tiffany stepped forward, closer to where he sat on the couch.

  Jericho looked up at her, his expression still serene as if he expected nothing.

  She placed her knee on the couch beside his thigh and swung her other leg over his, straddling him and settling back to rest her ass on his knees.

  A smile began to form on Jericho’s mouth, and when he looked up, his eyes seemed brighter.

  That was probably due to the sunshine streaming in the skylight over Tiffany’s shoulder, but she’d take it.

  She braced her hands on his shoulders.

  Jericho trailed his hand up her arm, reached behind her neck, and drew her down to kiss her.

  His lips were soft under hers, testing, not demanding. She shuffled forward on her knees and rested against him, lying against his firm chest. Her fingers splayed over the red fabric of the Newcastle Country Club staff shirt, the logo’s embroidery thick under her palm. Jericho must’ve upgraded the staff shirts, too.

  His hands feathered down her back and rested on her hips, his fingers tentatively sliding under her shirt and stroking her skin above the waistline of her pants as he kissed her.

  Passion sparked and then caught. Every moment of her days and nights with him came rushing back as if she’d never gone to Tennessee and been away from him.

  Every touch of his hands on her skin, of his hands sliding up her bare back under her shirt, felt right, felt real.

  She’d missed him so much in her heart, and she hadn’t been able to tell anyone she was so lonely. Her cousins would have narced to her parents. Coach Robinson would have suspected Tiffany wasn’t fully committed to golf.

  He broke away from kissing her and grabbed her ass, scooting her up higher on his chest so his mouth trailed down her neck. She gasped, and he nipped the tendon in her neck that stretched to her shoulder.<
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  When she inhaled again, he chuckled against her skin, and he squeezed her ass with his strong hands. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me, too,” Tiffany whispered as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her down so that she was grinding against his pants. A hard ridge already bulged in his trousers, and he flexed upwards with his hips like he was straining to shred the fabric of their clothes between them.

  A jolt of pleasure zinged through Tiffany at the pressure between her legs. She grabbed the hem of her shirt to strip it off but then stopped and asked, “Is anyone else here?”

  “No,” Jericho growled near her ear. “And I locked the doors.”

  “Do you have a—”

  “Oh, yes.”

  She dragged her shirt off over her head and threw it on the couch.

  He raked his hands up her ribs, bending her backward, and mouthed her skin on her chest above the black lace of her bra cups. “Black,” he whispered. “Jesus, Tiff. You’re going to kill me.”

  “You’ve got a thing for lingerie,” she said, her voice becoming breathless as he sucked lower, catching her nipple in his mouth through the lace.

  He released her breast with a pop that sent the blood rushing to her nipple and between her legs, and the cool air chilled her wet skin. “I like it all. Lacy lingerie, nothing under a dress, white cotton girlie panties, a bustier that looks like it was designed by an architect and required calculus, I like anything on you.”

  He sucked and stroked her body with his tongue and fingers like he was reclaiming every inch of her skin. When he’d teased Tiffany’s nipples so much that each pull of his mouth on her with another assault on her swollen breasts had her whimpering, he pushed her backwards, moving her off his lap, and then he stripped her clothes off of her where she stood.

  Tiffany tried to help him get his clothes off, but he grabbed handfuls of the cloth and threw them aside, though he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and fished around inside before he threw his pants on the floor.

  She shoved him backward, intending to push him back onto the couch and take him astride, but he caught her wrists and flipped her around. She ended up lying on her back on the leather cushions with Jericho kneeling between her legs while slapping the condom on himself.

  She reached for him, wanting his skin against hers and him inside of her.

  Jericho scrambled on top of her, holding himself against her opening and easing inside.

  Tiffany shoved her hips up, desperate for him.

  His cock filled her, the deep pressure rubbing inside her body. She was still grabbing at him, her fingers slipping off his shoulders, rounded with muscle, as he worked his way inside of her. When he was halfway in and she thought she wasn’t going to be able to take any more of him, Jericho crawled up her body and wrapped her in his arms.

  He kissed her, penetrating her with his tongue in her mouth and his cock inside her, and she strained to open herself up enough for him. She wanted him, wanted to touch every part of him, wanted to hold him and never let go.

  When his hips nestled into hers, Jericho held himself on his elbows above her shoulders, slowly moving in her as his body trembled in her arms. The lumps and bulges of muscle on his chest and abdomen rubbed over her stomach and breasts, and his breath caught as he breathed near her ear. “I love you, Tiffany. I missed you every second you were away.”

  She whispered, “I missed you. I missed hearing what you would say about the golf courses at Tennessee State, and I missed laughing with you when I messed up a shot. I missed you at night.”

  He pushed himself up on his arms to look down at her. “Did you miss this?” He shoved himself farther inside of her, and Tiffany arched her back as the pressure drove her closer to the edge. “Did you think about me and touch yourself?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, babbling in the delirium of his strong body and that faint male musk of his skin and his cologne. “I missed you. I wanted you.”

  “I wanted you,” he growled and buried himself more deeply inside her. “I wanted you in my bed. I wanted the softness of your body in my hands and under me. I wanted that sweet scent of you that smells like vanilla and flowers and drives me crazy all around as I slept. I woke in the dark and ached. Every minute that I was building Pop Golf, I wanted you to see it, to tell me what you thought. God, Tiffany.”

  Jericho buried his face in the couch beside her neck, and his body rippled as he surged into her.

  Tiffany was struggling to rise to meet him, one foot slipping off the edge of the couch.

  He braced himself with one foot on the floor, wrapping her leg around his back and rushing into her, grinding against her clit with each stroke.

  Tiffany was holding onto him, her arms clenching around his back as he thrust inside her. She must have been crying out because her throat was raw and yet the blood rushing in her head and Jericho whispering his love and his need and dirty, dirty things in her ears was all she heard.

  “I love you,” she said over and over, her heart exploding every time she admitted it and yet she rejoiced. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” he whispered, his voice curling inside her ear and falling into her soul. “I love you.”

  When her climax came, her body twisted, the tension unbearable, until it broke over her with the waves and throbs of ecstasy. The world was gone. Everything ceased to exist except Jericho in her arms and her body wrapped around him, their flesh pressed together as they gasped.

  The sunlight glowed above them, shining through the skylight on their skin.

  “Does this mean you’re giving me another chance?” Jericho panted.

  Tiffany cracked up and pressed her hands to her forehead. “Maybe.”

  Gotcha

  Jericho

  The Fall Formal at Newcastle Country Club was one of the new social events Jericho Parr had instituted since he took over the club.

  Construction on the clubhouse had finished a month before, and even the interior decorating had been in place for almost a week.

  It all had to be perfect.

  And not just because it was the first major social event since he’d taken over, either.

  Jericho had been blustering around the clubhouse and grounds for two days, critiquing how velvety the artificial autumn leaves decorations on the supper tables were, performing sound checks on the live band’s sound system even though he had precious little idea what he was looking at, and conferring with the annoyed chef about just how fresh the shrimp scampi appetizers were going to be.

  And, of course, watching the construction crew put the final touches on Pop Golf. The first two balconies of tees and the lower level with simulator bays were complete and decorated for the evening.

  Everything had to be perfect.

  As the day ground on, twilight fell over the golf course with its new, updated bunkers and greens, and Jericho stepped up his examination of absolutely everything.

  Tickets for the ball had sold out two weeks ahead of time, which was a promising result. If they could sell out tickets for the Winter Formal ahead of time, that would increase the club’s net worth evaluation.

  Winter was approaching quickly.

  Only three and a half months remained until New Year’s Eve and his only chance to save Last Chance, Inc.

  Jericho hustled faster around the clubhouse dining room and dance floor, the outside grill and seating, and the kitchen. The chef had threatened to stab him if he didn’t leave and flashed a butcher knife with a wicked backward curve at him.

  There were other areas of the club he could scrutinize.

  The other three Last Chance, Inc. guys arrived at NCC early. They were also there to observe the club and the event, as well as to offer moral support, even though they couldn’t offer concrete advice in the traditional sense of the word.

  Kingston “Skins” Moore was standing on the back patio among the set tables, holding his phone at eye level and slowly moving it sideways as he took a panoramic picture of
the first hole of the golf course.

  The course looked perfect. Some of the trees were wearing their vibrant fall foliage, patterning the sides of the course in scarlet, yellow, and amber. The fairways were soft, green velvet, and the greens were just lightning-fast enough to be fun to play. If they were any faster, they would’ve been too difficult. The sand traps were filled with fluffy, clean sand. Healthy carp lived in the water hazards stretching between the holes and stuck their heads out to beg when people started throwing bread in the ponds.

  Jericho approached Kingston. “It’s not quite the golden hour yet,” meaning the last hour before sunset with golden light that photographers love.

  Skins chuckled as he continued to pan the camera. “I’ll take more pictures when the guests arrive, and I’ll capture video when we do the first walk-through of Pop Golf before supper is served. You’re going to get all kinds of reactions there. It looks good, Jericho. It’s really innovative.”

  Jericho ducked his head and lowered his voice. “I don’t know if it’s going to be enough. You know that Gabriel Fish is going to have something insane. He probably had an idea before he even made the bet with us. He probably had a deal in place for a golf-related business that he knew was going to explode, and that’s why he bet us in the first place.”

  Kingston frowned. “That is like him, but I haven’t heard about anything he’s done. If that were the case, I’m surprised he didn’t open in early spring to catch the whole season.”

  Jericho told him, “The Shark is going to be here tonight. I didn’t realize he’d bought a national membership, or I would’ve rejected it. But he got it through, so he’s entitled to buy tickets so he can see what’s going on for himself.”

  Kingston nodded. “We’d better watch what we say tonight.”