His Cactus Flower (The May Flowers Series )

by Rebecca Gallo

  We reached out to both Campos and Bell’s representatives for this article, but they did not return our call. No official comment or statement has been made by either Campos or Bell regarding last night’s incident or their relationship.

  Laughter is my first response because this article is hilarious. Of course, there’s no official statement because there’s nothing to say . . . officially. One night of amazing sex does not equal a relationship.

  But I’m angry because the pictures that accompany the article are a blatant violation of privacy. What kind of pervert gets close enough to take such lurid photographs? And who would even publish such filth? I reach for my phone to call Agnes back because these photographs are grounds for a lawsuit. But then I’d have to listen to another lecture about staying away from Gardener and really, that’s not going to happen.

  My attention flicks back to the television. Gardener’s round must be over because he’s being interviewed. I grab the remote and turn up the volume.

  “And what do you have to say about the article that came out today?”

  Gardener looks taken aback. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The journalist interviewing Gardener gives him a brief recap and I can see the color drain from his face. His jaw tenses and he nods his head with understanding. “Well, obviously I can’t comment on something I haven’t seen. I’m here to golf. That’s all. Thanks.”

  The journalist shoves the microphone closer to Gardener’s face in an attempt to ask another question, but Gardener strides away, despite dozens of cameras tracking his every move. The other journalists shout his name, hoping for their chance but their pleas are ignored. It’s chaos but Gardener keeps walking until he hops on a golf cart and speeds away.

  Part of me wants to be upset that he’s “just here to golf.” I mean, what the fuck is that all about? But the more rational side of me, the side I should listen to more often, isn’t upset because we’ve only known each other for a few days. Who expects a declaration of love, public or private, after such a short while?

  I’m not sure how much time has passed since Gardener made his golf cart getaway, but when the front door of the villa opens and he appears, sweaty and breathing heavily, I’m surprised. Did he run here?

  “Thank God you’re still here,” he says between heavy breaths.

  “Where else would I be?”

  Gardener

  That is the fastest I’ve ever left a tournament. When the reporter told me about the article that was circulating about me and Dixie, I knew I had to get to her quickly or risk losing her forever. I ran in, signed my score card, and got the hell out of there. I didn’t even bother with a shower because I was afraid she would be gone. Imagine my surprise when I find her sitting on the couch in a white hotel robe, waiting.

  After a moment to catch my breath, I remove my hat, run my hands through my hair, and rush toward her. My hands are sweaty as I cradle her face in them. This is not romantic but dammit if I don’t need to kiss her right now. She’s a little stiff when our lips meet but I coax them open with my tongue and soon she softens, sliding her hands up my chest and around my neck. Deeply and thoroughly, I kiss her over and over, grateful that she didn’t run.

  Dixie pulls away first. There’s a smile on her lips when she says, “You’re so sweaty and gross!”

  I lean my forehead against hers and snicker. “You didn’t complain about me being sweaty and gross last night.”

  With her palms on my chest, Dixie shoves me playfully. “This could have waited long enough for you to shower, Gardener.”

  “And risk you not being here? Not a chance. I was afraid that article would send you running for the hills.”

  “That article made me fucking angry!” She picks up her phone from the coffee table and unlocks it. She holds it out to me, and I understand exactly why she’s mad. I snatch the phone from her and scroll through the photographs. Each one is more private and more intimate than the last.

  “Who would take pictures like that?” Dixie asks. Underneath the anger, there’s vulnerability in her expression. I set the phone back down on the table and reach for her, folding her into my arms and kissing the top of her head.

  “A first-class asshole. I’m going to find out who did this and punish them,” I promise her. “And I’m going to have these pictures taken down. They should have never been published.”

  I spend the next hour on the phone with my lawyer and my agent, all the while keeping an eye on Dixie. She seems unbothered by all of this attention, but the way she’s gnawing on her fingernails tells me there’s something on her mind.

  “Cease and desist letters are going out now,” I inform her. “The Internet is forever, but at least if those photographs pop up someplace new, they’ll come right back down.”

  “Thank you for doing all of this,” she says with a thin smile.

  “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Dixie sighs and flops down on the couch next to me. She looks beautiful with a bare face, dark, wild hair, and that ridiculous robe. As soon as she confesses what’s got her so worried, I’m going to find out what’s underneath the robe.

  “The article mentioned your addiction. Are you . . . are you in danger of relapsing?”

  “I’m always in danger. I’m an addict. But I’ve been clean for a year. I made it through my last back surgery without narcotic painkillers, just good old ibuprofen. What I’m craving these days doesn’t come in pill form.”

  My hand sneaks underneath her robe and slowly slides up her bare thigh. Her breath hitches slightly until her hand clamps down on my arm and she stops me. “Don’t,” she says with a serious tone. “Don’t pretend that being addicted to painkillers is some trivial thing because it’s not, Gardener.”

  “Dixie, I don’t feel that way at all. But I’m not going to deny that after last night, I’m not craving more of you. I won’t be satisfied until I claim every inch of your body.”

  Her tight grip on my arm loosens slightly but there’s still a stern look in her eye. “And I won’t be satisfied until I know that I’m not simply a distraction from your problems.”

  I pull my hand away and sit up, looking her dead in the eye. “Dixie, I’m a creature of habit. I have a tournament routine and I don’t deviate from it, even during the worst of my addiction. Sex and women are never a part of that. But this morning, I played the best round of my life. I was so relaxed and focused, and it’s because of you.”

  “So, now you need me to win tournaments?”

  I chuckle at how obtuse she’s being. “No, of course not! I’ve got one foot out the door; I’m ready to retire. But you resurrected a part of me that’s been buried for so long. I want to make you bloom, Dixie, but you’re the one bringing me back to life.”

  Her mouth opens, but whatever she’s planning to say is interrupted by my ringing phone. I glance down at the screen. “Sorry, it’s my agent,” I tell her. Normally, I wouldn’t bother but his job is to find out who is responsible for those photographs.

  “Tell me you have good news,” I tell my agent, Zane.

  “How much is good news worth to you?” he says smugly.

  “Whatever you paid is a bargain. Now tell me who’s responsible.”

  “Monty Crawford. He hired the photographer and sold the photos to the highest bidder.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I roar, pushing to my feet. “He’s gonna pay, Zane.”

  “You’re in the middle of a tournament, G. Don’t do anything,” he begs me.

  “Thanks for the call, Zane. I’ll take it from here.” There is no need for further discussion, and I refuse to let Zane talk me out of revenge. Monty has been a thorn in my side for years, has sometimes made life on the PGA tour miserable, and now he’s going to reap what he’s sown.

  Dixie is watching and waiting. I turn to her and ask, “Do you think you can manage to be a bad girl for just a little longer? I need your help.”

  Dixie

  �
��Breaking and entering is not what I thought you meant,” I hiss behind Gardener’s back.

  “You’re upset about a little B & E? You literally punched a woman in the face.” He turns his head to whisper before giving his attention to the lock he’s currently picking.

  “How do you know how to do something like this anyway? Golfers aren’t known for lock picking.”

  “I grew up in the ghetto. I might have gotten into a little bit of trouble when I was a kid,” he confesses as the lock clicks and the door opens just a bit. “Success!”

  “Oh, my God,” I moan as I follow him into the darkened room. “I’m going to jail for sure this time.”

  Gardener turns and levels me with a heated stare. “You’re not going to jail. I’ll protect you.”

  Inside the small room is row after row of golf bags filled with expensive clubs. “Why don’t y’all just keep your bags with you?”

  “Tournament regulations. Officials have to make sure that clubs haven’t been tampered with prior to the start of each round.”

  “And isn’t that what we’re doing? Tampering with the clubs?”

  “Monty deserves it. He set us both up as a way to put pressure on me. I don’t know what he was thinking. I’m not weak.” Even in the dark, Gardener’s face is hard and serious. I place a comforting hand on his arm.

  “Which one is his bag?”

  He leans forward and kisses me hard. “When we’re done with this, I’m going to fuck you on the eighteenth hole.”

  “Promises, promises,” I say with a smirk.

  I stand back and watch Gardener weave through the bags until he finds the right one. He lifts it onto his shoulder and rushes back toward me. Before we leave, I stop him. “What if there are security cameras and we get caught? What if you get kicked off the tour? Disqualified from the tournament?”

  His smile is bright and gleaming against the darkness of the room. “Then it’ll be worth it.”

  Gardener opens the door and steps outside where a golf cart waits for us. We might have “borrowed” it for the mission. He straps the bag to the back of the cart and gets behind the wheel. With a turn of his wrist, the motor turns on and I hop in the seat next to him.

  Gardener knows exactly where he’s going, and he steers the golf cart like a man on a mission. When we arrive at the fairway of the tenth hole, he parks the cart and walks the bag down a steep slope toward a man-made water feature. I hurry after him and make it down just as he tosses the first club in the water.

  “I’m not this vindictive,” he says as he tosses a second club in the water. “Or childish. But Monty Crawford has been pushing my buttons since I joined the tour.”

  I reach for one of the clubs and throw it in the water. Monty and I have never met but because of him, pictures of me on my knees blowing Gardener are spread all over the Internet. That makes him enemy number one in my book. Even though my bad girl reputation needs to die, sometimes revenge is sweet. Punching Ellen in the face wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s not as bad as cutting off Tate’s dick, which is what I wanted to do.

  A bright light flashes over us just as I’m reaching for another club. “Hey!” a voice calls out. “Who’s down there? What are you doing?”

  “Shit!” I screech, jumping behind Gardener. I press my face to his back and hold his shirt tightly in my fists.

  “Oh, hey Steve!” Gardener calls out.

  “What are you up to, Gardener?” Steve asks.

  “Steve, I could lie to you, but we’ve known each other for quite a long time, and I respect you too much. Is there any chance that you could look the other way?”

  “Is that Monty’s bag?”

  Gardener’s body sags beneath my fingers and his head drops slightly. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

  “Not likely,” Steve answers. “And who’s behind you? Is that a girl? That Hollywood girl?”

  “Steve, I’m willing to give you ten thousand dollars to look the other way.”

  “Keep your money, Gardener. Monty’s a jackass; I’m sure whatever he did, he had it coming.”

  Gardener sighs and reaches behind his back to grab one of my fists. “You’re a good man, Steve.”

  “Well, I’m just happy to see you back on the tour. Make sure you put that cart back where you found it, okay?”

  Gardener’s entire body shakes as he laughs. “Of course.” He lifts his arm and waves before turning back to wrap me up in his embrace. “If it was any other groundskeeper, we would have been fucked.”

  My body is still on high alert, and truthfully, I just want to go back to my casita, pour myself a glass of wine, and slip into a tub full of bubbles. Or maybe take Gardener up on his offer to get busy on the eighteenth hole. “Can we just toss the rest of the bag in the pond and go? I’m really not cut out to be a criminal.”

  Gardener’s fingers skim my cheek as his hands slip into my hair. He tilts my head up slightly to meet his gaze. Even in the moonlight, I can still see the golden flames deep inside his eyes. His lips brush softly against mine, a whisper of a kiss that still manages to make my knees tremble. I love the way he makes me feel, the way his hands feel on my body, the way his lips feel against mine. I try hard to remember whether I ever felt this way during my relationship with Tate or with any other man and I realize, no.

  No other man has made me feel wanted. Cherished.

  There was no eighteenth hole fucking, only sweet lovemaking back at Gardener’s villa. It’s not that I’m opposed to golf course sex; in fact, I think it might be inevitable as long as Gardener and I are together. It just didn’t feel right.

  But lying next to Gardener, wrapped up in the softest sheets, our legs and arms tangled around each other . . . I am in heaven.

  “Can I ask you a question,” he says softly, stroking my shoulder.

  “Sure,” I murmur into his neck.

  “Why’d you punch that woman?”

  A groan escapes my lips. “Do you really want to know all of this?”

  “You keep telling me that you’re not a bad girl . . .”

  “I’m not!” I roll away from him and sit up, bringing the top sheet up around my naked body. I push my hand through my hair and blow out a breath. “When I found out about Tate and Ellen, I was in shock. I didn’t believe it. I had just gotten off a long flight from Paris and my phone was blowing up with messages. I didn’t believe anything I read until I got home and bam! There they were, in my face. I was confronted with reality and I couldn’t take it.”

  “So, you punched Ellen?”

  “I punched Ellen and broke her nose.”

  “And how did it make you feel?”

  “Awful,” I admit. “So awful.”

  Gardener looks at me with understanding, and for the first time since this whole “Hollywood bad girl” thing began, I feel like someone understands me.

  “Come to the tournament tomorrow,” Gardener says, reaching up to twirl a lock of my hair between his fingers. He smiles at me confidently, like this is the best idea ever.

  “Are you sure? After the entire world saw me suck your dick?” My belly clenches with nerves. Am I even ready for another high-profile, public relationship?

  Gardener shrugs. “So what? That was an invasion of our privacy and we’re handling it. But I think you need to tell the world you don’t want to be the bad girl anymore.”

  “And who do I want to be?” One eyebrow lifts as I lean down to place a smacking kiss on Gardener’s lips.

  “Mine.”

  Gardener

  All eyes are on us as I lead Dixie by the hand onto the course. She works her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes dance nervously around the crowd that seems ready to swarm us. She squeezes my hand so tightly that I let go out of fear that she might do some kind of damage.

  “That’s quite the grip you have there,” I murmur, massaging the feeling back into my hand.

  “Sorry,” she whispers.

  “You don’t have to stay,”
I remind her, placing my hands firmly on her shoulders. She finally manages to look at me. There’s so much worry in her expression that I can’t help but brush a soft kiss across her lips. “There’s a cart on standby, ready for you to make your getaway.”

  She nods her head. “Absolutely not. You’re in the lead. You have a shot at winning. I want to be here for you.”

  Today is the last day of the tournament. Dixie refused my first invitation to attend the tournament as my guest, partially I think, out of fear that we would get caught for drowning Monty’s hopes and dreams of winning in the water hazard. When I returned to my villa after the round, she peppered me with questions about golf. I asked her to be my guest at the tournament, but she turned me down again.

  The next day was probably my worst day because I kept thinking about Dixie. Refusing to accept my offers felt too much like rejection and it hurt more than I expected. When I returned to the villa, she popped off the sofa and berated me about playing so poorly.

  “Yeah, well it’s your fault,” I snapped quickly, the words tumbling out before I had time to think about them.

  “My fault?” From the way her eyes widened, I could tell she was surprised.

  “I want you there, Dixie.” I grabbed her hands and held them against my chest. “I know the media scares you, but it would mean so much to have you there.”

  “Really?” Her expression started to soften, and a hint of smile formed on her lips.

  “Absolutely! Why do you think I keep asking you?”