by S Doyle
“Quitting your job doesn’t have to be the answer. You asked what you do when it feels like you’re stuck? You shake things up. Do something different. Break a pattern.”
“I thought I was trying that with Erica. Trying to get serious about someone.”
“Serious? You blew her off pretty quickly when you found out that she didn’t agree with you.”
Kenny grunted.
Luke accepted it as a standard male response to hearing something he didn’t like.
“Maybe you trying to get serious was your way of breaking a pattern. I’m not sure that Erica is the person you want to get serious about.”
“Too early to tell yet.”
“Could be. But let me say this. Sometimes doing something to break the pattern for the sake of breaking the pattern doesn’t always work. Sometimes you just lose something that you didn’t want to lose.”
“Does that mean you’re going back on tour?” Kenny wondered.
“Too early to tell yet. But I knew after I did it, it wasn’t the answer. There’s something more and I have to go figure out what it is and make it happen.”
“Shit,” Kenny sneered. “You sound like the Dalai Lama or something.”
Luke laughed and after a second, Kenny joined him. They stood and watched the last remnants of the sunset and for now the tension between them was broken. Easy friendship slid back into place as they finished their beers.
“Are you really hot for my sister?”
“Yeah,” Luke acknowledged. “But don’t tell her, okay. I don’t want her to know. If this is going to work I’m going to need to kind of sneak up on her before she realizes it’s me.”
“Just hots or like?” Kenny asked like he used to when they were in college.
“Kenny, be prepared. It might be like-like.”
“Holy shit. You like-like Reilly. I’ve got to warn you, bro. She’s probably going to break your heart right after she crushes your balls.”
“Naah. My balls are made of steel. Didn’t I tell you?”
His heart, however, was another matter.
17
“Ninety-six,” she whooshed. “Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. One hundred.” Reilly exhaled and groaned as she stretched her arms out over her head while she pointed her toes forward.
“You forgot ninety-nine.”
Reilly sat up and saw Luke leaning against the door frame of one of the second- floor French doors that led out to the veranda from her room.
“How did you get out there?”
“My bedroom is on the other side of yours. The veranda connects them.”
“I guess that means I’ll have to start locking both sets of doors from now on.”
“If I remember correctly, you were the one who snuck into my bedroom at your grandparents’ house. It’s only right I return the favor.”
“Yes, but you’re not here to seduce me,” Reilly said in a cheeky tone that hid an undercurrent of disappointment.
“You’re here to count. Which you totally blew by the way. I absolutely counted ninety-nine. You just didn’t hear it.”
“Are you properly pumped now?”
Not properly, she thought sourly. It wasn’t helping with him playing the role of the southern gentleman, either. The climate for February in Savannah was a balmy sixty degrees compared to the below zero temperatures they’d left behind in Nebraska. Luke wore an untucked button-down shirt, probably silk knowing his propensities for all things quality, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. All that over a pair of loose-fitting slacks. The soft breeze coming through the open door rippled his clothes and hair like something out of a movie.
The two glasses of wine in his hand didn’t hurt the image, either.
“I suppose. I didn’t work quite as hard as Pierce would have worked me, but I’m sweaty.”
Luke sniffed the air but in a way that indicated to her what he smelled wasn’t at all distasteful. “Yep. I would say you’ve properly exerted yourself. I’m cooking downstairs, and when I say cooking, I mean I’m ordering in. Before it gets here I thought I would bring you a glass of wine for all your hard work.”
“What are we drinking?”
“A nice Pinot Grigio. I was doing the manly thing with Kenny earlier and guzzling beer, but I prefer a nice light wine with dinner. We’re having fish.”
“You cooked, and when I say cooked I mean ordered in, fish. You’re bringing me wine. You’re dressed like someone from the cover of Southern Gentlemen Living. You are channeling Rhett Butler,” she said as she smoothly gained her feet and took the glass from his outstretched hand. “And I think you are trying to seduce me.”
Luke’s lips twitched. “Now Reilly, would I seduce you knowing your brother is downstairs at this very moment awaiting our return?”
Reilly eyed him suspiciously even as she took a sip of the crisp wine. “You might.”
Luke chuckled. “That’s true. But I’m not now. Come downstairs to eat and drink. Afterward we’re going to watch DVDs of old American tournaments to help you get a feel for the holes. And, you know, to mock the players who crashed and burned.”
“I really have more reps I should be doing,” Reilly said as she bit her lip. Her reputation as a hard worker was at stake and she wasn’t going to blow it.
“The boys have about a twenty-hour trip. If they’re switching off and on they should be here sometime early tomorrow afternoon. That will be soon enough for you to continue working on your…hub, center…whatever.”
“Core. It’s my core. And it really is getting hard as a rock.” Reilly slapped her belly then belied the action with another sip of wine.
It wasn’t the only thing growing hard as Luke watched her hand rub along the silky spandex material. He imagined for a second it was his hand and then a sharp memory of her pressed against the window with only the moon at her back had him cursing softly under his breath.
What was the point of holding back? Oh, that’s right. It was part of the plan. But with so many sensual memories to dwell on, it was hard to keep his focus on the plan. Forget the night at the farm. That had barely held a candle to the last time they were together.
The ESPY’s over a year and a half ago. Between her divorce from the quarterback and months before she started seeing Buck, and his divorce from his second wife and a few months before he started dating his third ex-wife.
A perfect storm of singleness. She was receiving the award for best female golfer and he was presenting the award to best male golfer. They ran into each other for the first time backstage and it was like a lightning bolt had hit the ground between them, the tension was so electric.
They’d practically mauled each other. Finding the closest private spot — an alcove behind the stage away from the throng of athletes and stars — he’d taken her so hard and fast he might have worried he’d hurt her if she hadn’t been with him every step of the way, urging him on. Taking him to depths he’d only dreamed about.
Sex with Reilly wasn’t like sex with any other woman. The truth was, sometimes it scared him. Too raw. Too elemental. There was no softness when they fucked, only need. Had he even kissed her that night at the farm? He could only remember hammering into her.
She teased him about being seduced, but thinking about it, he’d never really seduced her.
It was never a slow dance between them. Instead, it was always a sprint to the finish. Maybe along with everything else it was time to change that, too. He knew how to seduce women. He’d made an art of it with every other woman in his life besides Reilly.
“What?”
His eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“You’re looking at me funny.”
“Funny?”
“Not funny ha-ha.” Reilly took a step back. “I was joking about the seduction stuff. You told me we were done messing around. Right after you banged me against the window. Convenient strategy for you, by the way. Then you told me there was someone else.”
“That’s debatable. What I
said and what you heard are two different things. The point is you’re here now and I’m here now.”
He moved forward crowding her against the large sleigh bed that filled the room. He bent down so his lips hovered above hers and watched her eyes dilate with anticipation. He could see her pulse beat fast against her neck. He could feel the puff of rapid breaths against his lips.
He could kiss her. He could probably fuck her. But that’s not what he wanted. Check that, it absolutely was what he wanted, but it wasn’t what either of them needed right now. Not if they were going to be in this for the long road.
Slowly, he backed off and watched as she fought her own need to reach out for him.
“I think I hear a car,” he said finally when he was a safe enough distance from her. “Dinner must be here.”
“Are you kidding me?” Reilly barked. Reaching for her neck as if to still her pounding pulse.
“What do you mean?”
Irritated, if the grip on her wine glass was any indication, Reilly reached out to shove at his chest.
“You can’t throw me out of your room, then come in here and start messing around only to leave me hanging. I’ve got a lot of shit going on right now in case you haven’t noticed, and I don’t need you trying to prove I still have the hots for you simply because it strokes your massive ego. Not when I know you’re not going to follow through. Not when I know…forget it.”
Never liking the feeling of being told what to do, Luke snapped before he thought about how he should respond.
“What are you saying? I’m in your room so I need to jump you? You want me to take you right here? Right now? The French doors look pretty sturdy, maybe I’ll just throw you up against them. Jesus, why can’t there ever be a little foreplay between us?”
Reilly looked as if he’d slapped her. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again but only air came out.
Finally, she managed to say, “There isn’t anything between us anymore. That was your doing, not mine. Friends, remember? Now if you don’t mind I really do have a few more reps to do. Why don’t you take the wine and I’ll meet you downstairs eventually.”
Luke frowned. Great plan. All he’d done was piss her off.
“Dinner will be cold.”
“I’ll live,” she said, dropping to her back and lifting her legs straight into the air only to lower them slowly to the floor and then up again.
“Fish is lousy cold,” Luke mumbled. “Look, can we forget this little incident happened? You’re right. You don’t need the distraction and I don’t want you wasting energy being pissed at me.”
“It’s forgotten,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Her tone didn’t sound forgotten to him, but that could be because she was in the middle of one of her lifts. He shifted the two glasses in one hand and made his way to the bedroom door, but stopped.
“We are friends, Slice,” he said quietly over her grunts of exertion. “That isn’t going to change. No matter what.”
Reilly sat up as soon as he closed the door behind him, thinking about what had just happened.
He came in looking all sexy with this wine and his offer of fish. He’d teased her. Then he’d moved in like he was going to kiss her.
Naturally, she was going to let him because that’s what always happened. She couldn’t resist him. He was like ice cream to her. Or cake. Or sun. All things irresistible.
Then he’d pulled away and images of some unknown woman leaped into her mind. No doubt she was a brunette. All of his ex-wives had been brunettes.
So what the hell was the comment he’d made about what he'd said and what she'd heard? And why, if he was so damn smitten with his new woman, had he tried anything in the first place? Wasn’t it bad enough he’d gotten her all worked up by taking her the first time?
Having him pull away after sex that night was harder than if he’d simply cut her off before she could remember how good it was between them. Now she had a memory and she couldn’t seem to shake it. Every time he walked into a room she felt his presence. Every time he left it, his absence.
It was pissing her off.
Because he was here and she was here. What the hell kind of thing was that to say? Ruefully, she shook her head. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. The two of them being in the same room together was enough to set the spark.
Even when she’d been married. Christ.
Reilly tucked her face in her hands as she tried to push out the images of him standing there in the first row of the small church in Little Creek. His wife next to him. While she’d married Jamie, her college sweetheart.
She’d wanted him then. If she could have stripped off her wedding dress and climbed into his lap, she would have. Wife be damned.
It had been her first indication it wasn’t going to work between her and Jamie.
But Jamie had been steady. A scholar instead of an athlete, she’d thought he would balance her. Yin to her yang. They had nothing to compete over, which at the time seemed like the answer for a successful relationship. But the more she was with him the more she realized his lack of interest in golf wasn’t necessarily a good thing for their marriage.
She’d barely understood what he did for a living. All she knew was that he was forever going to classes, and he hadn’t care what she did.
In the end, he’d said she was too much for him. He couldn’t handle her fame and always being on the road. The reality was they simply had run out of things to talk about. Instead of steadying her, he’d ignored her. Instead of her balancing him by introducing him to people and trying to help him socialize, she’d gotten on his nerves.
Marriage one: done.
Looking back on it she could probably blame the disaster of her second marriage on Luke as well. He’d already divorced the TV actress and had his eye on a tennis pro. He’d explained, after a particularly intense romp between them when their respective tours were playing in the same city, her next husband should understand the demands of fame and the pressures of professional sports. Which is why he’d wanted to hook up with the tennis pro. Well, that and she had sexy forearms. He’d convinced Reilly she needed someone not the opposite of her, but like her.
Just not a golfer. Like him.
He went on to date and marry Marta, the Wimbledon winner. She’d found Boomer Diggs, recently signed quarterback for the Houston Texans.
Only Reilly couldn’t make it work with Boomer. He’d wanted her to be an old- fashioned wife. Always there to support him and his career. She’d wanted him to grow a brain. After no more than six months of marriage, five of which they had spent apart, they’d called it quits.
Luke and Marta had followed them to divorce court the very next month.
Then there had been that time at the ESPY’s. She and Luke hadn’t seen each other in months. They hadn’t had sex in over a year. They were completely unattached.
And they’d fallen on each other like dogs in heat.
Reilly couldn’t think about that night without remembering the feel of having her skirt lifted to her waist while he slid inside in a smooth deep move that took her breath away. It had been reckless and crazy and absolutely necessary. As if their bodies took over for them and decided they had been separated long enough.
In some ways that night, which turned into a three-day weekend, had freaked her out. They had gone from the theater holding the awards ceremony straight back to her hotel room and if it hadn’t been for the need for fresh air and sun, they might never have come out.
The intensity of the two of them had rattled her. It always had. It was the other reason why she knew a real relationship wouldn’t work between them. The first being the need for each of them to be on top. Figuratively, not literally.
After three days of mind-blowing sex, general teasing and good humor, he’d practically mumbled his goodbye when he left.
Jeez, how messed up were they? They could barely walk after the sexual marathon, but despite the intimacy of their mating, they couldn
’t look at each other when they parted.
The following month, Reilly discovered on TMZ that Luke was dating an Academy-award- winning actress. The month after that, she had her own TMZ sound bite when her engagement to Buck was announced.
Reilly rolled herself to her feet and decided she wasn’t going to think about it anymore. She wasn’t going to think about Luke or whatever game he was currently playing. She sure as hell wasn’t going to think about some mystery brunette he may or may not marry.
May or may not… love.
Reilly shuddered at the thought.
Instead, she was going to think about her next set of exercises. She was going to think about the upcoming training schedule Odie had laid out for her. She was going to think about golf.
It was all she really had.
When she finally made it downstairs to the kitchen, the smell of mussels in white sauce and garlic assaulted her senses. There was plenty left over for her, but she wasn’t ready to eat.
The boys, as she silently referred to them, were in the great room drinking wine and beer and shouting at the large, flat-screen TV. It looked like the better deal.
Reilly grabbed a fresh wine glass and filled it before she sat near Kenny on the couch. It took her no time at all to pinpoint which American’s year they were watching.
The year was 2000 and David Duval was in the fairway at the 13th hole on Sunday.
“This kills me every time,” Kenny groaned. “Don’t do it, man. Don’t do it.”
“Look at the indecision. Where the hell was his caddy?” Luke wanted to know.
“Sure, blame the caddy. Right now his caddy is saying, ‘Don’t do it, man. You’re not going to clear the creek.’ But is he listening? No.”
Reilly smiled and snuggled into the couch. “There he goes. He’s pulling out the big dog.”
“No!” Luke and Kenny shouted together with enough passion that they might actually change the past.
“This is it. The American is on the line and he’s about to blow it,” Kenny grumbled.
“He didn’t know that. He thought he was going to make it. He’s giving himself a chance to win,” Reilly pointed out.
