Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
He turned to face Josephine where she now stood in the living space, a muscle popping ominously in his cheek. “You’re here to focus on golf.” He gave her a meaningful look. “So am I.”
All at once, she became very aware that this man was now her boss—and he was right. They were in Texas to play golf. Getting into a bickering match with a golfer who could change her life by winning was not the wisest move, was it? And being that Wells was her boss, she should spend as little time as possible standing in front of him in an extremely brief towel. “I’m focused.”
“Good,” he said, back to having his arms crossed. Aloof.
“Are you?”
“I’m always focused. It just hasn’t translated into winning lately.”
“What are you focusing on?” she asked, even though she should probably shut up and get dressed.
“Golf,” Wells spat out. “I thought we established that.”
“What part of it? Your swing? The leaderboard? The shot you’re taking? The next hole?”
“We talked about the questions, Josephine,” he snapped.
She held her ground. “You’re going to have to start answering them or I won’t be able to do my job, Wells.”
He adjusted his stance, leaning forward a little, wafting his scent in her direction. He smelled like pine and a hint of something else. Like the interior of a new car. Warm leather? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she shouldn’t be envisioning things. Things like dragging her nose along the curve of his strong neck to further study the origin of those leather and pine notes. “My old caddie didn’t ask questions,” Wells pointed out.
Josephine squared her shoulders and took a step in his direction. “I wouldn’t have taken advice from your old caddie two inches from the hole. He was a banana brain.”
“A . . .” Was he holding back a laugh? “You’re going to have to learn some meaner insults if we’re going to be spending time together.”
“Fine. He was human-shaped shit stuffed into some khakis.”
“Better.”
“Thank you. Answer the question. Which part of golf are you focusing on?”
“All of it. At once.” The words clipped their way out of him. “My pathetic world ranking, the possibility of another shitty finish, the disappointment from everyone, from . . . Buck, the fact that the fucking club feels like a foreign object in my hand now, when it used to feel like an extension of my arm.” He tilted his head, took a step closer to Josephine. “Does that answer your annoying question?”
His honesty created a sharp ache in the center of her chest, but she refused to let it show on her face. “It’s a starting point,” she managed.
Wells snorted. “A starting point to where?”
They were toe-to-toe now.
Close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.
When had that happened?
His fingertips were near enough to the edge of her towel that it seemed almost natural for him to brush those digits along the fronts of her thighs. But it wasn’t natural. Not with her boss. So she suppressed the urge to inch forward and find out how his thumbs would feel digging into her hips. And yeah. Wow. She didn’t need any more proof that her dry spell had turned into a dry era.
“I guess we’ll find out where you’re headed . . . together,” Josephine whispered.
“Together.” This time, there was no mistaking the way his light brown eyes tracked down to her mouth, his chest expanding. Enough that it almost touched the knot of her towel. Ever so briefly, his attention strayed to the bedroom located over her shoulder and his eyelids sagged. But just as quickly as it happened, he locked his jaw and stepped back. “I’ll meet you outside your room tonight at seven.”
“For what?”
“The party, belle. We’re going together.”
Stupid pulse. Please stop racing. “Why?”
The glint in his eyes was sort of . . . dangerous looking? “Because I’m not going to give the other caddies a chance to eat you alive.”
“I can handle myself,” Josephine insisted.
“Yes, but if they came for you, it would piss me off.”
“Does anything not piss you off?”
Wells ignored that. “And we need me calm and focused, right? We’ve already decided that.” He backed up until he reached his suitcase, picking it up with a very distracting biceps flex. “You’re not one of these women who takes a million years to get ready and makes us late, are you?”
“No.”
“Great.”
Wells started toward the door, then stopped, changing directions toward the mini fridge. Josephine watched curiously as he yanked open the door, observed the contents, and slapped it shut again. “There are juices in there, if you need them. Apple and orange. Do those work for you?”
It was embarrassing, really, the way she had a hard time finding her breath in order to answer that gruffly delivered question. This man was rude to her one second, and in the next, he was considering her blood sugar needs. What complicated corner of the universe had he come from? “Yes. And I brought stuff, too. Glucose tabs and . . . thanks.”