“Hey! I’m sharing my sushi with you, so you best be nice.”
“Very nice.”
He stole another kiss before walking with Rourke at his heels to where I had the TV on and the fireplace going.
After we’d shared my rolls and split the edamame, easy conversation flowing, Daniel asked, “So, did you learn anything from Peter? Did he perfect your swing?”
“Jealous? Maybe he’s a better pro than you?” I felt my cheeks redden and warm at my accusation.
“Jealous, for sure. A better pro, impossible. He learned from me.” Daniel focused his gaze on me. “I like that you want to learn golf. Maybe more than I should. It means you want to enjoy something I do—but it’s not necessary.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I could see a small smattering of gray around his temple. “I’ve tried to leave my mess of a marriage in my past, and I certainly don’t want it to be a part of us…presuming there is an us…after I showed up here, and I’m rambling like a sad bloke.”
I slid over toward Daniel, closing the distance between us. With my hand on his cheek, I spoke. “There is an us. A weird us, but one nevertheless. We had an odd beginning and even stranger reconnecting. I’m glad you are here. Unannounced or invited, you are welcome in my home anytime.”
“What I mean to say is, my ex acted like golf was better than sliced bread. Isn’t that what you Americans say? But really she liked the notoriety and money that came along with golf and me.”
“That’s not why…”
“I know,” he said, his hand taking my hand from his cheek—I didn’t even realize it was still there—and kissing along my knuckles. “But I would like to help you with your stroke. Lord knows you need it.”
“Hey!” I play-tackled him, falling into his arms where he kissed me senseless, our mouths doing a tango until our tongues got involved. We played out something more passionate with our lips, a promise of later. Breaking free, I asked, “Where are you staying?”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “The Four Seasons. I didn’t want to presume.”
“Is that where all your stuff is?”
He nodded, his hand sifting under my thermal top and up the bare skin of my back.
“Can you get it tomorrow?”
“Is that your coy way of asking if I’ll spend the night?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer because the timer went off. “Gotta get the brownies,” I declared.
“Way to avoid my question. But the answer is yes, I will get my stuff tomorrow,” Daniel called after me as I left for the kitchen. When I returned empty-handed, he asked, “How long until they cool?”
“Twenty minutes? Maybe twenty-five.”
“Good. Gives me a little time to work you over,” he said with a wink, beckoning me closer with his pointer finger.
I went willingly, sliding into his lap, his hand snaking back up my shirt and lifting it over my head, his mouth finding my nipple through my satin bra. All the sensations already had me on edge—the heat of his mouth through the silky feel of the fabric and the dampness left behind.
And then with his lips near my ear, he spoke quietly, only for me. “The answer is always yes when it comes to you, Birdie.”
There was no time for me to respond because he quickly headed south, and all I could do was moan.
Daniel
“I’m guessing you have to work tomorrow?” I looked at Wren over the rim of my mug of coffee while at brunch at the Four Seasons. Valentine’s brunch, but we were not allowed to make mention of it.
We’d spent a glorious night in her bed—so I wasn’t going to argue. Then, as promised, I went to get my stuff from the hotel.
“Yes, some of us have to work.”
I felt the smile on my face lift. “I work. Mostly…”
“I’m kidding. You gave your whole life to golf and made it big. I don’t begrudge you.”
Unable to take the compliment, I said, “Speaking of golf, I spoke to Peter earlier and we can go to The Country Club this afternoon if you want… I can help you. You know, be the one standing behind you, correcting your stroke.”
