Even if she isn’t willing to show her cards to me, Giselle forgets I’ve come to be able to read her like a book in the past two months since we’ve been getting to know each other.
As she takes her shot, I focus on the way her leather trousers highlight the squeeze of her thighs.
I’m willing to bet everything I have to my name that’s she’s wet for me.
I know I’m right when she misses the first hole, even though she was inches away from it in the first place and turns back to me with a roll of her eyes.
“That was your fault.”
I place the neck of my cold beer to my lips. “My fault?”
“Uh huh. You’re distracting me, Hudson Millen.”
Jesus. I fucking love the sound of my name in her mouth.
“I’mdistractingyou? You started this. You’re the one whose nipples are saluting me right now.” I pointedly stare down at the two hard bullets poking through the thin material of her top. “I think if it’s anybody distracting; it’syou, Giselle.”
We play around the golf course in pretty much the same manner; ribbing at each other in between pockets of conversation, laughing until our stomachs hurt and touching one another whenever we get a free moment.
I’d love nothing more than to capture her lips, run my tongue along the edge of hers and devour her whole.
But we’ve got an audience, who, have already been subjected to enough of an eyeful tonight after I squeezed Giselle’s arse in celebration when I made a hole-in-one…
Followed by a pretty crude joke I made much at her expense.
The playful way her eyes rolled backwards, and she swatted at my upper bicep, told me she didn’t really mind.
By the time we make it to the ninth and final hole, there’s only two points between Giselle and me. I’m leading, but only just.
Not that I’m all that surprised. Giselle’s natural competitive nature means it’s basically her own grit and determination keeping her on my tail.
I watch as Giselle’s golf ball falls short of making it onto the ledge of the last obstacle – an old-fashioned water mill – turning towards me with her tongue pressed into the fleshy portion of her cheek in irritation.
“What was that about eating me alive first, Gee?” I taunt with a smirk, coaxing her lips to fall further into a sweet pout.
I think she’s trying for a ‘looks could kill’ expression, but it’s falling rather flat.
“There’s still time yet, Millen,” she retorts, toying with the thin stem of her now empty cocktail glass.
Smirking so hard my cheeks are starting to ache, I square my shoulders and my hips, swinging my golf club once, twice, a third time, before I make contact with the ball. Itthwacks, landing perfectly onto one of the wooden ledges of the water mill, which carries my ball onto the other side of the turf, depositing it a metre or so away from the hole.
Giselle scowls as I shrug innocently, stepping away so she can take my place.
It takes four more attempts for Giselle to make it onto the other side of the obstacle, by which I’ve already putted my ball and scored myself as the winner.
“I need another drink,” Giselle utters, moving to stalk off the fake turf and hand her golf club back into the used bin, but she doesn’t move fast enough, leaving me just enough space to duck two fingers under her chin, bringing her lips to mine.
“Don’t be such a sore loser, Gee,” I hear myself coo over the obnoxiously loud pop music. “There’ll be other times for you to win—”
She just about sinks her teeth into my bottom lip, nipping harder than necessary.
I tip my head back and laugh, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as she steers us back towards the bar.
“Laugh it up.” Her blue eyes, lined with some sort of black liner, flash towards me as she peers up from the drink’s menu in her manicured hands. “Because you won’t be laughing for much longer.”
Raising my eyebrows, I grin at her. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Giselle. You’re all bark and no bite.”
She turns to the woman behind the bar. “A strawberry daquiri, please.” And then back to me. “Just you watch, Millen. You’ll be choking on those words before you know it.”
