Page 157 of Well Played

He continued. “Second is, you gained additional yards with your new equipment sponsorship after your first professional win. While you’ve adjusted to the change of driver and putter, you haven’t yet mastered the distances with your irons and wedges. That’s why you’re always in between clubs. When the wind is down, I give you a shorter club than what you would have chosen because I know you’ll hit the ball farther than you think you’re capable of,” he explained. “I apologize that I didn’t tell you what I was trying to do sooner.”

Lana stopped walking and stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

A flush warmed his skin.Shite!Did that sound stalkerish?

“You have seen me play before today?” Lana asked.

Mitch nodded. “Many times. On the telly and online.” Might as well confess it all. “I first became aware of your name at the Junior Ryder Cup in Paris six years ago. A mate of mine was a member of Team Europe, and I watched live videos of thematches his family posted online. I saw you and your teammate win the mixed fourball against him and his partner six and four.” She’d been Team USA’s top scorer, having won all three of her matches in runaway fashion over the two days of competition.

Lana laughed, an enchanting sound that brightened the gloomy day. “Really? Junior Ryder Cup was great fun! I’m sure not for your friend. But I had the best time. Not only was it my first visit to France, but it was also my biggest team competition to that point.”

She’d won every major competition and award since then. As a junior and as an amateur golfer. It must have been a shock to her system for the victory train to stop so suddenly.

Echoing his thoughts, she said, “I used to hate being called ‘Eagle Aguilar,’ but now I wish I could earn the moniker back. Birdie would work too.”

“You have the talent. That hasn’t gone away. I think it’s just a small tweak in your game and everything will click into place,” he reassured her.

“Thank you, Mitch.” She touched his arm, a sensation that warmed him even more despite the layers of clothing between her hand and his skin. “I don’t know if I deserve your confidence in me, but I really appreciate it. I’ve lost a lot of my early supporters for not living up to their expectations and … it wasn’t a good feeling, because I’ve been trying so hard. Maybe too hard. I’m grateful that there are still some people outside of my family and friends who believe in me.”

He covered her hand with his, satisfaction filling him at the heat that flared into her beautiful brown eyes. He wanted to capitalize on that reaction, but he knew he should get the golf out of the way first. “It’s unfair that you were made to feel so much pressure to win everything on your rookie year. You’re dealing with new equipment and using it on courses you’ve never playedbefore. It can’t be fun trying to master technique and not seeing results straight away.”

“Fun,” Lana said almost in wonder, testing the word as if she hadn’t just said it a few minutes ago. She grabbed his hand in both of hers, eyes bright with excitement. “Fun! That’s what’s been missing in my game. I’ve been trying to be Nancy Lopez 2.0 and failing because I can only be me, Iolana Aguilar.”

Her voluntary touch sent his synapses firing. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms and initiate closer contact.

Lana shook their joined hands. “How can I make golf fun again? Do you have a suggestion?”

Now was the time to shoot his shot. “How about a bet?”

She raised an eyebrow. “For money?”

“No. A boon,” he rushed to clarify. “You’re four over par on your round with four holes to go. If you can get back to even, you can ask me to do anything for you.” A tough task but not impossible. Birdie, birdie, par, eagle should do it.

Her head tilted to the side. “Anything?”

“One thing.” He raised an index finger. “Within the bounds of the law and doesn’t involve pain. I found I’ve a low tolerance for it.”

“You’re on.” Lana unclasped their hands and grabbed a wedge from the bag on his back. The fifty-degree that usually netted her one hundred and sixteen yards. The exact club he would have given her for her second shot onto the green. The wind should knock the ball down close to the hole with a pure strike.

Mitch lowered the bag and handed the mat to her. He watched as she took a stance behind the ball. Waited for a couple of beats while she practiced a couple of swings before blurting out, “Aren’t you going to ask what I will win if you don’t make it?”

“No need.” She swung hard.

They both followed as the ball curved in the air and dropped right into the cup. A hole-out eagle from the fairway.

Speechless, Mitch goggled at her.

Laughing with abandon, Lana let out a whoop, threw the club on the ground, and launched herself at him. Caught off guard, he took one step back to steady both of them.

One of them gasped at the contact. Could have been her, could have been him. His arms were wrapped around her waist, hers were looped around his neck. They were thigh to thigh, chest to chest, face to face. Their eyes locked, and desire sizzled between them. He leaned forward, eager to taste the lips that had been tantalizing him for the past hour and a half.

“Fore left!”

Mitch jerked in alarm at the shout from the direction of the third tee. He tucked Lana’s head against his chest and turned so that his back faced the incoming projectile. He hunched over her as they both ducked in reflex to heed the universal call of warning for an errant shot.

Whatever pain that approached couldn’t hurt him. Not as long as her heady scent and the generous give of her curves filled his senses. The thud of a ball landing harmlessly on the ground behind him felt disappointing. It meant he had to let go. He did not want to let go.

Lana probably heard it too along with the hurried footsteps of golfers heading their way, because she disentangled herself from his protective embrace.

---