The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(2)

“I bet your lips are sweet though, darlin’.”

Obnoxious—even if guys like him are cute when they’re trying to get laid. I lean into him with a smile. I run my tongue over my lip, just for good measure.

“That’s something you’ll never find out,” I whisper and take another drink.

He stops for a minute, like my reply shocked him, and then he gives me a deep grin that even makes his brown eyes twinkle. Damn.

“I always did like a challenge,” he says, and I can feel excitement thrum through my system. I hear the alarm and danger bells going off… I just don’t seem able to stop staring into his eyes.

Did I mention: damn??





She doesn’t know who I am.

It’s a strange feeling—although not at all unpleasant. Let’s face it: I realize golf isn’t the most exciting sport, and the major draw here in the state of Kentucky is horseracing or college basketball, so odds were in favor of me not being recognized, but it surprises me just the same. Still. It’s almost tourney time and golf has been monopolizing the news. It’s not that I’m bragging or anything, but f*ck, I’ve seen my face so often on the sports shows, I just assumed everyone else has. There can be no mistaking it though that this woman clearly doesn’t know who I am. I haven’t had a woman want me just for me and not my name or my bank account. There’s just one problem: sweet lips here doesn’t seem to want me. Challenge placed and accepted. I won’t give up until I have her under me screaming my name.

“I always did like a challenge,” I tell her with a practiced grin. It’s not really bragging when I admit that this grin has literally gotten me into the pants of thousands of women, and some were even prettier than the beauty staring at me now.

She’s a banging little redhead with green eyes who has legs that go for miles, curves that should be illegal, and tits and an ass that I’m sure make men beg. Hell, I want to beg now. That aside, there’s something about this particular woman that appeals to me in ways no other woman has for far too long. I could say it has to do with the fact that she doesn’t know who I am. Perhaps it is, and the novelty will wear off—after I f*ck her brains out.

“It wasn’t a challenge,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

“It wasn’t a yes,” I tell her.

“Odd, I wasn’t aware that was a yes or no question.”

“Everything boils down to yes or no. ‘I bet your lips are sweet’ definitely means I intend to find out. You letting me boils down to yes or no.”

“So my answer here would be… no?” The way she tilts her head to the side and pulls her eyebrow up as if daring me sends a fire through my system. Is it really because her reaction is such a change from the way women usually throw themselves at me?

“I’d prefer if your answer was to bring your mouth to mine and let me taste your lips,” I tell her, lowering my voice and angling my head so only she can hear me.

I watch her closely. I think I can see a slight shudder move through her. She’s not completely unaffected by me. Is it a game for her? Playing hard to get to try and keep my interest? That’s not out of the realm of possibility, though if true, it would disappoint me. Not that I truly give a damn. The endgame is just like it always is: I’m getting between her legs.

“You should at least get an A for effort.”

“I’d rather show you what else I deserve an A in.”

“There’s a point where trying too hard comes into play,” she points out, getting up.

Fuck. I’m losing her? Has this ever happened before? Hell, I don’t think so, not even before I made it big.

“At least have a dance with me,” I tell her, doing my best not to sound desperate. Shit, I feel a little desperate here and I still don’t know what it is about her.

She looks me over and I hold still, letting her take her time. I make myself a promise that if she turns me down, I’m done chasing. She might have my interest, but I don’t need to work this hard for it. When she inclines her head to indicate she’s agreeing to the dance, I hold out my hand to her, standing. She puts her hand in mine. As I lead her onto the dance floor, I feel a zing of heat move from our joined hands and flood through my system. I almost wonder if I’m the only one who felt it until I hear her quick intake of breath and feel her hand jerk against mine. When she tries to pull away, I tighten my hold.

She’s not getting away. Not yet.





I should probably have my head examined. I can’t even fully blame it on not being with anyone in, like, forever. No, I think it might be pure madness that has me walking out to dance with this guy.

“Am I allowed to ask your name?” I ask to distract myself, because when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his body, that electric current runs through me again. I look up into his eyes and see something flash in them.

He hesitates, then finally answers, “Gray.”

“Gray? Like the color?” I ask.

He gets a strange look on his face, before he grins again. “You don’t like it? I happen to think it will sound beautiful when you’re screaming it out tonight when I f—”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if you want a chance in hell at getting lucky tonight, Gray.”