Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(150)

He bristled like a cornered porcupine. “Afraid of? Since when did you get to be such an expert on golf that you know what a professional player might be afraid of?”

“When you host a television show like mine, you get to know a little bit about everything,” she replied evasively.

“If I'd known this was going to be a damned interview, I'd have stayed home.”

“But then we would have missed a lovely evening together, wouldn't we?”

Without anything more than the evidence presented by the dark scowl on his face, Francesca became absolutely, totally convinced that Skeet Cooper had told her the truth, and that not only did her son's happiness depend upon the game of golf, but quite possibly her own did as well. What she didn't know was how to make use of that newfound understanding. Thoughtfully, she picked up her wine goblet, took a sip, and changed the subject.

Francesca didn't plan on ending up in bed with Dallie that night, but as the dinner progressed her senses seemed to go on overload. Their conversation grew more infrequent, the looks between them more lingering. It was as if she'd taken a powerful drug and she couldn't break the spell. By the time their coffee arrived, they couldn't take their eyes off each other and before she knew it, they were in Dallie's bed at the Essex House.

“Um, you taste so good,” he murmured.

She arched her back, a groan of pure pleasure coming from deep in her throat, as he loved her with his mouth and tongue, giving her all the time she needed, sweeping her up the mountains of her own passion, but never quite letting her cross the peak.

“Oh... please,” she begged.

“Not yet,” he replied.

“I—I can't stand any more.”

“I'm afraid you're going to have to, honey.”

“No... please...” She reached for herself, but he caught her wrists and pinioned them at her sides.

“You shouldn't have done that, darlin'. Now I'm going to have to start all over again.”

Her skin was damp, her fingers rigid in his hair, when he finally gave her the release she was desperate for. “That was a dreadful thing to do,” she sighed after she had tumbled back to earth. “You're going to pay for that torture.”

“Did you ever notice that the clitoris is the only sexual organ that doesn't have a dirty-word nickname.” He nuzzled at her breasts, still taking his time with her even though he hadn't been satisfied himself. “It has an abbreviation, but not a real scummy nickname like everything else. Think about it. You got your—”

“Probably because men have only recently discovered the clitoris,” she said wickedly. “There hasn't been time.”

“I don't think so,” he replied, seeking out the object under discussion. “I think it's because it's pretty much an insignificant organ.”

“An insignificant organ!” She caught her breath as he began working his magic again.

“Sure,” he whispered huskily. “More like one of those puny little electronic keyboards than the mighty ol' Wurlitzer.”

“Of all the male, egotistical—” With a deep, throaty laugh, she rolled on top of him. “Watch out, mister! This little keyboard's about to make your mighty ol' Wurlitzer play the symphony of its life.”

During the next few months, Dallie found a number of excuses to come to New York. First he had to meet with some advertising executives about a promotion he was doing for a line of golf clubs. Then he was “on his way” from Houston to Phoenix. Later he had a wild craving to sit in gridlocked traffic and breathe exhaust fumes. Francesca could never remember having laughed so much or felt so absolutely sassy and full of herself. When Dallie put his mind to it he was irresistible, and since she'd long ago gotten out of the habit of telling herself lies, she stopped trying to cheapen her feelings for him by hiding them under the convenient label of lust. No matter how potentially heartbreaking—she realized that she was falling in love with him. She loved his look, his laughter, the easygoing nature of his manliness.

Still, the obstacles between them loomed like skyscrapers, and her love had a bittersweet edge. She wasn't an idealistic twenty-one-year-old anymore, and she couldn't envision any fairy-tale future. Although she knew Dallie cared for her, his feelings seemed much more casual than her own.

And Teddy continued to be a problem. She sensed how much Dallie wanted to win him over, yet he remained stiff and formal with her son—as if he was afraid to be himself. Their outings too frequently ended in disaster as Teddy misbehaved and Dallie reprimanded him. Although she hated admitting it, she sometimes found herself feeling relieved when Teddy had other plans and she and Dallie could spend their time alone together.

On a Sunday late in April, Francesca invited Holly Grace to come over and watch the final round of one of the year's! more important golf tournaments. To their delight, Dallie was only two shots off the lead. Holly Grace was convinced that if he made a strong finish, he'd play out the season instead of going into the announcers' booth in two weeks to do color commentary for the U.S. Classic.

“He'll blow it,” Teddy said as he came into the room and plopped himself on the floor in front of the television. “He always does.”

“Not this time,” Francesca told him, irritated with his know-it-all attitude. “This time he's going to do it,” He'd better do it, she thought. The night before on the phone, she'd promised him a variety of erotic rewards if he came through today.