Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(13)

Hardly a day had passed since his suspension that he didn’t curse the fact that he’d been born and raised in Wynette, Texas, Dallie Beaudine’s hometown, along with cursing the fact that Dallie had taken an interest in him when he’d been a snot-nosed kid hot-rodding around town in the brand-new red Porsche his mother had given him for his sixteenth birthday. Except, when Kenny was thinking rationally, he knew that Dallie’s intervention had saved his life.

Growing up with a crazy mother who’d suffocated him with her obsessive love, along with a distant father who hadn’t cared enough to intercede, had put Kenny on the path toward the worst kind of trouble. He’d been a bully, hell bent on cutting a wide swath of destruction through the town of Wynette. Only Dallie Beaudine had been standing in the way. That was what hurt most of all. Because Dallie knew him better than anybody on earth, he understood what nobody else did—that golf was the only thing that mattered in Kenny Traveler’s sorry, spoiled life.

As he hung up from an unfruitful call with one of his contacts at USA Today, he heard Lady Emma moving around in the kitchen, and a small corner of his depression lifted. It looked like his sex drive hadn’t disappeared after all.

Even before his suspension, he’d started worrying about himself. He’d always had an active sex life, but he hadn’t felt any urge to play the field since he’d gotten rid of Jilly. Instead, he’d been plagued with a general feeling that a man winning so many golf tournaments should be a lot happier with his life. But now Lady Emma had appeared, and, in a matter of hours, his body had come awake.

Despite her umbrella and order-giving, she was exactly the distraction he needed, especially now, when the top pros in the world were heading for the Masters at Augusta while he sat home at the whim of a man who was supposed to be his friend. And he didn’t have to worry about Emma stirring up another public scandal—the last thing his career could stand—when he dumped her. There was no way a conservative soul like her would let on that she’d used her summer vacation to satisfy her hankering to hop in bed with a stranger.

Besides, she amused the hell out of him, which was strange, since he generally couldn’t abide domineering women. But Lady Emma was so absolutely clueless that being around her was pretty much like standing in the exact middle of a perfect private joke.

Then there was that mouth . . . and her energy. . . . He smiled as he thought about having all that enthusiasm squirming naked underneath him.

Now he intended to use her to keep himself from thinking about Augusta, Dallie Beaudine, and a life that seemed increasingly pointless. Yes, sir, Lady Emma was just what he needed.

*

Emma dropped the potato peeler for the third time. It was a sleekly designed state-of-the-art German instrument. She bit her lip and returned her attention to the carrots. In a few more hours it would be over.

“How are those potatoes doing?”

She dropped the peeler for the fourth time and spun around.

He grinned as he sauntered toward her.

She took in the tan slacks he’d changed into while she’d been trying to nap, along with a black polo shirt bearing an American Express logo. Those neutral colors combined with his dark hair and tanned skin made a breathtaking contrast to his violet eyes.

He opened the oven door, picked up a paring knife, and poked at the potatoes. “These are about done. You got that chicken ready?”

“Chicken?” She’d forgotten about the chicken.

He straightened and nodded toward the carrots she’d just peeled. “If Bugs Bunny happens to drop by for dinner, he’s going to be one happy rabbit.”

She blinked and looked down. Instead of peeling just a few, she’d peeled an entire package. Enough for a dozen salads.

He gave her a knowing grin, then combined a couple of lazy stretches with retrieving a bowl and pan from separate cupboards. Somehow a canister of flour appeared, along with a stick of butter. With a slow flick of his hand, he dredged the chicken and set it sizzling in the pan. “You watch those while I get us some wine.”

She stared at the chicken. Her pulses were jumping, and her stomach felt as if it had dropped to her toes. For a moment the extent of what she was losing overcame her—a decade worth of daydreams about a comfortable, scholarly husband with leather elbow patches on his jacket and ink stains on his fingers. Other women might fantasize about taming some dashing scoundrel with thick black hair, a magnificent body, and violet eyes, but that had never been what she’d wanted.

Kenny returned from the garage with a bottle and lowered the heat on the chicken, which was starting to smoke. “Lady Emma, you got to relax or you’re gonna expire before we get half near the bedroom.”

“I am relaxed! Perfectly relaxed!” She took a deep breath as she realized how foolish that sounded when it was obvious she was as tight as the cork in that wine bottle he was carrying. “Please call me Emma. I never use my title.”

“Uh-huh. If you’re so relaxed, how’s come you jump every time I look at you?”

“I don’t jump!” She swallowed as she watched his hands turn the corkscrew, taking all the time in the world. She thought about those lazy hands taking their time with her, then reminded herself there was no ink stain on his thumb, no pencil callus on even one of those long, lean fingers.

“All right, then. I’m putting you to the test.” He tugged out the cork, pulled several exquisite crystal wine goblets from a cupboard above the stove, and poured. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. Just to make a point, mind you. I’m gonna touch one of your body parts, and while I’m doing it, you’ve got to stay perfectly still. If you jump, then you lose and I win.”