Chapter 6

It’s a beautiful day at Wolfingham Country Club, and I’m fucking miserable.

Because my fiancée wore one of those little white dresses and it’s so much fucking hotter than I thought.

“You keep staring at me,” Elena says as she loops her arm through mine. We’re on the first hole and walking out toward our shots. She refused to ride in the cart, and it wasn’t like I could let her go walking around on her own. We’re partnered with this ancient couple that can barely shuffle around, which I’m pretty sure Omar did on purpose, that bastard.

“I keep wondering if you put that on just to torture me.”

She feigns surprise and puts a hand to her chest. It draws my attention to her breasts, which are only just visible, which is fucking frustrating, because they happen to be perfect.

“You asked me to dress like this,” she says, grinning like a maniac.

“You know what you’re doing,” I grumble.

Her grip on my arm tightens. “You think I’m attractive, don’t you? Are you going to be all distracted? You’re going to shoot like shit and blame it on my fine ass.”

I stare up at the clouds, and I hate myself, but she’s probably right. “How about this. Whoever has the better score gets another favor.”

She bites her lip. “You sure you want to do that? I go big when I ask for favors.”

“I’m sure.” We reach my ball and I step away from her, putting down my clubs with a clatter. “No cheating. No bullshit. You in?”

“I’m very in.” She steps back and puts a finger on her lower lip. “Am I allowed to mention that I’m not wearing any panties right now?”

I grunt as I fuck up my practice swing and take a chunk of dirt from the fairway. She howls with laughter at the look on my face. I’m picturing her bare ass under my hands, her hips wriggling with squirmy pleasure, her pussy soaking wet and dripping down my fingers, that white skirt shoved up over her hips as I pin her down on the fucking bed⁠—

“I said no bullshit,” I grunt at her, my cock getting hard, which isn’t great. She’s going to see it through my tight slacks.

And fuck, there she goes. She glances down and sucks in a little breath. “Oh, wow,” she whispers and a part of me has to admit that I like the look on her face right now. It’s half surprise and half lust. I like the way her eyes get all heavy-lidded and she chews on her cheek. “Easy there, big boy. Emphasis on big. I was just kidding about the panties. It’s a freaking charity event, you perv.”

“You’re the one who put the image in my head.” I turn back to my ball and take a couple more practice swings until my dick softens up enough to take my stroke. And there I go again, thinking about stroking into Elena. Fuck, how the hell did she just manage to make golf, the least sexy of all sports, somehow extremely lewd?

I take my shot and it’s a solid straight chip onto the green. When it comes to a halt close to the flag, I lean toward her with a vicious smirk. “I think I’m going to make you take those panties off for real when I win.”

She laughs. “That’s not a favor. That’s just cruel.”

“The favor is letting me keep your underwear. We’ll call it a trophy of my victory.”

Her cheeks turn pink and I let her go take her own shot, which is good, but not good enough.

The round goes pretty much like that all day. We alternate between hating each other, flirting mercilessly, and hitting golf balls. I’m the better player, probably because I hit the country club twice a week for work—there are perks to being a high-end lawyer—but I don’t mention that. She’s pretty good though and manages to win a couple holes, and I have to grudgingly admit that she’s probably the better putter of the two of us.

But too bad for her, because I manage to kick her ass and win by a few strokes.

When we reach the club house, I grab her by the waist and hold her against my side, trying not to gloat, and failing miserably.

“Two favors,” she moans, shaking her head like it’s the end of the world. “This is the worst day ever.”

“Cheer up. Maybe I’ll be nice to you.”

“The only time you smile is when you’re trying to torture me.” She pulls herself away and crosses her arms. “I think you cheated.”

“Cheated? How dare you. This is beneath you, Elena Bianco.”

“Whatever, you’re a cheater, and cheaters don’t get favors.”

I lean in closer and lower my voice so nobody nearby can hear. “Do cheaters get panties?”

“Absolutely not.” She raises her chin. “Panties are for legitimate winners.”

I laugh, unable to help myself, and we blend into the party. I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun playing golf. Normally, it’s a fucking slog, except the few times when my brothers come along. Declan’s pretty good, and Nolan can hold his own, but mostly I bring clients out here for some schmoozing and that sort of crap. I hate that aspect of the job, but it’s part of the game and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep on winning.

But golf with Elena wasn’t painful. If anything, it was too much fun, and I have to remind myself why I’m here.

Like always, this is about business.

The clubhouse is packed with political players wearing golf shirts and bragging about their ground game, and normally, this sort of thing is on par with a root canal. I can smile and make nice, but I’m a fucking litigator. I prefer to make arguments in front of a jury, not small talk. I’d probably be on my fourth drink by now and ready to put a bullet in my head if it weren’t for Elena.

She’s like a fish in the ocean. Everyone seems to know her, and she seems to love everyone, easily moving from one group to the next, effortlessly slotting into conversations, and brightening up everyone she talks with. She asks about children, about sick grandparents, about second cousins, like she has a dossier for each and every person she meets stuck somewhere in her head. It’s actually kind of impressive, and she makes me look good while I lurk at her side and try not to look like I’m about to murder anyone. Which isn’t easy for me.

“You never did tell me why Omar hates you,” Elena murmurs as we approach the bar where most of the zoning committee are getting drinks together. Omar’s among them, laughing with the chairperson, a tough older woman named Maggie O’Malley.

“It’s a dumb story. He’s a pretty asshole with a grudge, that’s all.”

“Might help if you, I don’t know, just spit it out.” She gives me a look. “Are you always difficult about everything?”

“Yes.” I stare at her and she rolls her eyes. Elena doesn’t need to know and it’s not exactly flattering on my part.

“Fine, don’t tell me, but I’ll hear about it eventually. I’m sure Layla will be happy to share.”

“Doubt she even knows.”

That only makes Elena more curious and she bugs me about it a few more times, but I refuse to give in.

We end up sitting and chatting with Maggie, Omar, Layla, Walt Kowalski, the committee’s secretary, and Evie Whitemore, the treasurer. I keep getting nasty looks from Omar, but Elena manages to keep the peace and even shares a few hilarious stories about her days hanging out with Layla. The two of them are like best friends, laughing and swapping memories, and Elena even manages to get me to talk a little bit. Which goes better than expected.

“I hear the Quinn family’s been busy trying to get permits through,” Maggie says over the rim of her glass, giving me a little smirk.

She knows damn well that’s true since she’s been voting to reject all our projects, but Elena speaks up before I can say something stupid.

“Brody was just saying how he thinks this new build is going to be huge for the whole city. Isn’t that right, honeybuns?”

Omar’s eyes light up at her fucking nickname, but I take it in stride. “That’s right, sugarplum. The Waterfront project’s going to reignite the whole upper end of the lake district if only we could get the thing off the ground.”

“Tell me about it,” Maggie says, which clearly annoys the others, but I give her the quick rundown: high-end condos up top and a mixture of shops and restaurants down below with a park open to the public on a stretch of land that runs right up toward the water.

“You really have to take another look at the proposal,” Elena gushes and if I didn’t know any better, I’d actually believe she meant it. But she’s never seen the damn thing.

Turns out, my fiancée is a very good actress.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Maggie gives me a sly look, which I’m guessing is a good thing, because I’ve gotten nothing but disdain from her in the past.

Elena drags me away after a few more minutes of aimless chatting. We refill our drinks, but before she can wander off into the crowd some more, I grab her by the hand and drag her away.

“Uh-oh, are you about to have your way with me?” she asks, giving me that flirty little smirk. I’m starting to realize that’s just how she’s going to talk for the rest of my fucking life, and I’m already exhausted.

“What was that shit back there with O’Malley?” I growl once we’re alone in a side hallway that leads toward the kitchens. A couple servers bustle past but nobody pays us any attention. I stand close to her, my hand on her wrist, not holding tight. I like the way her skin feels against mine, even if it’s only my fingers brushing ever so gently.

“Just putting in a good word for you.” She seems smug and it drives me crazy.

“Don’t do that. Not without warning me first.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine, don’t worry. That’s how she operates. There’s no way in hell she’d ever look at your project stone-cold sober and in the middle of committee without hearing about it over a few drinks first. I’m shocked you never tried to take her out before now.”

I grind my jaw because I didn’t know that, and suddenly a few things make sense. Like for example, how she’s never given me the time of day, except for when I caught her in a few social situations. But I never talked business since I didn’t want to bother her.

Now I realize my mistake. And I can see how useful Elena can be.

“You still need to warn me,” I say, refusing to concede too much ground. For some stupid, stubborn reason, I don’t want her to win. “We’re supposed to be partners, remember?”

“Partners?” Her eyebrows raise. I move closer to her and put my hand on her hip. She doesn’t pull back and I’m extremely aware of the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. Her lips are plump and slightly open, and I keep catching a glimpse of her tongue behind her lower teeth. There are a lot of things I want to do to those lips and that tongue, but this is business, strictly business, and I have to keep reminding myself that I won’t cross the line until I get what I want.

“That’s right. Business partners. Meaning you need to tell me about your plans instead of throwing me under a goddamn bus.”

She laughs lightly, her smile fading as she shakes her head. My fingers tighten on her hip.

“It’s amazing. I do you a favor and you’re still all grumpy. What’s with you? That went well out there. Even Omar seemed like he didn’t hate you, which is apparently the first time.”

“I’m not grumpy. I just like to plan.”

“And I’m doing the best I can, okay? I have my own stuff going on. I’m not sitting around worrying about your stupid business.”

I lean closer. Fuck, I want to bite that lower lip, grab her by the hair, and bury her mouth with mine. Maybe then she’ll actually listen. “Just talk to me, that’s all I’m asking.”

“And just be freaking patient. That’s all I need.”

I draw in a breath, and I’m about to tell her off, but her phone starts to ring. Neither of us moves for half a second, but then I pull back and release my grip on her. She gives me a strange look like she’s disappointed that I’m letting her go before pulling it out and answering.

“Hello?” She pauses and her body tenses. “Where are you? Right now? Yeah, I can be there soon. Okay, hang tight, Davide.” She hangs up and shoves her phone back in her small bag.

“What was that?”

“My brother.” She sucks in a breath and looks up at the ceiling like the world’s trying to crush her. “He got arrested.”