Page 34 of Pros Don't

“No can do. Because it feels like you care.” I hold up my thumb and pointer finger. “A smidge. Or…wait a minute. Are you jealous?!” I turn my smirk up to eleven and gasp. “Is it possible youlikeme, Mal?”

“Not even a little bit.” She tips her chin up.

“That’s what they all say.”

“Exactly. I will never be one of your women in waiting. I don’t care about you outside of golf. I told you that.”

I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel. “What if I don’t believe you?”

Her eyes narrow in a look of determination. I catch it in my periphery, and gosh, I love that look.

“I’ll make you believe me.”

“How?”

“Stop the cart.”

Instinctively, I do as I’m told. What can I say? I’m used to taking orders from this woman. She looks around the nearest green, like she’s trying to find the fastest way to sprint away from me, and for a minute, I think I might have pushed her too far. Like maybe she’s going to run off and coach Andy Mason, because that would probably be a walk in the park compared to my constantgoading. But then she flicks her gaze back to mine, and instead of jumping out of the golf cart and running away, she reaches one arm around my shoulders and drags my mouth to hers.

It’s not so much a kiss as it is an attack. A forceful takeover. She’s plundering my castle. Swimming across the moat and scaling my walls. Is she trying to take out all my defenses? Because it’s working.

I’m so stunned by this power play that I don’t move. I’m paralyzed by the peachy scent that wafts off her skin. Or maybe it’s coming from her hair? I can’t tell. My whole world is tilted on its axis, and I don’t know which way is up or down at the moment. My senses are overloaded with not only the feminine scent of her but also the grip of her arm around my shoulders and the press of her hand against my chest. She grips my shirt and keeps her mouth fastened to mine.

She’s almost fully on my side of the golf cart, kissing me hard and sure. I’ve never stopped to think about or guess how Mallory would kiss, but if I had to draw it up, this feels about right. She’s confident and aggressive. She takes control and holds it. How does she smell so dang good? How have I never noticed it before?

Her grasp on my shirt loosens, like she’s getting ready to pull away.

I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I am sure I don’t want it to end.

I reach for the back of her neck, letting my fingers slice through the hair on the underside of her ponytail, and angle her lips so I can kiss her back properly.

I’ve never experienced a kiss like this—one that’s such a clash of wills. There is no hesitation. No lessening in intensity. This is full-throttle.

Are we hate-kissing right now? Does Mallory hate me? I hope not, because I’m into this. But if I’m being honest, I’d also like to explore other kinds of kisses with her. Like the slow kind. The kind that’ll allow me to explore every inch of her mouth. The kindwith nips and presses that draw out content sighs and make her lean in for more.

What I’m saying is I want to kiss her like this and a million other ways too. So, if we’re battling for position here, I will gladly surrender. She can take me. She can have the victory.

As long as I can have her.

A low growl emanates from the back of her throat, and the vibration rattles my pulse and makes every other thought in my mind evaporate. Leave it to Mallory to give me arrythmia and amnesia. She’s exhausting and exhilarating all at once.

I use my body to twist and push her back into her seat, keeping my mouth persistent in its devouring of her. She’s matching my movements until she suddenly breaks the kiss, only to start trailing her lips in a soft path along my jawline. I’m so startled at the change in intensity, the loss of pressure, that I let out a low gasp. This is equally intoxicating to the forceful, demanding kiss from a moment ago—as I expected.

Mallory uses this moment—when I’m off balance—to push me back to my side of the golf cart. I miss the tantalizing feel of her breath against my skin immediately.

She’s breathing heavily and staring right at me. Her green eyes are darker than usual, and her face doesn’t give anything away, until she leans back and smirks. “There.”

I take off my hat and run my hands through my hair, trying to control my breathing. “What wasthat?”

“That was me proving to you that this”—she motions between us—“is never going to go beyond a professional, working relationship.”

“That’swhat you got from all of that?”

“Yep. I’m not into you romantically, Holland. It’s that simple. That kiss did nothing for me.” She’s cool, calm, and collected as she slides out the side of the golf cart, even as my heart continues to stampede around in my chest, not only from that kiss, but because any time she uses my first name, it does somethingelectric to me. “Have a good date tonight. See you for our next practice.”

It’s then that I realize the clubhouse is straight ahead, and the parking lot is to our right. She saunters off, and I’m left in the golf cart, reeling. I want to call after her, to say something smart or teasing, but my brain is a pile of mushy oatmeal…topped with peaches, of all things.

12

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