Jillian stretched out in the dark, clothed only in moonlight. The stars shining through the open curtains lit the room. She hadn’t known she was so tired. Jet lag still had the best of her. After her shower, she’d only meant to relax for a minute. Judging by the clock on the night table, half the night had passed her by.

She lengthened her arms overhead, a pleasant ache dripped through her body. Muscles strained and exercised after too long being ignored hummed with the movement. A pleasant ache, a discomfort that made her feel strong and human.

Gliding between waking and dreaming, Jillian crept up the bed, turning on her belly, nestling the crisp pillows beneath her. Taking a deep pull of the clean scent of the room into her lungs, she tried to fall back under. Something had changed, woken her somehow.

The hairs on the back of her neck tickled, but were soft beneath her hand as she tried to brush the annoyance away. Searching for slumber, she stretched again, the muscles of her back and legs releasing in a slow ripple.

She smelled him there with her. Yet she knew he couldn’t be, even as his warm fingers brushed the hair from the back of her neck.

“Dreaming...” Jillian mumbled into the darkness. The soft touch grew longer, tracing up and down the length of her spine, fueling the fire within her.

She dared not move, unwilling to risk disrupting the dream, or stop the flowing caresses. The light feather-touch didn’t tickle, but warmed her as the strokes flowed further down her back, massaging out the ache. They drifted down farther, over her buttocks, down her thighs, brushing ever so slightly in between.

The presence in the room was palpable, yet it was so much easier to believe she was dreaming. Jillian parted her thighs, granting the caress better access to the part of her that needed the touch most.

“Jillian.” A voice whispered in the darkness, the warm breath tickling her shoulder. A voice light, and so familiar.

She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy. Alarm bells rang in the recesses of her mind, but they faded quickly. It was a dream after all, and he was always in her dreams. Jillian tried to worm her way deeper into sleep, knowing if she could only get there his touch would be deeper, his voice louder.

Jillian felt the heat of a kiss on her neck, deep yet light. Pressure so delicious it sent tendrils of pleasure swirling through her. The kiss grew, magnified. The heat pulling the ache from her muscles, relaxing her until she was completely paralyzed. The kiss descended with agonizing slowness down her body.

Her breath quickened, her heart raced, tension flowing from her body. The only tightness building in her womb. Her body dewy, primed for culmination of this dream.

“Please,” Jillian whispered in frustration. Time stalled around her, within her, as silence echoed through the room.

Then all at once she felt him. All of him, not just his kiss. His heat surrounded her, the kiss languishing behind her ear.

“Kiss me.” The voice vibrated through her body, awakening her to the possibility. Jillian rolled beneath him, wrapping her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers in the short ends of his hair.

She opened her eyes and her heart stalled, thudding in the emptiness. The tendrils of sleep snapped and like wisps of smoke, much of the dream blurred. She pulled the blankets around her naked body, rapidly cooling in the blackness of the room, dressed only in moonlight.

* * *

“Please,” she whispered to him. This was how Ben wanted it to be. He felt her body ready for what he needed, smelled her desire in the air.

He wanted to kiss her. He needed to explore her, feel what it was he thought he already knew. He could just kiss her; she was obviously more than willing. But that felt wrong somehow. As if kissing her would block what he needed to learn.

Tasting the skin behind her ear, he moved his body over hers. She shuddered beneath him. He kept most of his weight on one arm, tracing down the length of her body with the other. She had the most amazingly soft skin. And a sweet, familiar taste to her. He nipped at her again, absorbing her essence, trying to place the flavor. He deepened the kiss, searching for something he knew, yet couldn’t possibly.

He knew her. He must. It was a crazy notion, but one he hadn’t been able to shake since he saw her on the plane. There was one way to find out, a way they’d both enjoy.

“Kiss me.” It was the only way to be sure. If she kissed him he’d certainly be able to place her. She must belong to one of his fantasies. Hopefully one of the longer ones.

Her smooth body rolled beneath his, her arms wrapping around him, her fingers scratching his scalp. She lifted one leg around him, her thigh caressing his, her heat pulling him forward.

Incessant ringing turned his head. When had he closed his eyes? Hadn’t he just been— Ben slowly woke to reality. The phone.

Ben snatched the cursed thing off the nightstand and checked the time on the alarm clock as he flicked it open. This had better be good.

“I was right!” The excited voice screamed so loud over the phone Ben pulled it farther from his ear. “I told you it was the crows. I could teach those university hacks a thing or two. I’ve got it on tape, but you should get down here. See it for yourself.”

“Willy, what are you talking about?” Ben sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The evidence of his dream throbbed against his stomach. “It isn’t even three in the morning.”

“The toads. They’re out tonight, singing up a storm. You can hear ’em, right? They’re mating. Which is fine. I like toads. Keep the bugs off my course. But when they’re breeding they sing and puff up.

“Then these crows swoop down and go at ’em. Maybe they’re not crows, just black birds. The toads are all full of air so when the birds go in for a bite—pop!”

“That’s great, Willy, but how do we make it stop?”

“Stop?”

“The toad guts all over the pond? It’s disgusting.” And had kept the executive course closed since they first found them. The official word was that it was closed for some re-landscaping, but he didn’t want to lose any more revenue than he possibly had to.

“Toads, but yeah. Let me think on it. I’ll get rid of the birds. Hate to lose the toads with all the chatter about West Nile. I don’t have a single mosquito. You’ve gotta see this.”

“Yeah?” The morbid teenager in him spoke up. “I’ll be right over.” The adult realized even if he got back to sleep he might not get back into that dream.

Ben carefully maneuvered his way through his sleeping dogs and into the bathroom. Stepping under the icy spray, he forced his mind to focus on exploding toads, not the ache in his groin.

* * *

Gray and hazy, breezy and cool. This was the Oregon coastal summer Jillian was accustomed to. Bandon was farther south, and so warmer than where she grew up, but she’d still expected the weather to be the same.

Twisting her hair into a knot, she secured it with a clip and examined the mirror. Her hair would curl for sure. Hopefully pulling it back would keep it from frizzing too badly. Not that it mattered. Ben didn’t seem to have any recollection of her from before, or any interest in her now. He was just being personable, doing business. And if she didn’t step up her game she’d miss out on this opportunity, again.

That’s what last night’s dream had been about. Jillian didn’t put much stock in dreams, but this one had felt so lucid, so real. It must have been a warning. If she kept up like this, dreams were all she’d ever have of Ben Cannon.

Applying the second coat of mascara on the fake eyelashes, Jillian wondered if maybe she was somehow sabotaging the situation. Her fantasies of Ben were the most erotic and fulfilling thing in her life. If she kissed him again, and the reality was nothing spectacular, just where did that leave her? She’d have to acknowledge that love was something you made, not fell into.

Setting down the tube, Jillian smoothed her sweaty palms against the flannel of the skirt. The short red and black flannel wrap skirt and ribbed red turtleneck sweater would keep her warm enough. And hopefully stir a Catholic-schoolgirl fantasy in Ben. Thanks to Britney Spears, all men seemed to have that one again.

She pushed the back of her earrings on tighter, her thumb tracing over the spot she’d dreamed of him finding last night. Exasperation huffed from her. Why was she so afraid to kiss him? She’d done it before, when she wasn’t nearly as confident in her abilities.

She knew how to kiss. She’d penned eight columns on the topic. She’d written the foreword to Kissing Frogs Into Princes for goodness’ sake.

Jillian plopped onto the bed, still staring into the mirror. She’d changed so much about herself, trying to find happiness, that she couldn’t see the girl she’d been any more. The girl who’d run after kissing Ben Cannon had been made over. And not just the weight loss, styled hair and designer clothes. Jilly had taken control and changed everything she thought would make her happy. Why hadn’t it worked?

Ben was the only thing she’d wished for back then that she hadn’t attained already. Jillian shuddered at the thought. She’d taken enough quizzes in Mine & Ours to know better than to tie her happiness to someone else.

She couldn’t have him in the way she’d dreamed in school. There would be no house down the street from her parents and kids in bunk beds. His life was here and hers was in New York. So what did she want from him?

A wet-fish kiss so she could move on and settle for one of the great guys she’d dated but had no spark with? A bone-melting kiss full of enough passion to make her reconsider her life plan? Anything in the middle would just confuse her more.

Best to get to work. She’d journaled about trying to golf last night, but nothing grabbed her attention. Writing it all down, she realized she’d spent the entire day focusing on Ben and not getting any real work done. She needed to find a nice hook for her column.

Luckily the front desk had Angela’s number, and last night Jillian had arranged a meeting over breakfast. Plenty of time to pick Angela’s brain about the golf-course dating scene and still be on time for her lesson with Ben.

Jillian eyed the collection of golf shoes lined up against the wall. Which to choose? She’d borrowed eleven pairs from the magazine. Jillian crept across the tile in her turned-down white socks trimmed in lace. The classic black-and-white saddle shoes might complete the schoolgirl look, but her gaze stuck on the sleek crimson pair. Red was her color today. And they would match the red piping on the black leather golf bag she’d use. Maybe it was just the pink-handled golf clubs that made her play so badly. The set in this bag was silvery gray, much more like the sets displayed in the pro shop.

After tying the shoes Jillian grabbed her purse. She’d double-checked twice to make sure she had her list of questions and tape recorder inside.

The walk from Cannon Meadows Lodge to Crosslands was short, but refreshing. Nothing like fresh air to clear your head and help you focus. Jillian decided she needed to write her piece, quickly, so she could move on with more important things. Like trying learning what kind of kisser Ben Cannon was now.

* * *

“He doesn’t want to come back?” Ben held his voice just below yelling. His father was just the messenger; it was Jay he wanted to shake some sense into.

“He doesn’t feel strong enough to face her.” Ben visualized his father slumped in an armless chair at the hotel next to the treatment center. He’d moved there to be close to Jay, to hold his hand.

“Why the hell not?” Angela Cross wasn’t scary. Pushy, controlling, and thought she knew it all—but surely with all Jay was learning at the treatment center he’d be able to handle one small woman. With what treatment cost they should be teaching him more than just how to get through the day sober.

“I don’t understand it either. The group leader thinks he’s ready to go home, or at least try a weekend, but Jay refuses.” Ben heard the sigh, followed by a rasping intake of breath.

He was smoking again? Great, just great. Jay couldn’t just screw up his own life, he had to drag everyone who loved him along for the ride. Including Cannon Meadows. Ben slid his reading glasses over his nose to ponder the balance sheet once again.

“If you want me to keep talking to you, put it out.” Ben had little patience for either of them. He couldn’t understand how they didn’t have the willpower to just stop. How a substance could be so compelling the death of your wife or almost dying in a car accident wouldn’t force you to wise up.

“Sorry.” Ben ignored the muttered curses. He didn’t care for their excuses. He wasn’t allowed any. “He wants to stay here, but he can’t do that indefinitely. He’s working through some things, not related to the addiction I guess. I don’t know. Where does he expect to go?”

“He doesn’t have a lot of options.” And neither did Ben with next month’s finances. “You have to let him figure it out. Maybe he has something in mind already.”

“All he knows is he can’t come home.”

“Have you talked to his therapist? They should be able to get him through this. And Angela could come down for a group session like I did. If a professional explained why she needs to lay off, maybe she’d listen.” Probably not, but nothing else had worked so far.

“Absolutely not! She’s the reason he’s here in the first place.”

Ben rolled his eyes at the ridiculous notion. “Angela didn’t drive into a tree, she didn’t try to score off an undercover agent. If Jay hasn’t taken responsibility for why he’s there in the first place, he isn’t ready to come home.”

“Jay doesn’t blame her for it, I do. She’s always pushing him. She knows he’s fragile and yet she never eases up. He needs someone who’ll be understanding, not drive him to drugs.”

Ben wondered if he and his father had attended the same counseling session. Jay spewed dozens of reasons why he’d started using again. None of which had anything to do with Angela.

“I know you don’t understand, you don’t have this problem like we do. I’d still be drinking if your mother hadn’t helped me. He needs someone like that. Tough love doesn’t work.”

So many excuses, so little patience. “You’re right. I don’t understand. Do you want to know what’s going on up here?”

“Not unless there is something you can’t handle. I need to focus on getting Jay well, and back home.”

Ben shook his head and powered down his laptop. His father had always coddled Jay. It hadn’t bothered him much when his mother was still alive. His parents had always been unequal in their attentions to their children. But now that she was gone, there was no one to compensate.

He wanted to tell his old man about the toads. It made for a great story now that Willy had some ideas how to remedy the situation. But he held back even that.

“Everything’s fine with the course, but you almost bounced three checks last month.” If the bank hadn’t called, the checks would have bounced. It paid to have an aunt who worked at the bank. “Do you need me to transfer you some money?”

“That would be good. Jay gets to leave three afternoons a week so we keep busy. Could you send down a new set of Nitrous clubs? I want to see if they fixed the driver.”

Ben busted his ass running the course, while his father and brother took a golfing vacation? He forced three deep breaths.

“I’ll send the clubs, but watch the checkbook balance, Dad. My credit is tied up with yours because of the course.”

“It’s only money, Ben.” Faint tapping filled the background. The old man was packing his cigarettes, tapping them on the table.

“It’s my money you’re spending on cigarettes.”

“Your money? I still own half of the Meadows, no matter what your mother left you.”

“Let’s not get into this now.” Though he really wanted to.

“No, Ben, you obviously have something to say.” The tapping stopped, silence echoing across the line.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re back. Both of you.” Ben ran his finger along the edge of the desk, wondering if Jay had told their father already. Probably not. If their father knew, he’d be blaming Ben for Jay’s wanting to stay away.

“Why do you always have to make everything such a production? Say what you want to say, or shut up about it. I have enough going on, Ben. I don’t need you acting like a child.”

Ben rose from the desk and looked out the window. His teeth scraped his bottom lip as he counted to ten. He made it to four.

“I’m acting like a child? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m the only one acting like an adult in this situation. Jay’s hiding out in a treatment center because he doesn’t want to sleep in the bed he made, and you’re holding his hand.

“I’m here, putting out fires every single God-damned day. The resort, the course, you and Jay can’t even balance your checkbooks well enough to keep the bank from calling me. And you want to call me a child?”

The scraping metal of a lighter pained Ben’s ear. His eyes slammed shut at the sound. Why did he have to push? His father and Jay were all bark. He hadn’t meant to hurt with his words. It sucked to be the bigger man.

“Don’t light it, Dad. I’m sorry. I’ve got everything under control.” Ben listened for the crackle of that first drag, but heard nothing.

“You sure? If you want to go to New York, I’ll sell to Landon Cross. Jay doesn’t want to come back, and you want to leave too. There’s no point in trying to keep it together.”

“Cannon Meadows is ours, Dad. We aren’t selling.” Especially not now that he’d declined every job offer and bought a house.

“I know it’s not what you planned. You’re not even using that fancy degree.” Ben heard ice tinkle against glass, the spray of a pop can, the glug and hiss of soda being poured. He’d take his father’s diet-cola habit over smoking any day of the week.

“Sure I am, every day.”

“I’ve run the resort for twenty-seven years and I dropped out of college. You don’t need book smarts, just street smarts.”

“How else would you explain why revenue is up seventeen percent?” Revenue was up last month, but having to keep the executive course closed half the week wouldn’t keep numbers riding high. Besides, revenue wasn’t an accurate gauge anyway.

“Wow. Really? I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll send the clubs, right? You may be able to run a resort better than me, but I’ll always go under you at golf.”

* * *

It couldn’t be more different. It had been an easy walk from Cannon Meadows to Crosslands, but Jillian felt she’d been teleported to another century. Cannon Meadows was decorated in rich mahogany, thick rugs and detailed tapestry.

Crosslands was crisp, clean, and almost bare in its simplicity. White maple-wood flooring and floor-to-ceiling windows made it seem enormous, as if it were as big as the whole outdoors. The sparse, low furniture was placed geometrically through the lobby and down into the sunken dining room. White canvas covered most of the cushions, enormous green ferns clung to the walls, hung suspended from the ceiling, erupted from floor planters.

The Scandinavian style and almost complete absence of color was startling. This was more like a spa than a golf resort. Jillian’s gaze followed the signs directing patrons away from the open lobby, back to the pro shop and course. Three sets of steel elevator doors gleamed from the other side of the lobby.

Jillian’s mind sparked. Contrasting the two neighboring resorts would make a great feature for a golf magazine. The parent company of Mine & Ours owned two. She’d have to do some research, but it would practically write itself from her observations.

Digging her tape recorder out of her purse, she documented her observations as quickly and discreetly as she could. Ideas kept pouring through as she whispered. She could use this to further her personal agenda as well.

“I don’t see any dating going on in here, but then again I’m not the professional, you are.” The smile was evident in Angela Cross’s voice before Jillian clicked off her recorder and turned around.

“Sorry, I was just thinking out loud.” Jillian suddenly felt overdressed. Angela wore a similar outfit to the one she had on yesterday—loose khaki shorts, dark sleeveless polo, tight blonde ponytail secured with a barrette—only the colors changed.

“Most of my thoughts aren’t worth recording,” Angela said with a shrug. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

Jillian shook her head. She hated eating in front of other women. Angela seemed nice enough, but Ben didn’t like her, so Jilly was on guard.

With a smile, Angela turned and motioned for Jillian to follow her into the dining room. She selected a table next to the wall of windows, but away from the other groups enjoying their morning coffee.

A perky waitress was on top of them immediately. “Good morning, Miss Cross. The usual?”

“Thank you Claire, that would be fine.” Angela spread her napkin across her lap and leaned across the white tablecloth. “What would you like, Jillian? I have an in with the owner, they’ll make you anything you like.”

“Some fresh fruit would be great, and a skinny cappuccino, extra foam.” The waitress nodded and scooted away.

“So, how did you make out?” Angela’s blue eyes twinkled in the morning light.

“What?” Jillian sized up the smaller woman. Just what did she mean?

“Your first golf lesson? Beginner’s luck? Ben’s a great teacher, but he usually only works with kids these days.”

“Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t let me near a golf ball half the day.” Jillian smiled, digging her notes and the tape recorder from her purse.

“All golf pros do that. But Ben works with kids because he usually doesn’t like to work with women, not anymore.”

Jillian’s eyebrow peaked with her curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“He made it a blanket rule a few years back. Sometimes, when women come to resorts like ours with their husbands, they hope to have a little fling with the golf pro. Like the cabana boys on tropical islands, or ski instructors. Just a fantasy some women have.”

The waitress arrived and set Jillian’s cappuccino and colorful bowl of fruit salad in front of her. She placed dry wheat toast and a tall glass of chocolate milk in front of Angela, then disappeared as quickly as she came.

“Do you?” Angela’s words confused Jilly, until she remembered what they’d been talking about and almost choked on her cantaloupe.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous. It’s just that Ben is going through some family problems right now and he doesn’t need any extra drama. So if your article is how to bed a golf pro, pick another one.”

Jillian held Angela’s stare until her blood pressure returned to normal. She could be professional. She could.

“I’m not trying to be catty, really. I just care about Ben.”

“I don’t think he feels the same way. The two of you didn’t seem close at all.”

“Oh!” Angela’s trimmed nails covered her mouth as she let out a giggle. “You misunderstand me. I’m not being jealous. It’s just that when you grow up this close to people, they become your family. And like every family we’re going through a rough patch right now. We’ll get over it. As soon as I can talk with Jay, it will be all right.”

Jay. When she’d done her research, Jillian gleaned from the Cannon Meadows website that Jay was a talented amateur golfer with intentions of turning pro. Ten years older than Ben, he had a long list of tournaments he’d placed in. An entire page was devoted to his wins and philosophy, while Ben got two lines in the family bio on the home page.

Carefully spearing a strawberry, Jillian watched Angela. The sunny demeanor clouded over, or maybe she just wasn’t feeling well. Her hand rubbed slow circles across her belly.

“What is your relationship with Ben, exactly?”

“We’re friends, good friends usually.” Angela tore the crust from her toast.

“And you and Jay are...”

“More than friends.” The toast found its way to her mouth and the two women chewed, listening only to the busy hum of the restaurant.

A high-pitched cackle turned both their heads. A beautiful young woman found the conversation of two men quite amusing. She crossed her legs, leaning towards the older of the two men, then flipped her hair and gave her full attention to the other.

“There is something irresistible to men about a woman who can play golf well.” Angela’s voice brought Jillian back from the vision of exactly why she was here. “I think a single-digit handicap would garner an instant marriage proposal from some men.”

“I don’t even know what that means.” Jillian groaned, trading her fork for the steaming mug of coffee.

Angela laughed and shredded her toast. “I grew up on a golf course and Jay still refuses to play with me. Some men are just obsessed with the game.

“For some guys you don’t have to be good, just look the part. Like you. Dress like that and open up a golf magazine at a bar or on an airplane? Men will flock to you and you never have to pick up a club. Others want to take you out to play a round, see if you can hold your own before they’ll even buy you dinner.”

“I take it Jay is the latter?” Jillian giggled over her cap of foam, finally putting the relationship together.

“Not really. He thinks golf is a woman-free zone.” Angela sipped at the milk, her face pinched as she swallowed.

“Is it sour?”

“No, I just hate milk.” Angela waved away the concern with her hand. “Some men are like that. My father came unglued when I started hosting mixers. But it really makes sense, especially for women. The options are better at a golf course. Unlike a bar, most of the guys here have great jobs, comfortable incomes, good educations.

“It’s like when you find a guy who can cook and you think he’s the bee’s knees. Guys think that way of women who can golf. Like they’re getting more bang for their buck.”

Jillian nodded furiously, double-checking to make sure the tape recorder was on. Angela practically wrote the column for her.

“A good golf game is a great asset for a woman. Men like to conduct business on the golf course, so women in business need to play just to keep up. Luckily, they can play the golf card two ways. In business and in dating.”

“A multi-tasking hobby.” Jillian fingered the sheet of questions she’d printed out. All technical questions about playing the game, but she realized that didn’t have anything to do with her column.

“Quite. You need to take advantage of every chance where work and play can overlap. Playing a round with someone is a risk if they’re annoying, but at least you got to play a round. It counts as exercise too.” Angela took another slug of her milk.

“Do you think it’s the common interest that attracts men, or the idea of athletic women? Does the phenomenon stretch to other sports couples can do together? Tennis, maybe?” She could play tennis. Not well, but much better than golf.

“Not really. We have tennis courts, but they’re used by friends, established couples. Not really as a place to meet. Golf is different. People are competitive, but you’re really competing with yourself. Plus there’s lots of time to talk between holes. And everyone congregates in the clubhouse.”

“I’m seeing how the golf course can be a great place to meet someone if you both golf, but is it worth all the effort if you don’t?”

“Having that much trouble with the game?” Angela smiled and pushed her toast shreds to the side.

“I thought it would be easy. Whack a ball with a stick, hike around, do it again.” Both women laughed at the admission. “What you said earlier had me thinking, if a girl could simply look the part, or fake it for a few weeks, anyone could do it.”

“I think what makes it work is the commonality, having something to do together, forever. I’ve watched relationships fizzle when one partner’s only in it until they’ve sealed the deal, so to speak. If what he’s attracted to is your enthusiasm for the game, and then he learns it’s a hoax, he’s liable to rethink the entire thing.

“Especially if he’s golf-crazed. It’s not just women who come looking for men. Men who are really passionate about golf have had relationships explode because of their obsession. They’re looking for a girl who can not only golf, but talk drivers and handicaps with them. Someone to enable their golf fixation.”

“But is that enough to build a relationship on?” Jillian forked through her fruit again. “Just a common interest in golf?”

“No, not at all. It’s just a start. I think they use it as a starting point, find out along the way what else they have in common.”

“Better than speed dating, not as great as love at first sight.” Jillian grinned at her comparison.

“Nothing is.” Angela quickly choked down the rest of her chocolate milk with a grimace.