“I feel completely ridiculous.” Jillian put her hands on her hips and stuck out her lower lip. Again. She’d been like this all day.

Smart, funny, mouthwateringly gorgeous—but hopeless with a golf club. The nuances of the sport completely escaped her, though he was certain she could catch on if she only applied herself. She seemed more preoccupied with the landscaping, the history of the course, and him.

Women flirted with him constantly, especially tourists. They had from as far back as he could remember. When he was younger, he gladly played into the Mrs. Robinson fantasy most of them had. Now it barely blipped his radar. There was something about Jillian that had his body standing at attention, every alarm and flashing lights going off.

“If your ready feels natural, you’ll have an easier time of it.” Ben stood next to her new set of golf clubs. Most people used range clubs while they learned, but not Jillian. Two sets of top-of-the-line clubs, none of which she could swing correctly. “You were trying to rush yesterday. Today, you go one step at a time.”

“If you want me to get this you’re going to have to use correct grammar. ‘If your ready feels natural’? I could make you a list of all the ways that’s wrong. And it doesn’t make any sense.” Her shiny red shoe stomped against the turf.

“Perfect! Don’t move.” Ben stepped forward, careful not to stand too close. “That’s exactly where you want your feet.” He guided her through the entire set-up again. She moved better—not much better—but enough so that he didn’t feel they’d wasted the last hour.

“I don’t see how I can improve if I never even get to hold a club.”

Ben shook his head in defeat and found a driver in her bag. Removing the cover made to look like a pool ball, he didn’t bother to hide the laugh as he passed it to her.

“Do you laugh at everyone you teach?” Jillian tried to snatch the club from his hand but he held it fast.

“I’m not laughing at you, just at your extravagance. This is a lot of money to blow on a sport you are determined not to learn.”

Her jaw held open a beat longer than he thought. “I didn’t spend a dime. I told you, it’s all from the magazine. I just packed what I liked in the trunk and had it shipped.”

“Shipped.” Ben nodded his head. That made much more sense. He’d been wondering how she disappeared from the airport with this much luggage. “That’s why you have two sets of clubs. They’re a pain to fly with.”

“Four.”

“Four what?”

“Sets of clubs. They match the outfits.”

The laughter bubbled up from below his belly as he stepped backwards. He tried to recover, but the grin on her face made it worse. The laughs kept coming until he was tripping over his feet, his eyes watering, sides aching. She just cracked him up.

“They match the outfits.” Repeating the words didn’t make it any better. The snickering gave way to snorting, which got her started.

She stepped to him as she giggled. Her hand brushing his arm sobered him slightly. He tried to suck in the sticky air to get control back. He closed his eyes, but could still see her moving closer. Inside his space. In that red sweater hugging every curve. The plaid skirt much too high on her thighs. Her peachy smell wafting through him like a summer breeze.

Peach. Ripe. Sweet. Juicy. Like her lips. They were even a wet peachy color today. Like she’d just licked them. He’d like to. He’d like to taste her. To finish what they’d started in the dream last night.

How he wanted to kiss her. Touch her, pull the rest of her hair out of the clip holding it off her face. The wind was doing a good job, as was the humidity of the incoming summer storm. He’d been staring at the tendrils teasing the back of her neck all morning. He could thread his fingers through her hair, pull her to him, convince her to kiss him. Though she didn’t seem like she’d need much convincing.

Wind gusted against his face, whistling in his ear, robbing him of her perfume. The spell wasn’t as broken as he needed it to be. Ben opened his eyes to find her much too close. Right there.

He forced himself to step away. Trying to remind himself why, he walked to her bag and slung it over his shoulder. She was a reporter, golf pros had a bad enough rep, she’d leave at the end of the week, there was enough drama in his life as it was.

“Did I do something wrong?” Her teeth caught the corner of her lower lip.

“No, you’re doing great. I think we’ll play a few holes so you can see why we need to work on the basics. It will keep you from getting so frustrated.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Some women really get into the accessories.” Ben shrugged and walked past her, out of the driving range. She followed, but not too closely. “I shouldn’t have laughed. I don’t have much place to judge. I’ve got University of Oregon clear grips on my putters.”

They walked in silent cadence down the path, to the first hole of the executive course. Willy was almost done, ready to reopen it tomorrow. She’d never make it to the eighth hole anyway.

Standing at the women’s tee, he pulled a driver from the bag and offered it to her. Jillian shook her head. Her heavy expression troubled him. He couldn’t say exactly why. She looked as torn and conflicted as he felt.

“Ben, if you would rather I work with someone else I’ll completely understand. No hard feelings, I promise.”

“No!” His head begged for him to take the out. There was something about Jillian Welch that tested his self-control. And Ben liked to be in control. “You will catch on.” He offered her the club again, but her hands stayed behind her back. Her head tilted to the side and he felt her weighing his words.

“Can we be honest for a minute?”

Ben nodded, wondering just where this was going.

“You were flirting with me, right? Just like before. But when I flirt back you freeze up. That is more frustrating than the stupid game. Are you attracted to me?”

Ben’s heart bounced off the walls in his chest. How did she expect him to respond to that?

“Too direct?”

“Yeah.” Ben couldn’t help but chuckle at her teasing grin.

“It’s a curse. Ever since I started the Dating Diva column, I think about reactions way too much.”

Ben shook his head, amazed how she had him going from confused to panicked to relieved in less than a minute. And why was he so bothered by the idea of her working with someone else?

Ben tried not to notice how great she looked as she took the club, how wonderful she smelled, how he could flirt with her without even knowing it.

The dream from last night flooded through his mind. Waves of longing crashed against him. She wanted him to flirt with her. A beautiful, sexy, vibrant woman. There had to be a way to make this work.

“Are you going to tell me what to do with this?” Jillian swung the club from her fingers like a pendulum.

Ben crouched down, digging the golf balls and tees from the outer pouch of her bag. He held up the bright red ball and looked up at her.

“The bags match the outfits, and the balls match the shoes?”

“Not a good idea?” The silly smile brought out his own.

“No. Balls are white so they are easy to spot. It’s not a fashion statement.” Ben shook his head, glad he’d shoved a couple sleeves of balls in the bag when she arrived for her lesson. He’d figured they’d be losing quite a few.

He pulled the diagram of the course from his back pocket and showed her the map of the hole. They’d been over it this morning before they headed out. He’d been sure it would rain, but the sky had cleared so he’d chanced it. He felt the humidity vibrating through the air, the wind picking up. They’d only get a few holes in, but it was something, a start.

Ben stood back and watched as she readied herself, swung, and missed. He didn’t miss how the motion exposed her tanned tummy, taunting him with what he shouldn’t have. She tried again, this time connecting, but launching the ball left and into the brush.

“I did it!” Bunny hops jiggled her breasts, teasing him further. “Where did it go?”

“Let’s try that again.” Ben corrected her stance and turned her position. This time she hit it straight, not far, but from her beaming smile he could tell she knew she’d done it right. “Come on, rock star, let’s play that one.”

* * *

It wasn’t fair for him to have a butt like that. One look at him from behind and she knew the power he held to rain pleasure down on her body. How could she focus on anything when he stood so close she could just reach her hand out and grab hold of what she wanted? She’d just have to stay in front of him, that’s how. And make sure he stayed out of reach. But not out of sight. A girl could look.

And how she enjoyed that. She wasn’t sure just what to make of his not wanting her to flirt back. He was at it again, with the grazing touches, soft smiles, cute jokes, leering glances. But she didn’t want to reciprocate and have him stop, so she pretended not to notice. Which got harder by the minute.

Polo shirts had never done a thing for her, until she’d seen Ben in one. Every well-defined inch of him was barely disguised behind the pale flat-front khakis and pima cotton of the charcoal gray polo with the Cannon Meadows logo on the right. Imagining pulling that shirt off him sent her imagination down the road to ruin.

He pushed her there with that sparkle in his eye, the devilish teasing, the quiet strength, raw sensuality. And not letting her flirt back only fanned the fire burning in her mind. Having to stifle her natural reaction made her all too aware of him, of how the soft cotton ridged over his torso. Jillian developed a plan to have him naked in six quick movements.

Looking up from the bag, Ben caught her staring and his mouth quirked. He knew what she was thinking. He might not know why, but he knew. With her own smile, Jillian concentrated on putting the ball the last yard to the hole. She was much better at putting, only taking two swings to make it in.

When he stepped closer to retrieve the ball she breathed in deep, hoping to catch some of his scent. Instead she instinctively sniffed the air. Tasting what all coastal natives could.

“It’s about to rain.” The reaction made her grin. In New York rain smelled like asphalt and mud, here it smelled clean, like nothing but rain.

“I think you’re right.” Ben’s gaze darted about them as he rifled through her bag.

“What are you looking for?”

“Umbrella.”

“This bag didn’t come with one. The plaid one did, though.”

From behind, she watched his shoulders bounce as he laughed. “Plaid? I can’t wait to see the shoes.”

Jillian walked around to face him. His nose wrinkled and twitched, his eyes rolled skyward and he huffed out a short breath.

“Maybe if we run.”

Jillian looked up. The clouds were the same deep gray as his shirt. Almost black. Menacing. She watched a drop fall in slow motion and land on the tip of her nose, startling her eyes closed and making her gasp.

Within seconds the sky opened up and released its fury.

“Do you like dogs?” Ben’s hand wrapped completely around her upper arm, warming her more than the excitement of a summer storm.

She nodded at the strange question, and tried as best she could to keep up with his long legs as he sprinted off the green and through the trees. Fear excited her further when she realized they were running in near darkness away from what she knew and towards something she didn’t.

The trees gave way to a grassy lawn behind a tall, modern house. On the lawn was a low balance-beam, wooden tunnel, seven poles sticking up from the ground in a line. Her heart lurched as he pulled her past a seesaw. This had better not be his house. Anyone with a playground like that in their back yard would have kids.

He opened an unlocked back door and pushed her inside, pressing her against a wall, their ragged breaths echoing in the quiet. Water was heavy on her eyelashes, dripping from her fingertips as she raised her hand to his face. Would he remember the last time he pushed her up against a wall? His eyes widened as he leaned towards her, lips parted.

Eardrum-splitting barking tensed her entire body. Thundering paws pounded louder than the rain outside. In seconds she and Ben were surrounded by five panting, yelping, sniffing dogs.

“Shut it!” Ben barked back at the canines. The yelping immediately ceased, followed by the roar of panting. He stepped away, punching a few numbers on an alarm box by the door she hadn’t noticed before.

Jillian dropped her hands flat at her sides, inviting the dogs to smell her friendliness. Labradors, like her dog growing up. She rubbed the ear of the gray-muzzled black lab and recalled Duchess had gone to sleep for the last time the week before Jillian left for college. She’d been so worried about leaving her to go to school. And then she was gone.

“Sorry about them. They don’t have the best people-skills.” Ben’s lips pressed thin, a high-pitched whistle hissing through his teeth. Most of the dogs leapt up a step and out of the mudroom. Except for the one whose ear Jillian continued to scratch.

“Rogue, leave the lady alone.” Ben toed off his shoes and cast an evil eye at the dogs lined up in the doorway to—where exactly? Jillian couldn’t see past them.

“Are they yours?” Jillian leaned against the wall again, taking off her shoes and peeling off her ankle socks. It was as if the sky had just opened up and dropped a lake on their heads.

“Yeah,” Ben chuckled. Was his face reddening? “I can’t seem to say no lately.”

“Say no to whom?” Jillian studied the dogs again. Rogue was the black lab rubbing against her leg. The other four stood in the archway. One was chocolate brown, another dusty white, the third mustard yellow, and the smallest was a mottled mix of all three.

“The retriever-rescue people. I went to them because I wanted a friend for Rogue so he wouldn’t be lonely, but an older dog so I wouldn’t have to deal with puppy destruction in a new house.”

Ben pulled his polo shirt over his head with confident unaffectedness. As if there weren’t a sopping-wet woman staring at every muscle as they rippled and flattened. At least the water hid her drool.

“They do a bunch of training with the dogs before they adopt them out. Rascal was a breeder dog, but they got rid of him, some genetic reason. But he’s happier here anyway. Right, boy?” The chocolate jumped from the step and threaded himself between Ben’s legs.

Jillian caught Ben’s gaze as he smiled. She pushed the wet tendrils of hair from her face. Thankfully the clip was still holding. But her carefully applied makeup had to be running all over the place.

“Oh.” His brow knit in alarm. “Let me get you something to change into. There’s a bathroom just past the kitchen.” Ben hopped up the step into a large, white-tiled kitchen. Jillian followed as the dogs kept close to his heels.

“Did you just move in?” Her eyes scanned the space. The room looked like it had never been used. A brand sticker was still on the oven door. Past the kitchen in one direction was a living room with a fireplace, but no furniture. A staircase clung to the wall on the other side, a doorway to what Jillian guessed was the bathroom nestled underneath.

“A few months ago.” Ben turned at the foot of the stairs and looked about the rooms. How would the emptiness appear to someone else? He’d never considered bringing someone here, so he’d never given it much thought before. And he didn’t want to now.

He took the first few risers and the dogs jumped ahead of him, racing to the landing. Except Rogue. Ben turned, caught Jillian watching him, her thumb twitching behind Rogue’s right ear. No wonder he was glued to her. That was his sweet spot.

“C’mon, Rogue, leave the lady alone.”

“He’s okay. I don’t mind.” Her voice lilted through the room, as if she stood right next to him. Rebel bounded down the stairs, sliding against the hardwoods before stopping at her bare feet. Even the new puppy liked her. She bent down and rubbed his blotchy face. “No puppy destruction from you, huh?” She spoke in honeyed tones, to the dog.

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s cutting teeth. But for some reason he prefers blankets to shoes.”

“My dog was like that when she was left alone.”

“It’s impossible to be alone in this house. There are four other dogs here!” Ben laughed and took the rest of the stairs two at a time.

Entering his bedroom, he stood in the closet and stared. What was he supposed to give her? He pulled a polo and hanger off the bar. He tugged on the shirt, slipping the hanger on the empty section of the bar on the left. He did the same with the hanger the dry pair of chinos was on.

The routine helped calm his mind. It was his nature to plan everything to the minutest detail. Not a compulsion, just part of his makeup, as ingrained as walking or talking. But since Jillian Welch sauntered into his resort, he was on edge. She had him off balance. He never knew quite what to expect. Not just from her and her comedic timing, but from his own reactions.

She was in his house. He stepped back, leaning against the wall as he peeled off his wet slacks and replaced them with the dry pair. No one had been in his house yet. Any friends who wanted to see him did so at the resort so they could get a free round of golf from it.

Bending down, he pulled the belt from his pants, realizing that even that was wet. Jillian must be so uncomfortable. Her legs were bare, and that red sweater clung to her. More so in the rain.

The pants went on the laundry sorter, the belt hooked over the top to dry. Maybe he should just drive her back to her room. She could change there. Did he really want to take her back to the resort in his clothes? That wouldn’t look good to the employees. Threading a new belt through the loops he decided he would give her a towel and drive her back quickly, before she caught a cold or something.

Except the top wasn’t on the Jeep, so she’d have to wait while he did that, or run down the street and get one of the cars from his folks’ garage. But that would just get him wet again. He groaned and studied the shelves in the closet. He opted for a plain white T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. He’d never worn them, couldn’t remember where they came from, but was glad they were there now.

Stepping out of the closet, he realized he was alone. None of the dogs were in his room the way they usually were. He usually tripped over them getting to the stairs. But now he could walk freely.

They must be with her. He couldn’t blame them. She was much better company. Ben bounded down the stairs, and froze on the last step. Jillian knelt on the floor, surrounded by the dogs, Rogue and Rake lay on their backs, offering their bellies up for scratching. But that wasn’t what stalled his heart.

Her hair had been towel dried, hanging in big round waves. She wore a dark green T-shirt, one of his warm-ups from college still in the rotation to be worn when he went running. It had the University of Oregon emblem on the front and his name on the back. She’d washed the makeup from her face, a creamy glow and freckles no longer hidden.

She looked fresh faced, and strangely familiar. His brain screamed recognition, but he didn’t know from where. On bare feet he stepped closer, studying, trying to place the familiarity. What was it exactly?

Renegade, the yellow lab, meandered his way towards Ben for some attention. Jillian’s gaze followed the dog. She smiled, but didn’t get up from the floor.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Ben studied the tawny color of her lips. Her color without the cherry red or peachy gloss. “I was freezing, and I found the shirt in the dryer.”

“Whatever works. I couldn’t figure out what to bring you.”

“I put my stuff in the dryer, but just on fluff. I think heat might shrink them and they aren’t mine to ruin.” Her nails scratched against Rogue’s upturned chest, eliciting a groan from the dog. Was it wrong to be jealous of your dog?

“The clothes aren’t yours?” Ben turned his attentions to Ren, noting that he needed to clip his nails later. Hoping to distract himself from wondering what Jillian wore beneath his shirt, Ben made a mental list of grooming he needed to do for the dogs.

“Nope. They belong to the magazine too. That’s why they’re coordinated with the bags, for photo shoots.”

Ben nodded, sighing in relief. She wasn’t a fashionista who spent every moment obsessing about her wardrobe. But who was she, really? And why did she seem more at home in his house than he was?

“What’s this one’s story?” She scratched the white dog splayed out at her side.

“Rake’s got a bad hip.”

“Oh, poor baby.” Jillian nuzzled closer to Rake who relished the attention. Ben joined them on the kitchen floor.

“He’s fine. He just can’t show.”

“Show what?” Her nose wrinkled across the bridge. Why was that so cute?

“In dog shows. A breeder couldn’t sell him, sometimes they’re put down for it. Rake got to come here instead.”

“That’s awful.”

“You think that’s bad? Another breeder wanted to do the same thing to Rebel.” At the mention of his name Rebel climbed into Ben’s lap. “He’s so mismarked, he looks like a mutt.”

“And the quiet one?” Jillian nodded her head towards the yellow lab.

“Ah, Renegade. He’s a guide-dog reject. He had a hard time learning all they were supposed to do.” Ben lowered his voice and leaned closer, near enough to smell the rain on her skin. “He’s not very smart. He has a great disposition, but it was just too much for him.”

Jillian nodded like she understood. Not even a wisecrack about how he lived in the world’s largest doghouse. His friends always jabbed him with that. Another reason he liked the dogs so much. They didn’t tease, or ask questions about your brother you couldn’t answer.

“They’re all boys?”

“They were at one point.” Laughter faded into silence. But it wasn’t at all awkward. Just the dogs vying for attention, glad there was someone new to give it to them.

When it got quiet Ben usually felt the need to fill it with something, but not with her. She reminded him of something his mother used to say when he asked too many questions. All the answers are in silence, if you only listen hard enough.

Ben studied her, trying to get a read on exactly what he was feeling. Was it just physical? Was he really that bad off he couldn’t control his thoughts anymore? Because right now all he wanted to do was carry her upstairs and kiss her until she melted and became a permanent fixture in his bed.

So lost in his fantasies he didn’t notice the time. Just heard the click of the door, the beep of the alarm pad, footsteps coming too quickly to move. Too fast to even formulate an excuse.

“Mr. Cannon, I’m so sorry.” Two gangly teenagers loomed in his kitchen. “I—we didn’t know you’d be home.” The boys from next door who came over mid-day to walk the dogs stared at Jillian without shame or decorum.

Ben shook his head in disbelief. Before dinner every person in town would know about the blonde sitting on his kitchen floor wearing his T-shirt. And if he answered his cell phone, his father would know too. Just perfect.

Jillian gave the boys a shy smile, enough to redden both their faces. He’d been thinking like a hormone-driven teenager just seconds ago, he knew what was going through their minds.

“I didn’t know I’d be home either. We got caught in the rain. Is it clear out?”

“Yeah, it passed. It was great though. We were playing Dungeon Wars and it sounded like we were under a waterfall.” The older brother spoke for them both.

“It felt like a waterfall when we got caught in it. Remember to wipe off their paws when you get back, okay? And if you go to the dog park—”

“Keep Rebel on a leash. We know.”

Ben watched them hook the leashes to the dogs and lead them out of the house. Rogue seemed to want to stay, but he joined the others without too much fuss.

“I miss that.” A resigned sigh escaped Jillian as she slunk farther against the floor.

“Being a teenager?” Ben laughed, wondering if he should get up or stay on his kitchen floor with her. He didn’t even have a sofa to invite her to sit on. Just a recliner in the den in front of the television. Furniture shopping was a must. Tomorrow.

“No, having a dog.”

“You should get one.”

“I couldn’t have a dog in New York.”

“Lots of people do.”

“I know. There’s dog walkers and puppy day care, but I like big dogs, and they need room to run. And I have roommates who would freak out. Plus, I’m never home.” Another heavy sigh did nothing to lighten her expression.

“All that dating?” He was trying for levity, but her features became pointed, sharp.

“I’m not some kind of—”

“Dating Diva? You kind of are.”

“I research dating trends and report on them. I do not have relationships indiscriminately. I’m never home because I work a lot.”

“All that dating research must be exhausting.” He could tell he was annoying her, but she wore it well. Her features lit up with a passion he felt from three feet away.

“That’s not the kind of person I am.”

“And what kind of person are you?”