The Perfect Stroke by Jordan Marie Page A

engagements? I mean, I do have the tour, and…”
    “Dinners, parties, autograph sessions while out on tour. And there will be…”
    “I’m a golfer, Cammie. Not a rock star.”
    “In some circles, I’m sure you can agree that is the same thing,” she says, and before I know what’s happening, she’s led us to her father’s limo. Who has a limo just waiting in the parking lot for whenever you need them? Cammie and David Riverton, I suppose. The driver comes around and opens the door and Cammie slides in. “Are you coming, Grayson?” she asks, waiting.
    I stare at her for a minute. I have this horrible feeling I’m selling my soul to the devil. I hear Seth’s voice in my head demanding I go through with this meeting. I take a deep breath and agree before I can talk myself out of it.
    As I’m closed in the car with Cammie, I just know I’m going to live to regret this.
     

 
    “I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this, Grayson Lucas,” I growl, feeling completely out of my depth.
    “It’s one business dinner. It won’t be that bad,” he says, kissing the back of my neck.
    “It’s one business dinner at that damn country club with Camilla and her father and a bunch of other…”
    “Sweet lips, I told you. Cammie said she’d be on her best behavior. I talked with her about you. It’s going to be fine. I promise.”
    “That’s just it. I don’t want you to talk to her about me. I can fight my own battles, Grayson Lucas. I’ve been doing it way before you came in the picture.”
    “Point made. I just really want you with me tonight. Is that so hard to understand?” he asks, pulling away to button his cufflinks. His cufflinks . How did I get here? This is not who I am. My eyes travel down his body and then I remember why: sex. Heart-stopping, take-your-breath-away sex. I thought it might cool off after a few days. It’s been two weeks, and if anything, it just keeps getting better. I don’t know how that’s possible or how to explain it. The simple truth is that I’m getting addicted to Grayson Lucas—so much so that he’s practically living here. He still keeps his room, but he’s definitely here ninety percent of the time. I might have even given him a key the other day when he said he was going to cook dinner for me and have it waiting when I got home from the garage—a dinner that happened to be amazing, and the fact that dessert was him eating me after just made it even better. So… he still has the key. I don’t know a woman alive who would judge me. There’s some things a woman can’t resist and Grayson Lucas does indeed have a magic tongue. That said, I’m not even sure a magic tongue is enough to make me go through with this damn dinner.
    “I have another question, how did you know what size to buy this damn dress?” I ask him through the mirror. It’s a red dress that’s all silk and hugs my body like a glove. It shows way too much of my breasts, though at least the valley it exposes is covered by a small scrap of lace that stretches across the front. The dress ends just above the knee and it’s so tight that walking normal and not like a damn duck isn’t exactly easy. Then comes the heels. I am not a small woman in any sense, but I’m a firm believer that a woman who stands five-foot-ten shouldn’t wear four-inch heels. Okay, well, let me amend that: I shouldn’t wear four-inch heels. I’m not graceful like a lot of women. Instead, I feel like freaking Godzilla standing over everyone else and teetering on the edge of a cliff because my balance sucks. The only saving grace is that Gray is so tall that he’s still taller than me, even in these damn shoes. I turn around to look at him and my stomach is so queasy, I feel like there’s a war going on inside of it.
    “Sweetheart, a man knows the measurements of a body he worships. It was easy.”
    “I don’t think we should talk about how easy it is for you to figure out a woman’s measurements,” I tell