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  “I’m Grace Wellwood. I take it you’re Torrie Cannon?” A finely shaped, pale eyebrow rose.

  Torrie nodded blankly and drew in a deep breath. Television did not do this woman justice, and it stunned Torrie a little, even though she was often around many beautiful women. Maybe it was because her looks seemed so natural and not covered by layers of makeup, or disguised by pretenses. She did not seem to be going for any particular look or act, nor did she seem to be using her beauty as some sort of card to play—a tool to exert herself or to excuse herself or to be owed something—and Torrie appreciated that. This was a woman who appreciated substance over superficiality, and Torrie liked her honest confidence.

  “It’s good to meet you,” Torrie said evenly as she tried to decide which feature of Grace’s many was the most striking. Her blond hair was lush and trimmed neatly to just below her shoulder blades, with a natural wave lifting the tips. Facially, her bone structure was fine, yet her nose was strong and her cheekbones well defined. A dimple on either side accentuated a ready smile, and Torrie was struck by her simple, elegant beauty.

  You don’t even know how beautiful you are, do you?

  Grace adjusted the shoulder strap of her carry bag and said affably, “I didn’t expect the tournament champion to be greeting me here. This is quite an honor!”

  Torrie smiled back, relaxing instantly, though it took effort not to rake her eyes over Grace Wellwood’s body. She didn’t think she could handle that just yet. Her hormones were cranked up these days. Her injury, and then the surgery, had pretty much decimated her sex life.

  “It was too important a task to leave to just anybody,” Torrie answered smoothly, removing her designer sunglasses and slipping them into the front pocket of her short-sleeved guayabera shirt. Her ability to flirt was at least still intact.

  Grace smiled again, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “Well, then, I guess I should consider myself rather important.”

  Torrie knew she was leering a little, that she risked offending a woman she didn’t know and would need to work with, but she couldn’t quite help herself. Openly flirting was a well-practiced habit, her modus operandi, and one that had always worked so well. Too well. Her voice gamely dropped an octave. “You’re an expert at what I consider the second best thing in life. That would make you very important.”

  Grace crooked an inquisitive eyebrow and met Torrie’s challenge. “And what would the first thing be?”

  Torrie blushed a little, in spite of her bravado. She was never truly as brazen as she sometimes acted. Perhaps it was the fault of being a professional athlete, where attitude could cover weakness and even propel you to victory. She tried to think of a sassy comeback, even opened her mouth, but nothing would come out. Just as well, because she would probably make a complete ass of herself.

  Oh, Torrie, you started this line of flirting and now you’re caving in like a child. She scares you.

  Grace was still looking at her expectantly. Amusement and unmistakable mischief danced in her eyes, and Torrie knew she had better come up with something good. This woman was not about to let her off the hook.

  Torrie gave her best rakish smile—the one that worked flawlessly on the young groupies. “Let’s just say it’s something equally pleasurable but without the calories.”

  Grace laughed appreciatively, not the least bit shocked or offended. She even seemed to relax a little more as she pressed a hand to Torrie’s forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’m happy I can help you with your second favorite thing then, Ms. Cannon.” Her tone was friendly but definitive in setting the boundary.

  So that’s how it’s going to be.Torrie tried to ignore the tiny flicker of disappointment. Clearly, Grace Wellwood had no interest in anything but a friendly business arrangement with Torrie. Was the cute little chef straight? Jesus, that would be such a waste. There had to be some reason for the subtle rejection, because Torrie rarely, if ever, met with rejection. It never occurred to her that there might not be at least a chance at some fun between the sheets with a gorgeous woman. She found her eyes slipping to Grace’s left hand. No ring, so at least that was a good sign.

  Baffled and extremely curious, Torrie was torn between letting it drop and rising to this new challenge. They would be working together this week to make the championship dinner a success, and constantly thinking about trying to seduce this woman would be nothing but a time waster. Chalk one up in the column for keeping the relationship all business. On the other hand, losing wasn’t in Torrie’s vocabulary. It’d been awhile, too, since she’d really had to chase a woman. It could be fun. And this woman, she had a feeling, would be so worth the chase.

  Torrie checked her watch. It was almost seven. “Can I take you to dinner, Ms. Wellwood?”

  Grace’s expression was firm. “All right, but under two conditions.”

  Torrie straightened up like a kid called before the teacher. She liked this stern side of the celebrity chef.

  “That you call me Grace and that it’s a working dinner.We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

  Torrie nodded. God, she’s so damned cute when she’s bossy. She gave Grace a mock salute and grinned sarcastically. “Deal, Grace.”

  Torrie’s appetite for food—any food—was legendary on the Tour, and she was only vaguely aware of Grace watching her as she joyfully bulldozed her way through a medium sirloin and mashed potatoes with melted cheddar and chives. Weight wasn’t a problem for her, thanks to her tall, muscular frame and her strict workout regimen. She loved food. It was comforting. It was the one constant in her life besides golf. Well…sex, too, though not so much these days. She remembered her mother’s sage advice just last week, about her transient escapades and how they weren’t “real”. Of course her mother was right, but it was so goddamned hard to be noble when a sexy woman was sitting across from her. Maybe it was just as well that Grace had made it clear it was to be all business between them. Torrie didn’t trust herself to set the parameters, that’s for sure. In fact, if she had her way, she would have her way with Grace Wellwood tonight.

  Turning her attention to another bite, she became more aware of a look from Grace, the same one she’d received countless times over the years from friends and family—the one that said if she didn’t slow down, some day she would have to worry about her weight. She had even managed to outpace her brothers in the appetite department.

  Torrie set down her fork—a rare thing for her to do while the food was still warm. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  Grace tilted her head speculatively. “And what would that be?”

  “That I eat like a construction worker and that some day I’ll look like a retired linebacker, if I’m not careful. But really. It’s not a problem.”

  Grace smiled slowly, as though she knew something Torrie didn’t. She sipped from her wineglass with deliberation, then studied Torrie for a long moment. Her face was impassive, her voice completely neutral. “You’re quite sure of a lot of things, aren’t you?”

  Torrie shrugged her good shoulder. God. She wasn’t sure about much of anything these days. Turning thirty and suffering a serious shoulder injury, one coming on the heels of the other, had left her mentally reeling. It was as though she were a boxer stunned by a surprise left hook. But she’d be damned if she’d show it to this beautiful, successful stranger who seemed to have a boatload of cool confidence.

  “I’m sure about beauty when I see it,” Torrie said, letting her eyes fall slowly and appreciatively over Grace’s low-cut,V-necked, tight cashmere sweater that protruded with all the right curves.

  Grace’s condemning smile and those discerning, narrowed eyes instantly made Torrie want to eat her words. Most women acted flattered when Torrie flirted with them, and the bolder ones returned it in spades. Not this one, Tor. This one won’t be taken in so easily. It was as if Grace knew Torrie was simply reverting to her tried-and-true old tricks, rather than discussing anything meaningful.

  Grace leaned closer, her cleavage tha
t much more tantalizing. “Tell me something, Torrie. Do you always flirt so boldly with women you don’t know very well?”

  Torrie didn’t quite know how to answer. The question didn’t sound judgmental, and yet it demanded a serious answer. Torrie did the only thing she could think of—she stalled. She began shoveling food in her mouth again. It was either that or stare at that mouthwatering chest. But Grace wasn’t going away. Or changing the subject. She was looking at Torrie, her eyes patient but piercingly insistent.

  Torrie washed her food down with a gulp of Cabernet and decided to go for glib. Maybe that would shake Grace off. “Only if they’re incredibly sexy. And talented. I’m afraid you qualify on both counts.”

  Grace shook her head lightly, looking both cynical and amused, a tiny smile curling her full, lightly glossed lips. “I’m not exactly a twenty-year-old groupie, you know.”

  Christ, isn’t that the truth. This one was all woman. And all grown up. Thank God. The truth was, Torrie had begun to have her fill of the twinkies—the young groupies eager to bed a celebrity. She hadn’t entirely discarded her skirt-chasing habits yet, but she was increasingly aware that she was ready for a challenge, for a woman who could give her a come-hither look one instant and a kick in the ass the next. Oh, yeah. This little game could be quite sweet indeed. In spite of her earlier half-hearted decision to stick to business, Torrie now absently swirled the wine in her glass and figured she had little else to do in her life at the moment but to wipe the smart-ass look off this woman’s face with a ferocious kiss. Or at least, the kiss would be a start.

  Torrie leaned in and lowered her voice. “So you’re saying it takes more than a nice dinner, a few compliments and the undivided attention of a world-class athlete to get you into bed?”

  Grace nearly choked on her mouthful of chicken Florentine. Bull’s-eye! It took another moment for her to mentally regain her foothold. Torrie could see Grace gathering her wits. Oh, yes. This is going to be fun.

  “What makes you think there’s anything you could say or do that would get me into bed?” Grace’s eyes had morphed to a battleship gray. It was a dare if ever there was one.

  Torrie shrugged lightly, holding her gaze, her own game face firmly in place. “Is that a challenge, Grace? Because I can assure you, I never back down from a challenge. And I always win.”

  Grace’s eyes grew wide and unsure for an instant, as though she was worried she’d strayed too deep into this risky territory. Her fingers tensely stroked the stem of her wineglass. God. Does she have to be so sexy without even trying?

  “You know what I think, Torrie?”

  Torrie shook her head, feeling not nearly as cavalier as she hoped she looked.

  “I think you’re full of crap.”

  Torrie’s mouth slackened just as their waitress appeared, asking about dessert while fidgeting anxiously. The girl looked like a geyser about to erupt, all nervous energy.

  Grace ordered coffee for them both since Torrie had not recovered enough to put two words together. Ordering a piece of chocolate cake never had a chance.

  “I’m sorry,” the waitress finally burst out breathlessly, looking at Grace. “I really hate to ask this, but…” She leaned closer. “Are you that famous chef, the one on television?”

  Grace smiled politely, as though the intrusion were an everyday occurrence and one that she didn’t mind. “I’m afraid that’s me, yes.”

  The young woman squealed excitedly. “God, I love your show.” She moved even closer, her bouncy breasts just inches from Grace’s face, Torrie realized with sudden annoyance. Jesus, why doesn’t she just climb into her lap, for God’s sake!

  “If I, like, brought you a menu later, would you autograph it for me?”

  Torrie was wincing, but Grace still smiled accommodatingly. She was cool and smooth and seemingly impervious to the charms of the young, enthusiastic fan. “Ah, sure, I’d love to. Perhaps on my way out.”

  The girl finally flitted off without so much as even a glance at Torrie.

  “You know she’s going to give you her number on the way out,” Torrie said acidly.

  “I don’t think so, Torrie.”

  “Right,” Torrie countered. She was jealous, she realized, and for all the wrong reasons.

  Grace flashed her a look. “Would you rather she was giving you her number? Is that it?”

  Far from it, Torrie wanted to say.

  “I could probably arrange that, you know.” Grace grinned, obviously enjoying herself.

  Torrie had to grudgingly admire Grace’s gumption. Her wit was quick and she was so damned good at teasing Torrie. Too good. “I don’t need any help, thank you.”

  Their coffees arrived, the gushing waitress more subdued this time, and Torrie buoyed herself for more verbal sparring. She would not let Grace get the upper hand.

  “So, Grace.” Torrie smiled sweetly but her tone was hard as nails. “You were saying earlier that I’m full of shit.”

  Grace set her coffee cup down and sat back to study Torrie with those narrowed eyes that seemed to indicate she knew a hell of a lot more than Torrie could ever guess. She sighed in quiet contemplation before her expression softened. “Look, Torrie. We really don’t—”

  “No. I want to know.” Torrie leaned back too, feigning a cool confidence she didn’t really feel. “Please.”

  “All right.” Grace sighed as if to say you asked for it. “I think you flirt like that out of habit because you’re scared.”

  “Scared? You think I’m scared of women?” That was a new one.

  Grace nonchalantly sipped her coffee as if they were discussing the latest stock market trends. “You’re not scared of having sex with women, no. But you’re scared of anything deeper. If you keep the emphasis entirely on sex and sexual attraction, it keeps thoughts or conversation about anything else at arm’s length.”

  Torrie harrumphed grumpily, feeling like a specimen on a slide. God, has she been talking to my mother? “Look. I find you very attractive, Grace, and I’m not afraid of letting you know that. That’s all. I’d take you to bed in the blink of an eye. But you could just say no instead of making me sound like some kind of a head case or something.”

  Grace actually began to look sorry, as though she’d gone too far and knew it. “You’re right, Torrie. I’m sorry. I had no right to do that to you.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Lord knows I’m no expert at relationships.”

  Torrie smiled on two counts: Grace hadn’t entirely rebuffed her advances, and it sounded like she wasn’t in a long-term relationship.

  Grace yawned, then signaled for the check. “I really should go.” She touched her fingertips to her temple.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just an exhaustion headache. I’ve been literally sitting on my butt for the last two weeks. I’d forgotten how tiring it is working for a living again.”

  Torrie knew something about that. “I know what you mean.”

  “Ah, crap.”

  “What?”

  “We never did get around to discussing menu ideas.” Grace looked flustered. “This was supposed to be a business dinner.” She smiled helplessly. “I guess I got a little distracted.”

  There was satisfaction in having distracted Grace so easily from business, something Torrie guessed didn’t happen often. It was almost more gratifying than if Grace had agreed to her proposition. Well, not quite.

  “Why don’t you meet me at the course tomorrow morning? Say about nine. It’s only an optional practice day, so it shouldn’t be busy. I’ll take you on a tour and I promise to only talk about food.”

  Grace looked relieved, if not entirely convinced. “Deal.”

  Grace slept fitfully, pissed off for getting so sidetracked with Torrie Cannon over dinner. They’d teased and sparred like they’d known each other for years, playing a little game of oneupmanship that had surprised Grace, and yet she marveled at how easy it’d been. Torrie seemed so familiar in such an intimate way, and while the game h
ad been fun, she was here on business. There was work to be done, and Torrie Cannon was her client, the championship dinner her job.

  Time to get to work, Grace.

  Dressed in casual khaki Capri pants, a boat neck sleeveless white tee and brown sandals, Grace appeared at the clubhouse dutifully at nine. It was going to be a warm day, and she looked forward to spending the morning outdoors. The next few days would be busy inventorying, organizing and ordering supplies, meeting with staff and getting them battle-ready, mapping out the plan for Sunday’s banquet.There’d be a dry run of everything, and while she’d figured out the basic menu during her sleepless moments, she still didn’t know what to do about dessert. Maybe Torrie would actually have something on her mind besides sex.

  Her timing impeccable, Torrie appeared and Grace’s pulse maddeningly quickened. The golfer exuded sex. And fun and charm, with those dashing good looks and roguish smile. Her short hair was dark and tousled, like she belonged in bed, but her blue eyes were as sharp as the crease in her expensive designer shorts. She was sure Torrie met with little opposition from women, but she was damned if she would be one of them.

  I’ve worked in tight quarters with hot, sweaty, libidinous men most of my life, Torrie Cannon. I can take whatever you want to throw at me.

  Torrie shook Grace’s hand.There was no sign of the flirtatious seductress this morning, for which Grace was relieved. Or so she told herself. As they rode around in the motorized cart, Torrie patiently explaining the layout of a particular hole and how easy or difficult it played, a shadow of disappointment surprised Grace. There was no mention of their conversation last night, and not once did Torrie try a suggestive line on her. The cockiness had evaporated like the morning dew on the finely manicured grass. In fact, Torrie had hardly even looked at Grace—certainly not in the way she had looked at her last night, all hungry-eyed and cheeky—and Grace reluctantly missed it. As much as Torrie’s bold behavior had annoyed her, it had also amused her, even flattered her.