Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

She tried not to make it obvious how that laugh made her heart beat at a dizzying pace.

Holy moly. If he ever laughed like that on camera, this was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to sponsorship opportunities.

Wells waved a hand in front of her face. “You alive in there, belle?”

“What? Yes,” she blurted, turning her back. “Okay. On your mark. Get set.”

“Go.”

She didn’t have to sneak a look over her shoulder to know Wells went straight for that glacier blue. But she did underestimate how clumsy her fingers would become knowing he’d stripped off his own shirt to put on the new one. The soft ripple of fabric sliding up his chest and falling to the floor nearly made her eyes cross, her knee bumping awkwardly into one of the conference-room chairs as she reached for the ice-blue skirt.

“You okay over there?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” she said quickly, peeling down her leggings.

“Uh-huh.”

She tugged the skirt up around her hips, chewing her bottom lip while selecting a white polo shirt. Off came her top. Before she could drop the new shirt over her head, warmth met her bare back. “I peeked, belle.” Wells gripped her hips, slowly pulling her butt back into his lap, his open mouth trailing up the side of her neck. “Your ass looks so ripe in this skirt, I can’t even be mad that you tricked me into matching.”

Wells turned Josephine around to face him, settled his mouth on top of hers, and walked her backward, using his grip on her hips to boost her up onto the conference-room table. Josephine all but sobbed from the sudden storm of need. “Wells . . .”

“I know.” He hooked his hands beneath her knees and yanked her to the very edge of the table, bringing their lower bodies flush—and ohhh. He hadn’t been exaggerating about being hard. “I know we’ve got a round of golf to play before I’m inside you, but Christ, these fucking thighs make it so hard to wait.” Fisting Josephine’s hair, he tilted her head back and slid the very tip of his tongue up the curve of her throat. “At least let me eat your pussy.” He wound her ponytail tighter around his fist. Tighter. “You like the sound of that, Josephine? I think you do, baby. Your legs are shaking.”

“I . . . um . . .”

“You chose a skirt for a reason, didn’t you?” Wells groaned into her neck, his mouth sweeping across her cheek to attack her mouth, kissing her roughly, growling when she returned the kiss in kind. “You were hoping I’d get on my knees and lick it.”

Honestly, it hadn’t crossed her mind that a skirt would provide . . . opportunities.

For access.

But mother of God, it was crossing her mind now.

Zigzagging, ricocheting, and tumbling.

“Yes, please,” she whispered against his damp mouth. “Please.”

“I’m going to eat it now and fuck it later, aren’t I, belle?”

Her core squeezed so dramatically, her eyes started to water. “Yes.”

“Josephine.” His teeth closed around her earlobe and tugged, scraping down to her shoulder and back up, before he ground his erection once, twice, against her panties. “This is one stroke of mine that doesn’t need any work. You think about that good and hard when I’m sucking your clit.”

“Oh my God.”

He took off the ice-blue shirt, snagged her mouth for an explicit kiss, then started to go down on his knees— A knock came from somewhere. Her chest, maybe?

No.

The door.

Someone was knocking on the door of the conference room.

“Son of a bitch,” Wells cursed, slamming a fist down on the table, using his wrist to swipe sweat from his upper lip. “What?”

A few seconds ticked by. “Wells Whitaker, it’s Kip Collings.” A pause. “The tournament chairman.”

Josephine’s jaw nearly dropped to her ankles.

Kip Collings? she mouthed at a visibly frustrated Wells.

If they ever made a Mount Rushmore for golf, Collings would be on there. He was the guy who basically showed up only to hand the trophy to the winner. He was that important.

And he was about to catch Josephine in a bra, making out with her golfer.

“Mind if I come in for a moment?” Collings chuckled. “I’ll be brief. I know your tee time is approaching and you’re busy preparing.”

“Or something,” Wells muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Go unlock the door,” Josephine squeal-whispered, jumping off the table and tugging on the white polo shirt. “It’s the chairman.”

“I almost had those panties off, Josephine. Frankly, I don’t care if it’s the pope.”

“Don’t say ‘panties’ and ‘pope’ in the same breath. We’re going to get struck by lightning out there.”

“Fuck,” he said, wincing. “Please don’t make me laugh when my dick is hard. It hurts.”

“But I like your laugh.”

“I like every fucking thing about you,” Wells rasped, sweeping her face with an intense look, before shooting his gaze down to the ground. Meanwhile, Josephine felt herself floating upward toward the ceiling on little white, puffy clouds. “You ready, belle?”

She gulped. “Yes.”

“One second, Chairman,” Wells called, yanking his shirt back on and leaving it untucked so it covered the . . . situation. Then under his breath, “You old cockblocker.”

Josephine smacked him in the shoulder.

Wells took his time crossing to the door, unlocking it with a palpable air of resentment and holding it open for the chairman. The older man came through the entrance with brown eyes twinkling, set deep in his age-lined, russet face. “You’ve caused quite a stir, you two.” Kip eyeballed Wells. “For the right reasons, this time.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Collings,” Josephine said, trying to calm her flustered state.

“Nice to meet you, too, young lady.” He jabbed a good-natured finger at Wells. “You’re keeping this one in line, I hear.”

She maintained her smile. “He’s gotten this far. He can keep himself in line.”

She felt, rather than saw, Wells turn a surprised look on her.

“Right.” The chairman considered them both. “Well, whatever magic you two are making together, keep it up.”

“Oh, it’s up,” Wells muttered.

Josephine kicked him in the ankle. “Yes, sir.”

The chairman chuckled, obviously missing nothing, but far from scandalized. “Our viewership doubled yesterday with the news of this possible comeback. And I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but a young woman as a caddie? Hell, people find that mighty interesting. I can’t say I blame them after seeing you two in action, but it’s more than that. Man or woman or otherwise, Miss Doyle, you’re damn good at reading a course.” Collings patted his pocket and pulled out a key. “Speaking of which, I personally saw to it that you have your own bag room going forward. I’m sorry you’ve gone three days without enough privacy.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, that’s not necessary, sir—”

“First of all, call me Kip, please.” Brooking no arguments, he pressed the key into her palm, nodding when she closed her fingers around it. “Second, I’m sure you’re worried about the others griping about double standards and favoritism and all that nonsense. If you catch wind of it, you send them to me. My granddaughters have schooled me well.”

Oh, she really liked this man. As soon as she got a free moment, she was going to call her dad and tell him about this conversation word for word. Minus the innuendo from Wells. “Thank you, Kip.”

Wells nodded, his expression one of rare gratitude. “We appreciate that, Chairman.”

The older man nodded and turned for the door, but not before patting Wells on the back. “Hang on to that one,” he said. “And give ’em hell out there.”

They both stared at the door for a beat after the chairman exited.

“I don’t suppose we have time to—”

“Nope.” Josephine sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Wells hung his head a moment, before hitting her with open curiosity. “When he asked if you were keeping me in line, you could have made some smart-ass joke about my temper, but you didn’t. Why?”