Never Say Never by Linda Hill Page B

need to get some sleep.”
    “We should go then.”
    She nodded and paid the bill before escorting me to the door.
    We were relatively quiet on the short drive back to Buckhead.
    When we arrived at my hotel, she stopped the car at the end of the circular driveway and cut the engine, turning to me as she shut off the headlights.
    My stomach began to flutter. Uh-oh.
    Without meeting my eyes, she reached over and picked up my left hand and held it in hers. She traced my palm for a few moments before lifting her eyes to mine. I noticed how much darker they looked from just minutes ago.
    “I don’t want to say good night.”
    Uh-oh. Stay calm. “I had a nice time. Thank you . ” She looked at me quietly, then wrinkled her nose. “I don’t suppose you want to invite me up?” she asked hopefully, almost shyly.
    “You have a golf lesson at six,” I reminded her, surprised at the calm in my voice.
    She looked a bit disappointed, but recovered quickly. “Hey, we could play golf tomorrow afternoon. Maybe go dancing tomorrow night? What do you say?”
    “Yes.” I didn’t even have to think about it.
    She seemed relieved. “Good. How’s two o’clock? I have to work until noon.”
    “Perfect.”
    “Good.” Awkwardly, she hesitated before leaning over and pressing her lips against my cheek. Then she leaned back just enough so that she could look up at me through her lashes. I watched as she closed her eyes and leaned forward, pressing her lips to mine. It was a slow, soft kiss, tasting of garlic and wine.
    Reluctantly, she pulled away, her eyelids heavy. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Again she sighed.
    “Okay.” I let myself out of the car, shut the door firmly behind me, and leaned down to look through the open window. “Thanks again. Good night.”
    “Good night,” she smiled as the engine turned over, and she slid the car into gear, waving briefly before heading out into traffic.
    Michelle was right on time again the next day, this time looking adorable in her golfing duds. It took us just over a half-hour to get to the country club, where she outfitted me with clubs and shoes.
    “How long do you think you’ll be working down here?” she asked.
    “Initially I thought about three months. Now I think it will be more like four altogether.”
    We laced our shoes and journeyed out to the first tee. She offered to get us a cart, but I said I’d rather walk. I enjoy the sound of golf cleats on pavement, and I grinned at the sound as we crunched across a little bridge that ran from the clubhouse to the course itself. It was after three o’clock, and the course was relatively empty.
    I was shy at first, knowing that I hadn’t held a club in over a year. Michelle was patient, though, encouraging me and giving me pointers throughout the day. She had a beautiful stroke, and I respected her talent immediately.
    “Wow. How did you ever learn to hit the ball like that?” I asked after a particularly spectacular drive.
    She waited until the ball landed on the fairway some two hundred plus yards away before she replied. “When I was a little girl, my dad used to take me to the driving range just about every day.” She bagged her wood and heaved the bag over one shoulder as we strolled toward our balls. “He used to say there was nothing sweeter than the thwack of a well-hit ball.” I chuckled. “Are you and your dad close?” We reached my ball, and I held out my bag. “Which club?” She looked out toward the green and shook her head. “You’ll need your three iron.” I probably wouldn’t get near the green even with a three.
    She stood back and waited quietly for me to swing. I was surprised when the ball fell within a couple feet of the target.
    I turned to Michelle and smiled. “Not exactly a thwack,” I said.
    “But not exactly a kerplunk either.”
    She laughed and we began walking forward again. “So, are you close to your dad?” I asked, continuing our conversation.
    She let a few moments pass