The Widows of Sea Trail (The Widows of Sea Trail Trilogy)

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “Tell you what: You play the best you can, and so will I. If I win by more than eighteen strokes, you go out to dinner with me.”

  “And if I win?”

  “You go out to dinner with me.”

  I smiled up at him and damned near melted in a pool at his feet from his wide grin.

  “I don’t like to gamble,” I muttered, “but that bet, I think I can win.”

  It was a beautiful spring morning. The birds were flitting from tree to tree, and flowers were popping out everywhere. Blossoms of all kinds were displaying their vivid colors, clustered in the bushes and looking like tiny bouquets. The azaleas were magnificent and just beginning their seasonal show along the cart path as we made our way around the driving range to the first hole. As odd as it was for this time of the day, there didn’t seem to be anyone around but us. I wondered for a fleeting moment just how he’d arranged that.

  Matt pulled the cart parallel to the first tee box and rested his arm on the back of the seat as he turned to face me. His fingers idly stroked my shoulder as his eyes compelled me to examine every nuance of his face as his were doing to mine. His lips opened and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. If it was an attempt to tame them, it didn’t work. His lips closed over his teeth and he gave a big sigh before leaning over and touching them lightly to mine. They moved slowly but confidently, capturing first my bottom lip, before moving up to take the top one. Before I could close them, he forced his tongue inside. He groaned as hungry lips slanted over mine and I felt his arm steel across the back of my shoulders and pull me closer. I felt the heat of his lips transfer to mine as his other hand cupped my jaw to hold me where he wanted me, where he could use his thumb to stroke and tease the corner of my lip. I felt him shift on the seat and his arms went around me. His hard chest met my mine and through my thin shirt I felt rock-hard muscle meet cushioning breasts. His hand on my back urged me tight against him. My breasts tingled as the points of my nipples hardened and I heard him gasp as they nestled into the steely wall of his chest.

  His tongue, sure and swift, explored my mouth and took long tastes while his lips moved against mine holding them open to accommodate his full thrusts. Eager, fast kisses replaced deep, plunging ones—until we heard the highpitched squeal of a golf cart in the distance. Matt pulled back and his half-lidded eyes met my glazed ones. We simply stared, the wonder in both our eyes.

  “Kisses like that and golf, too. What a way to begin the day,” he whispered as he moved away from me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Except that now you actually expect me to hit a golf ball.”

  He chuckled, “Yeah, that would be preferable. And from the sound of the cart coming, we’d better hurry and tee off or we’re going to hold up everyone behind us.”

  He slid off the seat on his side, pulled his driver out and fished for a ball before walking to the tee box. I watched him bend from the waist and place his ball, impressed with his agility. A man that tall didn’t normally have that much range of motion. He took his stance and took two practice swings before hitting the ball. The crack reverberated into the quiet morning and I knew it was a good shot, probably even a great one. It went high into the sky and I lost it in the white of the clouds but was able to see it drop to the fairway because it bounced a little before settling.

  He moved the cart up and stepped out to watch me tee up.

  “This is a long par four, it actually should be a five,” I muttered as I took my driver out of my bag. “But with the two extra strokes you’re giving me, I should be okay.” It was more confidence than I felt at the moment, but I needed to get my mind on my golf game.

  I was nervous. He made me nervous. All I could think of was how that kiss had made me feel. And how eager I was to experience more, just like that. I hefted the club and the weight in my hand began to center me. Please, please, let me at least hit the ball, I prayed.At this point I didn’t care where it went, as long as I didn’t swing and miss. I knew he was watching me and I was conscious of the tight slacks I had chosen to wear. Paired with a thong, I had hoped to garner some of his attention away from my game. Now I wasn’t sure that had been such a smart decision. We were already more than mildly attracted to each other and I was beginning to suspect we didn’t need any extra enticements.

  I took my driver in both hands and held it up over my head for a second then I brought it down and addressed the ball. This little maneuver was supposed to set up the shot and keep the boobs out of the way. I’d learned this trick from a crazy group of women golfers called the Leopardos who often came down from New York. I often felt stupid doing it, but it worked.

  Thankfully, my driver connected to my ball with a satisfying thwack. I stepped back to see it soar. Good, it would be nice if he could see I was not just an attraction with big breasts and a newly toned and tightened ass.

  “Good shot, you’re in the middle of the fairway.”

  “So far so good,” I said as we both slid back into the cart.

  “How do you figure?” he asked.

  “No one’s in the woods so far.”

  “I don’t necessarily see that as a good thing, I wouldn’t mind getting lost in the woods and taking you up against a tree right about now.”

  I pressed my palm against my throat and forced myself to take a deep breath. “Are you trying to ruin my concentration?”

  He looked over and winked at me, “Fair’s fair, you’ve already wrecked mine, you and what must definitely be thong panties.”

  I certainly didn’t believe that, he ended up with par while I shot an eight. It was only the first hole and I was already behind by two.

  He birdied the next hole with a two while I shot a five. Respectable for me, but I had still added to my deficit.

  The number three hole was a fairly easy one and one I usually did well on, but looking at Matt’s muscles bulging under the knit sleeves of his polo shirt was starting to have a pronounced effect on me. All I could think about on that hole was him—him lifting me high into his arms and carrying me into the woods. Damn him, he’d done this on purpose!

  I took a seven, my worst ever on that particular hole. “You okay?” he asked as he patted my shoulder on the way back to the cart.

  I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice, he’d shot par and already I was beginning to feel like the basics of golf were leaving me. “Maybe it’s time for some lessons again, I’m playing really badly.”

  “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Remember this is supposed to be fun,” he quipped.

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”

  The next hole I hit my ball into the bunker in front of the green and used two shots getting it out, so I ended up with an eight. This was getting worse and worse, I was fifteen strokes behind now. It wasn’t that I was a bad sport, I just didn’t like the fact that I was not playing to my game.

  “Smile, you look like your heart is breaking,” Matt whispered into my ear as we both replaced our putters before getting into the cart to head to the next hole. His warm breath fanning my cheek sent a tingle to my belly.

  “Golf is such a stupid game,” I said as I slid onto the seat. He chuckled and sped off. Then he reached over and lightly squeezed my thigh. I felt the pressure of his fingers as he relaxed them and allowed his fingers to take a leisurely route back to the steering wheel. “You’re actually playing a lot better than I thought you would. We’ve never played together and I know you’re wary of taking my advice, but I was watching you back there. I think your stance is off, you’ve got your feet planted all wrong. I could help you with that if you’d like.”

  “Sure, have at it,” I mumbled as I jumped out of the cart as soon as he stopped it.

  “Listen, don’t get angry,” he began.

  “I’m not angry, it’s not that important.” I pulled out my driver and prepared to walk up to my tee box.

  He grabbed for my hand, catching it low on my wrist and pulled me back. Then he yanked and pulled me right into his chest. “What�
��s wrong?” His eyes were steady on mine, and I was touched by the genuine concern I saw in them.

  “I can’t . . .”

  “Yes, you can. Tell me.”

  “I’m like a bowl of jelly inside. You’ve got me so turned on, I can’t even think. You touch my thigh and I want to grab your hand and place it much, much higher.”

  He smiled down at me and let his lips quirk to the side. “Thank God, it’s not only me getting so out of whack. I want you so badly I can’t see straight.”

  “Well you’re not having any problem hitting straight.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because my cock’s so hard, I can line up my shots with it.

  I looked down but we were too close, I couldn’t see between us. His hand, still gripping mine, moved to the placket covering his zipper. The steely ridge I found there jumped against my hand.

  “I see,” I murmured. “Quite impressive,” I added, knowing that men loved to hear things like that, but in his case, I knew it to be true.

  His eyes were boring into mine now, the flecks in his irises darkening and sending out heat. Sparks coursed through my body, fanning out my own brand of heat. “I need you,” he whispered.

  “Yet you’re still playing great golf.”

  “Men play better horney. It gives them an edge. A very dark, competitive edge.”

  “Ah, and women?”

  “It’s too much of a distraction, you can’t concentrate, you can’t relax. That’s why you’re screwing up, pardon the expression.” His focused stare that seemed to be asking the most important of all questions was making my head spin.

  “I can fix your game,” he said in a voice so deep, so husky that it was gravelly, “let me help you.” His hand slid from mine where I was still caressing him to possessively cover my hip.

  “You are so sweet to sacrifice yourself . . . and your game,” I whispered as I leaned in and cupped his balls.

  When he groaned and his knees buckled, I laughed.

  “C’mon, I hear the carts again. They’re catching up. Much as I love your logic and your willingness to help, I don’t think you can solve my problem before we play the next hole.” I was enjoying our banter, and the open sincerity of his reaction to my light fingering.

  He gave a great sigh and stood straight, and then he walked over and pulled his driver from his bag. Not finished with his torture though, as he passed me, he bent to whisper in my ear, “I cannot wait until I taste you. I’m going to make you come so hard that your screams will buckle the walls.”

  It was my turn to buckle at the knees, but he was ready. He gripped me around the waist and leaned me against a tree so I could watch him tee off. Then he walked me up to mine and showed me how I could improve my stance by inserting his thigh between my legs and moving it back and forth until he had me as wide as he wanted me. “Now plant them there and hit the damn ball,” he grated out as he removed his leg before stomping to the edge of the tee box. The ball and club made perfect contact. I watched stunned as it shot like a bullet to the center of the fairway. It was probably the longest and most beautiful drive I have ever had. I jumped in glee then spun around laughing. My hand met Matt’s in a high five and he quirked a lopsided smile at me.

  “Great, and I had just about had you convinced you couldn’t play good golf when you were horney. That sure as hell didn’t help my cause.”

  At the next hole he walked up to the tee box, placed his ball and hit it without even taking a practice swing. It landed on the green. As if there’d never been a doubt as to where it would go, he smiled. I watched him fix his divot then walk over to where I stood. He took my hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he held it and swung it between us as we walked back to the cart. Par was three for this particular hole. He birdied the hole by sinking the putt in one and I shot a four. Even though we were even on that hole, I didn’t believe for a minute that I was catching up. I had so much more to learn about this game, and about this man.

  On number six, I went in the bunker on the right, but with his coaching I was able to get it out and on the green in two, so it didn’t cost me as much as it could have. But still, he parred it with a four while I took a triple bogey. I blamed it all on the bulldozer in the middle of the fairway. Just knowing it was there made me aim around it and of course, you’ve really got to be a pro to put that kind of English on a ball.

  “You’re kidding, There’s really a bulldozer under that mound?” Clearly Matt was flabbergasted and not up on the local lore.

  “Yeah. When they were building the course, the bulldozer got stuck and no matter what they did, it just kept sinking. So, since it was an old bulldozer anyway and far too much trouble to excavate, they did the next best thing—they buried it. It truly is under that mound there.” I pointed and he stared. Then he just shook his head and laughed.

  “I guess that makes sense. I’ve razed perfectly good buildings to build ones nowhere near as formidable.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I buy factories that have declining production and retool them for a different product.”

  “Oh, sounds complicated.”

  “Not really. The only part that’s hard is shutting down the old one with not much of a guarantee that you can use the employees working there for the next project.”

  “Ooooh. You’re one of those.”

  “What does that mean?” He lifted both brows this time and I knew he was waiting for my answer with a major degree of interest.

  “Uh, someone who puts people out of work,” I said, trying to take the glib out of my voice but not succeeding at all.

  “It’s business, just business. The workers would be out of work eventually anyway. As I said these factories are on the downslide—losing money with no workable plan to pull them back. This way at least the employees have a chance. The American Dream does not guarantee that a declining business has to stay open just to suit its employees.”

  “Hmm.” It made sense, but I wasn’t willing to sanction this yet, not without knowing more. “Give me an example.”

  He tossed his ball in the air then dropped it into his pocket as we both slid back into the cart.

  For the next three holes, he regaled me with stories of plant closings, unusual renovations and massive rehirings. Cotton, tobacco, and agriculture production in the South had necessitated most of the retooling. As one crop went out, others came into being and he said it was his job to make way for progress. I had initially thought he took jobs from people who desperately needed them. But by the time we had finished our round, he had managed to convince me that if it weren’t for him and those like him, that whole towns would disappear instead of finding prosperity from new products.

  I was fascinated. I hardly even noticed that he parred number seven then birdied the last two holes while I triple and quadruple bogeyed to end up with a sixty-one for nine holes. He had beaten me by thirty strokes and I hadn’t even felt the pain.

  “I gotta scoot, I’ve got a match on the Byrd in twenty minutes, I’ll take you back to your car, and on the way, we’ll figure out when we’re going out for dinner.”

  “Oh, yeah. There is that.”

  He reached over and patted my knee, “Don’t take it too hard. You knew you were going to lose.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be by thirty strokes!”

  He laughed as he pulled up to the back of my car. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me across the seat. I felt his lips touch my temple.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave you now, but this next match is for the whole enchilada. My partner and I need to beat these guys from Raleigh in order to decide who gets to build the new plant outside of Cary.”

  I turned in his arms and stared. “You bet a factory?” I was shocked and it was evident by the look on my face that I was appalled.

  “One of us has to drop out, our bids matched, right to the penny.”

  “And this is how you settle it?”

  He stroked hi
s finger down my nose. “Relax, princess, it’s just business, it’s better than a duel to the death.”

  “Aren’t you talking about a lot of money?” “Yeah, but it’s just money.”

  I blew out a breath so hard that it blew my hair up. “You are out of my league, Matt. I can’t even understand that kind of bet.”

  “It’s not so much a bet as a dare. But don’t trouble yourself sweetheart, I intend to win.”

  I just shook my head.

  He helped load my bag into my trunk, then took my chin in his hand. “I’ll be gone for a few days, I’ve got business up north. How about dinner when I get back? I should be back Sunday. How about going to The Sugar Shack with me around seven? I’ll pick you up.”

  But it really wasn’t a question. He leaned down, kissed me quite thoroughly and then got back into the cart. I hadn’t answered him, but he was the kind of man who wouldn’t have brooked no for an answer anyway.

  Chapter Nine

  A Place To Laugh Out Loud Thursday and Friday dragged by. I rode my bike Thursday morning but had to return to the house early when it started raining. It was the kind of rain we needed, but also the kind that makes your spirits sag. I made a pineapple upside down cake for Jeter Jones and took it to his house and spent some time chatting with the lonely old man who had lost his wife two years earlier.

  Every once in a while Jeter would call and say he’d found something in his wife’s closet he thought I would like. I think it was his way of letting me know he needed a sweet treat. So I would bake something and dutifully tromp over. I would leave with an old cloth coat, a faded sweater or a tote bag of some sort. Most reeked of tobacco as Henrietta had been a heavy smoker. Most things I discarded, a few found a home at the Habitat for Humanity Thrift Shop, and every blue moon I would end up with a genuine treasure like a real lace fan from Toledo Spain that I fumigated and kept for myself.