Read Online Memories of Us by Linda Winfree - Free Book Online Page A

walked away. So he’d had a taste and he wasn’t interested in anything further. She straightened her shoulders. She could deal with that.
    After a couple of Summer Solstices, heavy on the vodka, and maybe one of her sister’s vanishing spells.

    Tom slammed the driver into the ball, the satisfying thwack vibrating up his arm. The ball veered in a wild arc to the right, hitting a marker four golfers down, and he bit back a curse. The other men scowled his way and every muscle between his shoulders tightened.
    He couldn’t hit for shit tonight.
    Kissing her had been a bad idea. What he should have done was walk away when she asked him to dinner. Hanging around to hear her say she wanted him? Massive mistake. Because now the words pounded in his head, turning his drive to crap.
    He had a strange feeling he’d be listening to them for days, probably turning his performance in the courtroom to crap too.
    The memory of her mouth under his invaded his mind again. His gut tightened. He whacked another ball.
    It cut to the left. He was screwed.
    No, but you could have been.
    Yeah. Literally. All he needed was a sexual-harassment lawsuit and the resulting publicity. He shrugged that off. Celia wasn’t the type to set him up. She’d proved to be unfailingly honest.
    But he’d never figured her for the type to blow a guy’s mind with a simple “I want you”.
    He shouldn’t have kissed her.
    Hey, pal, she came on to you, remember?
    And like an idiot, he’d walked away.
    How the hell had she known what was in his head? Coincidence. They were just thinking along the same lines. That’s all, with her back pressed into that chair and the absolute fire of that kiss between them. She’d said she wanted him. Why wouldn’t she be picturing the possibilities?
    He set another ball on a tee and frowned, remembering the way her sister had seemed to see into him. And that crystal ball. He’d witnessed for himself the way Celia could read a suspect. Maybe she’d just been reading him too.
    He’d overreacted. What might have happened if he hadn’t? If he’d followed through on her “God, yes”? Images tumbled through his head, Celia beneath him, legs resting on his shoulders while he sank balls-deep into the blazing heat of her body—
    The ball sliced freakin’ sideways.
    Damn it.
    “Man, what is wrong with you tonight?” Rhett set his bag down beside Tom’s. His empty bucket dangled from his left hand. The lights gleamed off the dark butterscotch of his shaved head, picked up the glimmer of his wedding ring.
    “Hell if I know.” Tom jerked a hand over his hair. One of his wild drives had sent a ball into Rhett’s zone earlier and his friend had been giving him odd looks ever since. “Maybe I need a different driver.”
    “Somehow I don’t think a different club’s going to do it. You only hit like that when something’s weighing heavy on your mind. I wouldn’t have to look far for that something.”
    “Yeah.” Tom slid the driver into his bag and slipped the cover over the metal head. He jerked his chin at Rhett’s bucket. “You ready to get out of here?”
    “I take it you need a drink.”
    “Hell, yes.” Maybe a good Scotch—or a couple—would get her off his mind, help him sleep.
    They shouldered the bags and dropped off their buckets. Frustration lingered in Tom, wrapped up with the oddity of that interlude with Celia. “Rhett, do you believe in psychics?”
    Rhett groaned, rolling his ebony eyes skyward. “Did that woman from Valdosta call again? I told her we weren’t interested in hiring a staff psychic.”
    Tom chuckled. “No. I mean, do you think one person can pick up another’s thoughts?”
    “Mind reading? No.” Rhett glanced at him, their feet crunching on the loose gravel of the parking lot. “Why do you ask?”
    “Just curious.”
    “I think some people are highly intuitive and just really good at appraising others. They can seem like mind readers. But actual psychic ability? No