Passionate Game (Kimani Hotties) (2 page)

By the time she left her home in Tysons Corner, Virginia, the morning traffic had flooded the roadways for the early morning commute. Tamara expertly maneuvered her car through the city and out of the state to adjoining Maryland. Normally, she’d continue on the 495 Beltway loop toward the city of College Park to her academy.

This morning she aimed for Potomac, Maryland, the wealthy residential suburb where her parents lived and where Benson had an enormous mansion, one of at least three of his reported homes. She glanced in the rearview mirror, not only for the traffic but also to have a close-up check of her face.

She’d kept makeup to a minimum but didn’t want to look too bare. A light dusting of foundation smoothed over her skin’s almost invisible imperfections. Mascara and eyeliner had been applied with a deliberate touch for a sophisticated, rather than dramatic, look. She didn’t like to worry about her hair and had opted to twist its length into a bun. Diamond stud earrings fit in each ear, their size and clarity showing off their value. The last touch was a light, coppery shimmer on her lips. All in all, she should be able to hold his attention long enough to get her point across.

Twenty minutes later, Tamara pulled up to the formidable security gate that allowed access to the country club’s exclusive members and their playground. She was sure that, if she tried hard enough, she could detect a whiff in the air of the wealthy and powerful. The club’s close proximity to the seat of power in Washington, D.C., and the nearby stately homes, attracted politicians, elite professional athletes, dignitaries and influential businessmen. After presenting her driver’s license and club membership pass, Tamara drove onto the property. All around her was an overly green oasis of three hundred acres.

She parked the car herself, instead of valet parking, and retrieved her golf clubs from the trunk before heading to the main building. On cue, her pulse ratcheted its beat, matching her quick footsteps like background percussion. By the time she entered the cool interior of the building, her thoughts had fractured into various compartments of worries.

Panic soured her stomach. She gulped to keep down the coffee she’d had earlier. No time to deal with her weak stomach.

Suck it up.

How many times did she chant this as her new mantra?
Just about every day.
She would’ve liked to think that she had the spine for a few gutsy moves, but nothing about this situation was normal. If she couldn’t get the company to commit to accepting the students, well, then, who knew what she’d be able to get for them? Definitely no other internship would engage them and guarantee their success like this one would. A compromise could mean the difference between a career and a life back on the streets.

Plus, compromising made her want to punch something.

“Good morning, Miss Wendell. How are you this morning?” The concierge greeted her with a wide, bright white, toothy smile.

“Fine. Um...can you tell me if Mr. Benson has headed out to the tee? Don’t want him to start without me.” She giggled to maintain her nonthreatening demeanor.

“Sure.” Without hesitation, the concierge pulled up a screen on his computer tablet. “He hasn’t checked in. But you’re about ten minutes early.”

“Great.” Tamara pasted on a smile, but her lips trembled under the effort of acting like an empty-headed ditz. She headed to the private lockers to stash a few things before heading to the golf area.

“Tamara, is that you?”

Tamara turned and spotted the club’s biggest gossip making a beeline in her direction.

“Hi, Mrs. Roberts. Yes, it’s me.” Tamara tried not to cringe.

“Haven’t seen you around the neighborhood.” Mrs. Roberts made a show of looking around her. “Are you alone?”

“I’m playing a round in a few minutes.” Tamara hoped that the emphasis on “a few minutes” would have an effect. She didn’t respond to the “alone” question. Mrs. Roberts liked to tell everyone that her children were all happily married to movers and shakers, and that she had the world’s most precious grandchildren. Since Tamara scored a fat zero in both the marriage and children areas of life, Mrs. Roberts would always “tsk” with faked sympathy.

“I’ll let you go, then.” She tilted up her heavily lined cheek.

Tamara got close for the cheek-to-cheek kiss. She was too old to keep being the victim of Mrs. Roberts’s sniping tongue. However, her mother would admonish her for not being respectful.

She heard the soft double “tsk” in her ear as she pulled away from the unwanted embrace.

“Please let your mother know that I’ll be in touch. The Ladies Group is sponsoring a trip to Vegas and proceeds are going to the county library. We need to get more serious books on the shelves and drown out all those silly books about wizards and vampires.”

“I’ll let her know. But she is an avid reader of
those
kinds of books. She has tons of
those
books at her bedside. Tons.” Tamara held her arms open wide.

Mrs. Roberts’s shock was priceless. She knew that meant the busybody would call her mother and that her mother would bite the bait and call to chastise her. At the end of that rebuke would be more information about the latest wonderful thing that some Roberts’s offspring had done.

Since her dad’s death, her mother had become fixated with putting her on the fast track to marriage and motherhood. Maybe her mom wanted the comfort of seeing a baby born into the family. Thankfully, her mother wasn’t the matchmaking type, although she had her share of nosy friends, such as Mrs. Roberts, to keep her mind on Tamara’s lack of suitors.

Tamara turned on her heel and walked away from Mrs. Roberts. She rushed to the smaller clubhouse that catered to the serious golfers who didn’t want to deal with the hectic buzz of the main clubhouse. Grant was bound to arrive at any moment. Sitting nearby would give her the advantage of sizing him up as he came into the building.

Besides what she’d read and seen on TV about the man, she didn’t know much about him. Their paths had certainly never crossed at the club or any of his social or business gatherings. They traveled in separate circles. Right now, that was a hindrance to what she wanted. But there was always more than one way to get the prize—such as dressing up for a golf game she hadn’t been invited to play.

She ordered a soda and pulled out her phone to catch up on emails. But not even work held her attention for long. She couldn’t stop thinking about the article she’d read that said Grant Benson had been a computer genius from a young age, excelling in high school, but that he had a brusque personality that earned him his share of enemies in school. Two years into a computer design major at the best college in the country, he’d left, armed with an early model of a successful computer game with more bells and whistles than she could appreciate. Major companies had offered to buy the design, but Grant had refused, earning criticism for his bullheaded stance.

Obviously he had known what he was doing because he’d gotten his financial backing that year, opened his company and never looked back. Now he competed with those same companies that had tried to buy his start-up. Year after year, he launched new innovative games and systems that created a cult following of teens and college gamers. Supposedly he liked riding his motorcycle when he was mulling over a project. Black T-shirts, black jeans and black tennis shoes were his standard getup. At an early age, he’d become vegetarian and gotten into yoga to stimulate his energy.

As for his personal life, she couldn’t make a judgment. Not much had been written. Though she didn’t give a damn about his personal dating habits, she couldn’t help the small nudge of curiosity. After all, she had tracked all his other personal details. Plus he was too insanely gorgeous not to have women drooling over him. Only once had he been photographed with a supermodel. Rumors were that they were a serious item, but he got cold feet when she demanded a ring. Plus the prenup was a deal breaker for her. Neither one had ever confirmed or denied the rumors.

If the prenup rumor was true, Tamara almost felt bad for him. She had nothing against prenups, and she knew how money had the power to attract the bottom-feeders of the dating pool who didn’t care one bit about you. Men seemed ever ready to fix on her material possessions or be intimidated by her personal wealth, and so she was always hesitant to date much.

Her phone buzzed and an incoming text popped in from Becky.

Becky:
How’s it going

Tamara:
Waiting 4 him to arrive

Becky:
OK let me know if he is sexy

Tamara:
Don’t you have work to do?

Becky:
Doing it. I can multi-task

Tamara:
Bye!

Becky:
Details plz. Face. Body. His sexy-meter.

Tamara chuckled and set down her phone. Becky, the born romantic, saw most men as potential boyfriend material for her. Tamara had always thought it was silly.

At that moment, the door to the clubhouse opened and three men strode through the entrance. The leader of the trio definitely had alpha male qualities, especially with his towering height. He walked with a confident swag toward the hospitality desk. Tamara could see only his profile, but everything about him put her on alert. The other two men were decent enough, but paled in comparison with the leader. He turned to speak to the men and she got a good look at his face. He was most definitely her target, Grant Benson.

Tall. Dark. Hot sex on two legs.

Lethal combination.

She swallowed a mouthful of soda, set down the empty cup and readied herself for the approach.

Chapter 2

W
ith check-in complete at the registration desk, Grant surveyed the clubhouse. Still no sign of Simmons, his problem employee, and no calls from him or Latrice, his executive assistant, to give him any updates. Hopefully, no tragedy had struck Simmons, and it was only that the guy was as immature as he seemed to be. One would think that an invitation to play golf with the CEO wouldn’t be treated as optional.

“We’ll get started in a few minutes. Go ahead and store your things.” Grant looked at his watch. “We’ve got a couple minutes.” He looked up to find a woman staring at him.

“May I help you?”

“Um...I wanted...you. Talk.” The woman hesitated but then focused on his face. “I would like to speak to you,” she continued. Her scrutiny of his face momentarily muted him. His thoughts darted about. He wondered if she was someone he had once known or just another of those nosy reporters who were always trying to get an interview. Otherwise, there was no reason for her to check him out in such an intense way.

Either way, he was intrigued by the bold approach. His mouth hitched on the side with a slight show of his amusement. She sure wasn’t hard on the eyes. Golf attire wasn’t exactly revealing and sexy, but the color scheme of her clothes was sophisticated. The cute bangs feathered along her forehead capped her oval face while the rest of her hair was pulled back. Her medium build set her at about his shoulder, while her overall frame was an hourglass shape—curvaceous and feminine.

“Really.” He muted his interest.

“Looks like you’re in need of one more.” She jutted her chin toward Hadfield and Norton, who were still browsing through the small gift shop area.

“Are you interested?”

“Yes, I’m interested. But before you think I’m a party crasher, I’m Tamara Wendell.”

“I’m Grant Benson.”

“I know.”

He felt a frown deepen on his face. He scaled back his charm and replaced it with deliberate frost.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your people are giving me the runaround.” She moved her clubs closer to her body and struck a pose that was normal enough, except this beautiful woman standing in front of him defied normal.

“My people?”

“Your human resources department,” she replied with an accusatory note.

“I have confidence that they know what type of person I need for the company’s mission.” He assessed her body. He wouldn’t entertain any attempts to sway his authority over his HR department. No matter how pretty the reason.

“I’m sure they do. However, I didn’t even get a chance to tell them about my guys.”

“Your guys?” Now he couldn’t beat back the curiosity. She was way too young to have sons who were looking for work. Maybe she was an overprotective sister?

“I run the New Horizons Leadership Academy, which helps young men. I link them with companies that provide internship opportunities, in addition to teaching them other life skills.”

“Okay.” Grant remained wary, although the request sounded harmless.

“Your HR department blew me off. Yet, you are known for having a robust internship program.”

“Our interns work hard. It’s not a charity program.”

She visibly tightened under his crisp declaration. But he didn’t care about her challenges. It was her job to make him care, and fast.

“I’m not looking for charity,” she countered.

“This isn’t the place for this conversation.” He looked at his watch.

“You’re right. So why don’t we go play a round of golf? I’ll take the brown-haired one over there for my team. We’ll play, and if I get within a stroke of you, you will listen to me—with undivided attention.”

“You’re damned sure of yourself.”

“Every second of the day.” Again, she tilted that small chin with admirable determination.

He paused. Did his heart just hitch? Maybe it was that sexy scent that enveloped her like an intoxicating shield. Whatever it was, she had hit him like some sort of kryptonite, quietly and effectively crippling him.

He paused, took a breath and looked her right in the eyes.

“You’re on.”

Chapter 3

W
hoever had invented the handshake to seal business transactions should be praised.

Tamara had shaken many hands as a business owner, but dare she say that this unique sensation was a first for her? When her hand touched Grant’s to seal their bet, there had been an immediate response from her nervous system. How could a stranger’s touch elicit such strong energy? She couldn’t understand it, but she wasn’t complaining, either.

Because really, what could cause the shake-up that now made her feel like a high schooler with a crush? Maybe she should stop looking into those hooded, dark brown eyes that seemed to shutter emotions from the world. Maybe she should stop admiring the angular lines of his face that were anchored by his square jaw. Maybe her gaze shouldn’t hover and come to rest on his naturally pouty lips with a masculine wide flair. The man, physically, was the total package.

“Mrs. Wendell—”

“I’m just Miss. No mister in sight—not that I’m looking.” She hacked out a hoarse laugh. “And it’s Tamara. Friends call me Tammy or the Time Bomb. Well—” She quickly shut her mouth.

She felt herself blushing, and she couldn’t believe that she had told him that her nickname was the Time Bomb. Now he probably thought she was a bit nutty with major personality issues.

The two men who had walked in with Grant finally made their way over to where they stood.

“Tamara, this is Roy Hadfield. He is my computer design specialist. This is Deetz Norton, my graphic design specialist.”

“Nice to meet you.” Tamara shook their hands, not worried that she’d have the same reaction with the two younger men. And she certainly was not disappointed when her response at shaking their hands was like a flat line on an EKG machine.

“You’re joining us?” Hadfield asked. He looked over at his boss for confirmation. His clean-cut appearance and young face made him look vulnerable. Clearly, he cared what his boss thought, considering how carefully and measuredly he spoke.

“Yes. She’ll be playing with Norton.”

Norton looked as if he wanted to reject being her partner. Even though he didn’t say anything, he gave a slight shake of his head. A red blush suffused his cheeks, adding another layer of vivid color to his ruddy complexion and his bright red hair.

“Problem?” Grant looked at his employee.

“Don’t worry. We’ll kick their butt,” Tamara said, attempting to alleviate the tension with bravado. She didn’t need the employees turning on her, especially since these might be the same men working with her teens.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Norton muttered. He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued to look uncomfortable.

She playfully punched him on the arm and then leaned in close to whisper, “No worries. I know what a butt clencher it can be to spend the day with the boss.”

He arched back to bark out a hearty laugh.

In a snap, the tension dissipated like a ghostly vapor.

They headed out to the parking area for the golf carts. Tamara figured that they must look like quite the colorful bunch, armed with sunglasses and toting the cumbersome golf bags.

Clouds gathered overhead in thick billowy shapes of white and gray. Their low presence appeared ominous despite the meteorologist’s forecast of a sunny spring day. The crisp morning light was now muted, taking some of the edge off the rising temperature.

“Do you play often?” Norton asked her, his voice lowered as they walked ahead of Grant and Hadfield.

“Not really,” Tamara hedged. Running the academy didn’t allow for long hours on the golf course, or anywhere else. However, once she’d settled on the idea of using the country club as the location to approach Benson, she had made time to practice. Back in the day, when she’d been in college, she had been an avid golfer. But she’d keep that little nugget of info to herself.

They teed off right on time. The game officially began with a couple of balls from the men heading off on a wayward slant. Slow and steady—her two favorite words—helped her. She swung and sent the ball in a high arc down the center. The good start buoyed her confidence.

“What did you say your last name was?” Grant strolled up next to her.

“Wendell.”

“And you’re a member here?”

She nodded. She didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that he was pulling as much information from her as he could to figure out whom he was dealing with.

“Is your mother Trudy Wendell?”

Tamara almost stumbled. How had he made the connection so quickly?

“Yes.”

“She’s been hounding me at church to hold computer tutorial classes.”

Tamara laughed loudly. “She tried to get me to do that, too. Maybe I should have used her to make my proposal.”

“When I beat you and your new buddy, Norton, you can run home to your mother. You
will
need her to get me to do anything.”

“Oh, so you’re willing to play dirty mind games?”

They locked eyes for a moment before Grant turned away to take his shot.

Grant set up the next shot and hit the ball down the fairway. He didn’t even bother to follow the arc with a gaze. Instead, he tapped in the divot with his heel, adjusted his clothing and put on his shades.

“Not bad. Let’s see if Hadfield can match his boss’s attempt.” Tamara gave a finger wave and a bright smile. She waited for Hadfield to get into position, then sidled close to him. “Don’t let Grant get inside your head,” she whispered.

Hadfield stopped as the club was about to go on the upswing. His look of exasperation tickled her.

On the other hand, Grant glowered. She appreciated the expression since his frustration caused wonderful machinations with his mouth. Would his lips feel as soft as they looked to the touch of her fingers, or to the touch of her lips? She licked her lips as if she could sense the pressure of his mouth closing over hers.

Dang. The man had the power to make her hallucinate. She forced herself to snap out of it, and made her way over to the tee for her shot. She slowly and carefully set up her stance.

“Is this waiting game part of the plan?” Grant interrupted.

“It’s called strategizing.” She framed her gaze with her hand to shield her eyes. “You’ll see why in a second.” She wiggled her hips, keeping her feet apart and anchored. Her hands adjusted their grip around the club, opening and closing until she got it right.

Once her arms and club were in alignment, she moved to the next point. In a smooth, fluid motion, her upper body twisted like a tight coil. Her natural flexibility kicked in. When she reached the point of no return, she unwound with a constrained yet powerful motion. Her golf club followed through, connecting to the small white ball. The solid sound of the impact gave her a heads-up that she had scored a good hit—another one.

Holes three and four passed without any hitches. She’d gotten comfortable among the men, laughing at their jokes and exchanging a few of her own. This chance to meet and get to know the people who could mentor the teens couldn’t have been more valuable. They were out of the corporate offices, away from the formalities that would affect any natural conversation.

Occasionally Tamara egged on Grant and Hadfield. But for the most part, she silently watched him interact with his junior team. His teaching method was patient and encouraged an unhurried approach to the problem.

It took almost an hour before the men loosened up enough around Grant to respond without sounding like robots. What she noticed and admired was the fact that they had started out as two separate teams, but now the junior managers were coaching each other.

Tamara stayed on the outside of the happy trio. Her growing admiration for the way Grant was coaching his employees went only so far. Her mission couldn’t be compromised by her admiration—or by her traitorous body, which seemed to be overdosing on Grant’s sexiness.

To get what she wanted, she had to win this game—nothing less.

Coming to the ninth hole, their scores were close. His continued goading irritated her like a scratchy sweater against her skin. His little annoyances and distractions were causing her to make silly mistakes. She was even more frustrated that she was allowing him to get under her skin.

But what he didn’t know was that working under pressure excited her. And that more than anything,
he
excited her. She gave herself a pep talk.

She wiped away the sprinkle of sweat from her brow. Time to get down to business. She had work to do. Her eyes were on the prize, and the prize was time with Grant Benson. Ten young men waited for good news. She couldn’t fail.

She tried to remember the golf tips she’d known in college.
Was it be one with the ball or with the swing?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grant’s mouth moving. They’d both been filling each other’s ears with trash talk, getting bolder as the hours wore on. She returned her focus to the ball, took a deep breath, drew back the club and exploded with a fast unwind that hit the ball low and straight. Her risky strategy should drop the ball a foot or so from the hole. Her plan was to make this a two-hitter into the hole.

Divine intervention had other plans, however. The ball soared, and with missile precision it hit the green and rolled into the hole. A hole in one.

Tamara couldn’t believe it. She dropped her club and raised her hand in fierce victory.

Norton joined in with the noisy celebration. He whooped and jumped like a skittish colt in wide circles around his boss and colleague. They certainly weren’t expressing sportsmanlike conduct. But this accomplishment was too sweet for a variety of reasons, and Tamara didn’t care about etiquette. Her drive to win was as reckless as her plan to get face time with Grant had been.

Hadfield didn’t look pleased, but he stayed as cool as his boss. Norton had now resorted to a few sloppy cartwheels. This time his teasing was solely at Hadfield’s expense. Tamara guessed the two had a fairly competitive streak between them.

Grant, on the other hand, remained calm. Instead of the grimaces of frustration he’d had the whole game, he simply offered a golf clap or two. Then he approached the ball for his turn and swung. The ball shot straight ahead but then took a sharp veer to the right.

Game over.

“Mr. Benson, I’d say we’ve got a few matters to discuss,” Tamara said with a smile.

“I think after beating me, you can call me Grant.”

“And what do your friends call you?” Tamara asked, feeling bold.

“Are you proposing to be my friend?”

Tamara looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“I’m just curious, that’s all.” She’d hold off on the friendship thing, for the moment.

“Let’s see if we can cure that curiosity. I’m also Grant to my friends—new and old.”

They headed back toward the clubhouse. Their pairing transitioned so that Tamara and Grant were walking together while Hadfield and Norton chatted amicably ahead of them. They walked side by side now, comparing notes about the latest goings-on in the community, the one common denominator between them.

“How come I don’t see you around here?” Grant motioned toward the clubhouse.

“I have a place in the city. I don’t like commuting.”

“I recently bought a place here to get away from the ever-present paparazzi. My parents live with me.”

“Oh, now that’s a twist.” Tamara waited for an explanation. The fact that he lived with his parents was a surprise. He was such a shadowy figure to pin down that picturing him hanging out with Mom and Dad in the family room didn’t fit the image she had of him.

“They came kicking and screaming. I convinced them that the five-bedroom home was all theirs and that I’d move into the guesthouse on the premises.”

“Okay, why on earth do you need such a place?” An over-the-top lifestyle didn’t come to mind when she thought of Grant—not that she was ready to admit that he did dwell on her mind.

“This is a gift I’d promised myself I’d give them from the first day that my company opened. They’ve worked hard, sacrificed and never failed to show their love to my siblings and me. My mother loves to throw parties. She loves having her friends visit and stay. So, I gave her a house that is comfortable and inviting for her to enjoy. Plus it allows my father to disappear into one of the many rooms for his man cave.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“My siblings also pop in with their kids, and believe me, that noisy set can have that house hopping.”

“One day that may be you. When you have a family of your own, you can have it bouncing.”

No way that Grant couldn’t easily find himself a bride. As he’d talked about his parents, he’d revealed how much of a family guy he was. However, she couldn’t picture whom he’d pick as his soul mate. But soaking up his gorgeous features, she had no desire to fill in that mental image, anyway.

Tamara followed Grant to a table that overlooked the course. Hadfield and Norton had disappeared toward the bigger clubhouse, which housed the fancier restaurants. She opted for the simpler fare.

The two restaurants in the smaller clubhouse catered to smaller groups and featured more of a deli menu. Since it was a weekday, the school-aged kids weren’t around, and most of the retired crowd ate at the bigger restaurants, avoiding the sandwiches and deep-fried menu. The place was practically empty.

This venue was quieter, perfect. They could eat and get down to business. All she wanted was the time to deliver her request and get an immediate response. No candlelight suppers, no gourmet dining, no froufrou amenities as if this were a date.

They placed their order at the counter and then headed to the seating area.

Grant pulled out her chair. “Fat chance of me settling down,” he said, resuming the conversation.

“Ever?”

“That’s one thing I know for sure.”

“Why? Because you’re not the type to be taken home to a mother?” Tamara hadn’t expected to get so personal, but she also hadn’t expected him to be so forthright about his private life.

“Something like that. George Clooney is my role model. Eternal bachelor—live long and prosper, I say. Knock on wood.” Grant knocked on the tabletop three times. “He and I are in the same fraternity.”