her, one that had
her wincing. “You’ll have to forgive me, Tony, my manners have
truly gone begging. You’re not going to sit in the stands tomorrow
night. No way. I simply insist that you and Rex be my guests in my
owner’s suite.” She let out an awkward laugh, fidgeting with her
chopsticks. “I’m sure you wouldn’t make me sit down in a grandstand
at Blackhampton, now would you?”
Tony gave her another smile, one so warm and
engaging that it made her head go a bit wooly. Well, maybe that was
the beer on top of the bourbon she’d imbibed back at the house, but
she didn’t think so. That would be much too easy an
answer.
“No worries about that, Martha. You’ve got a
standing offer to join me in my suite at Fenton Park, and I hope
you’ll take me up on it soon. I’d love to show you around London. I
mean that.”
His eyes went dark and smoky, like they had
after she’d teased him about being a working class bloke. This
time, though, she didn’t think he was annoyed.
She slowly nodded. “You never know.”
London, one of her favorite cities and
sometime home of first-class asshole Colton Butler. He’d been in
retreat there since his fall from grace last year.
As the waiter began bringing the food, she
watched Tony from under her eyelashes, trying to gauge his true
intent. Interviewing one of the world’s biggest golf stars by day
and being squired around London by Tony Branch by night—now that
sounded like a big slice of hog heaven, and a mighty powerful
temptation to a lonely southern girl.
CHAPTER NINE
Martha watched her latest Big Problem
demolish his plate of Lo Mein as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
“Food’s not too bad, huh, Tony?” she teased.
And wasn’t his first name just starting to
slide off her tongue as smooth as silk? It surprised her how easy
he was to be around, even though the man was trying to snatch her
team.
“Bloody good, I’d call it,” Tony said, adding
yet another spoonful to his plate. “It reminds me of a little spot
my family used to go to when I was a young lad. The owner could
barely speak a word of English, but he treated everybody like
royalty no matter if you were a ditch digger or a banker. And the
food was as good as this.”
Martha pushed her plate to the side and
rested her elbows on the table, chin propped in the palms of her
hands. God, he was one handsome dude. She had a sudden, ridiculous
urge to run her fingers through that wavy hair, and let her hand
drift over the masculine stubble on his chin. Not exactly standard
business behavior on her part, but she was as red-blooded as any
healthy American female when it came to hot guys.
“What did your father do?” she asked, curious
to know more about him. “I seem to recall reading he was a coal
miner?”
Tony threw her a sharp, assessing glance.
“No, Dad worked on the docks his entire life, from the time he was
fifteen. But it’s true that we come from miner stock. In fact, he
was the only one of his brothers not to work in the mines. Dad made
it his life’s mission to make sure his sons never went underground,
thank God.”
“Is he still alive?” she asked softly. Given
how wrenching her own father’s death had been, she didn’t want to
probe too deeply.
Tony gave a snort. “Oh, hell, yeah. He’s a
tough old bastard. Seventy-eight next month.”
The sarcastic, almost harsh inflection in his
voice prompted Martha to drop that particular subject. “What about
your mother?”
“She’s in a care facility.”
He lowered his head as he took another
mouthful of food, eating as if he was on auto-pilot. He also fell
silent, sending out waves of back off . The change startled
her, since he’d been both charming and talkative before now,
telling one funny story after another about his trials and
tribulations in the soccer world.
Martha knew she should mind her own beeswax,
but her curiosity about his life—his personal life—got the better
of her. “Brothers and
her wincing. “You’ll have to forgive me, Tony, my manners have
truly gone begging. You’re not going to sit in the stands tomorrow
night. No way. I simply insist that you and Rex be my guests in my
owner’s suite.” She let out an awkward laugh, fidgeting with her
chopsticks. “I’m sure you wouldn’t make me sit down in a grandstand
at Blackhampton, now would you?”
Tony gave her another smile, one so warm and
engaging that it made her head go a bit wooly. Well, maybe that was
the beer on top of the bourbon she’d imbibed back at the house, but
she didn’t think so. That would be much too easy an
answer.
“No worries about that, Martha. You’ve got a
standing offer to join me in my suite at Fenton Park, and I hope
you’ll take me up on it soon. I’d love to show you around London. I
mean that.”
His eyes went dark and smoky, like they had
after she’d teased him about being a working class bloke. This
time, though, she didn’t think he was annoyed.
She slowly nodded. “You never know.”
London, one of her favorite cities and
sometime home of first-class asshole Colton Butler. He’d been in
retreat there since his fall from grace last year.
As the waiter began bringing the food, she
watched Tony from under her eyelashes, trying to gauge his true
intent. Interviewing one of the world’s biggest golf stars by day
and being squired around London by Tony Branch by night—now that
sounded like a big slice of hog heaven, and a mighty powerful
temptation to a lonely southern girl.
CHAPTER NINE
Martha watched her latest Big Problem
demolish his plate of Lo Mein as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
“Food’s not too bad, huh, Tony?” she teased.
And wasn’t his first name just starting to
slide off her tongue as smooth as silk? It surprised her how easy
he was to be around, even though the man was trying to snatch her
team.
“Bloody good, I’d call it,” Tony said, adding
yet another spoonful to his plate. “It reminds me of a little spot
my family used to go to when I was a young lad. The owner could
barely speak a word of English, but he treated everybody like
royalty no matter if you were a ditch digger or a banker. And the
food was as good as this.”
Martha pushed her plate to the side and
rested her elbows on the table, chin propped in the palms of her
hands. God, he was one handsome dude. She had a sudden, ridiculous
urge to run her fingers through that wavy hair, and let her hand
drift over the masculine stubble on his chin. Not exactly standard
business behavior on her part, but she was as red-blooded as any
healthy American female when it came to hot guys.
“What did your father do?” she asked, curious
to know more about him. “I seem to recall reading he was a coal
miner?”
Tony threw her a sharp, assessing glance.
“No, Dad worked on the docks his entire life, from the time he was
fifteen. But it’s true that we come from miner stock. In fact, he
was the only one of his brothers not to work in the mines. Dad made
it his life’s mission to make sure his sons never went underground,
thank God.”
“Is he still alive?” she asked softly. Given
how wrenching her own father’s death had been, she didn’t want to
probe too deeply.
Tony gave a snort. “Oh, hell, yeah. He’s a
tough old bastard. Seventy-eight next month.”
The sarcastic, almost harsh inflection in his
voice prompted Martha to drop that particular subject. “What about
your mother?”
“She’s in a care facility.”
He lowered his head as he took another
mouthful of food, eating as if he was on auto-pilot. He also fell
silent, sending out waves of back off . The change startled
her, since he’d been both charming and talkative before now,
telling one funny story after another about his trials and
tribulations in the soccer world.
Martha knew she should mind her own beeswax,
but her curiosity about his life—his personal life—got the better
of her. “Brothers and
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