Eric had never had to work so hard to hold a woman’s attention. Frustrated by his failure, he glanced at Holly and then turned his Corvette down Carolina Beach Road, heading toward her house. He hoped the reporter wasn’t waiting for them because another kiss wasn’t on his agenda. Too risky, and he wasn’t into risky ventures.

      During dinner, he’d exhausted every topic of conversation from weather to work to Holly’s brothers. They’d found very little common ground other than the physical awareness between them that each seemed determined to ignore.

      His mother had planned the auction package and the dates behind his back, but she’d done so knowing his preference for quiet restaurants, spectacular food, a good wine list and exemplary service. Clearly those qualities didn’t rate as high on Holly’s list.

      Would he have to pull another tourist attraction out of his hat to salvage the evening? And what did he know about tourist spots except whether they were a good financial risk when the owners submitted loan applications?

      Holly straightened abruptly, her gaze fastening on the brightly lit miniature golf place. She hadn’t shown that much animation all night. Before he could think twice Eric steered his car off the highway, found a spot in the gravel lot and killed the engine.

      Holly eyed him as if he’d lost his mind. “I don’t remember this being part of your date package.”

      “Neither was the haunted theater tour.” He thrust open his door. By the time he rounded the hood, Holly waited for him on the sidewalk. She’d worn another figure-concealing outfit tonight, but it didn’t matter how loosely the paisley skirt and blue-green top fit. He’d seen the generous curves Holly concealed. Unfortunately. It didn’t help that the irregular skirt hem fluttered around her legs in the balmy evening breeze, reminding him exactly how long and sleekly muscled her limbs were.

      “I’m going to kick your butt, you know. I’m good.”

      The excitement shining in her eyes hit him hard and fast. He blamed the swift adrenaline rush on his competitive nature. “Don’t issue challenges you can’t back up, Ms. Prescott.”

      He paid the fee, chose a ball and selected a club. Holly took the putter away from him and wiggled her fingers at the clerk behind the counter. The guy dragged two clubs with longer shafts from under the counter. That Holly knew the guy had a secret stash made Eric wonder how often she’d frequented the place.

      Holly handed Eric a putter. “Have you ever played?”

      No, but he played golf and he putted well. How hard could miniature golf be? Too bad he didn’t have his custom-fitted clubs with him. “Don’t worry about me.”

      “Would you care to make a wager?”

      He rarely gambled. “Like what?”

      “If I win, we substitute one of my favorite restaurants for one of the stuffy places on your list.”

      “You didn’t enjoy tonight’s meal?”

      She wrinkled her nose. “The food was good, but every time I took a sip of wine the waiter rushed forward to refill my glass. It got to the point where I didn’t want to drink anything because it made extra work for him, and I had no idea how much I’d had to drink.”

      “He gave exceptionally good service and was rewarded for it. That’s his job.”

      “Good or not, it’s disconcerting to know someone is watching your every move. Jeez, what if I’d picked up the wrong fork?” She lined up her putt and talked right through it. “And what if you and I had been on a hot date and we wanted to be alone? Having Don hover, however nice and attentive he was, was like having a chaperone.”

      Eric had never had the kind of date she described. Even if he’d known the woman in question would end the evening in his bed, he had never noticed or minded the interruptions. He never allowed himself to become that needy for a woman’s attentions. And he never would.

      “How can you relax and enjoy your meal when the whole point of eating in a place like that is being seen by the right people?” Holly’s ball rattled in the cup.

      Eric frowned at the L-shaped green. Her statements had surprised him so much he’d forgotten to study her technique. “There isn’t a straight shot. How did you make a hole in one?”

      She shrugged. “Physics. You have to bank the ball off the right spot in the wall. Like billiards.”

      Billiards he understood. He lined up, tapped the ball and missed the cup by inches. Holly’s lipstick-free lips curved. Had he ever dated a woman who didn’t excuse herself immediately after the meal to freshen her makeup? Holly hadn’t bothered. She’d been too eager to leave the restaurant. And him?

      Eric gritted his teeth, studied the artificial turf, lined up and then stroked again. And missed.

      “Don’t give up now. It’s a par three,” she said too cheerfully, clearly anticipating a victory. The constant awareness of her made concentrating difficult, but he focused and made the shot. “Eric, relax. It’s just a game.”

      Just a game. Clearly, Holly didn’t remember from their basketball games how badly he hated to lose.

      Seventeen holes later, she’d trounced him, truly and embarrassingly trounced him, and her grin as she bounced back to the car was wide enough to drive a truck through.

      “You made that look easy,” he said before turning the key in the ignition.

      “And I’m sure you’ve heard the cliché, ‘Appearances can be deceiving.’ This is the course closest to my house, so it’s familiar terrain. How else would I know Ira kept the good clubs behind the counter?”

      Card shark. Pool shark. Was there such thing as a miniature golf shark? Because without a doubt he’d been hustled, and he had only himself to blame. He’d underestimated Holly.