compartment holstered the sleek little Kahr PM40 micro-compact double-action pistol she’d cleared through British security. Others housed a spare ammo clip, her ID and credit cards and a tube of lip-gloss. A matching ball cap also studded with crystals shaded her face and contained her hair in a loose ponytail.
With her golf bag slung over her shoulder, Dayna left her two-room suite and walked to the elevators. After today she’d leave her equipment at the clubhouse storage facility for cleaning and repair. For now, its weight settled over her shoulder like an old familiar harness.
Although the hotel was a local landmark and one of the oldest in St. Andrews, it had been well maintained and modernized over the years. The elevator that ferried Dayna down four floors did so with quiet efficiency.
The lobby was a masterpiece of Victorian grandeur. High ceilings and dark paneling provided the perfect backdrop for red-tufted settees and antique sporting prints. A smoking room, book-lined library and glassed-in conservatory allowed guests to mix and mingle in the public rooms.
And mingle they did. Women dominated the milling crowd. Female corporate execs, commercial airline pilots, TV personalities, even a member of the Danish parliament—all had jumped at the chance to play with the great women golfers from around the world.
A good number of sportscasters and TV crews were also present, conducting impromptu interviews prior to tomorrow’s official media day. They’d come armed with the printed list of participants and pounced on the Olympic gold medalist the moment she appeared.
“Dayna! Dayna! Over here!”
She gave two interviews, greeted a number of friends and acquaintances and autographed a program for one of the bellmen before finally making it to the hotel entrance.
The view through the revolving glass door was enough to take any golfer’s breath away. Directly across the cobbled street lay the undulating fairways, man-eating gorse and killer sand traps of the fabled Old Course, known throughout the world as the Home of Golf. The gray granite bulk of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club ruled over the first tee with majestic splendor. Both course and clubhouse were framed by the salt marshes and sparkling waters of St. Andrews Bay.
Her gaze fixed on the panoramic vista, Dayna pushed through the revolving door and inadvertently plowed into a group of passersby.
“Excuse me. I wasn’t looking…”
The rest of the apology stuck in her throat.
Well, hell! Her first day in St. Andrews and she had to run smack into the one man she’d hoped to avoid.
“Dayna! I’ll be damned.”
An all-too-familiar grin hiked up the corners of his mouth. Before she realized his intent, he hooked an arm around her waist and swooped in for a kiss.
His mouth covered hers, and for an instant, for one searing instant, the years rolled back. She was in college again. So hungry for this man she couldn’t get enough of him, in or out of bed. So much in love she wanted the whole world to share her joy.
Reality returned with a crash. Remembering the bitterness that had followed her joy, Dayna jerked out of Luke Harper’s arms.
She was even more vibrant than he remembered.
The realization slammed into Luke as the woman he’d once thought he’d spend the rest of his life with backed away from him.
Her face was thinner than in their college days, her honey-colored hair lighter than he remembered. But her skin still had that healthy glow that came from regular exercise and hours spent outdoors while her eyes…
Christ, those eyes! How many times had Luke lost himself in their shimmering green depths? They’d been filled with such love and laughter then.
They weren’t now. Flashing from fury to disdain in a single heartbeat, they raked him from head to toe.
“Harper.”
That was it. No “Hey, Luke. Been a long time. Hope you finally got your head screwed on semistraight.”
“Hello, Pud.”
The pet name sent red flags into her cheeks, but before she could slice into him for using it, one of his buddies jabbed him in the ribs.
“Jeez, Harper, introduce us. Not that you need any introduction, Ms. Duncan.” Elbowing Luke aside, the lanky American thrust out his hand. “I was on leave in Athens during the last Olympics and saw you paddle across the finish line for gold. The name’s Alan. Alan Parks.”
She shook his hand and relaxed into a smile, looking so much like the woman Luke had fallen for that his stomach pitched into a ninety-degree roll.
“These clowns,” Parks said, “are Gabe, Tucker and Dweeb.”
“Dweeb?”
“His call sign. Short for dumb-ass dweeber, after he missed a direct approach to a well-lit runway at a location that shall remain nameless.”
“So you’re all flyboys?”
“We are,” Parks confirmed. “We’re on an exchange tour, attached to RAF Leuchars.”
By now the response was so automatic that it sounded authentic even to their ears.
“We saw some of the advance PR on TV about the women’s Pro-Am International,” Parks said, eyeing her golf bag. “I didn’t know you were competing in it, though.”
“I’m a last-minute entrant. And I’d better hustle over to the driving range if I want to make it past the qualifying round. Nice meeting you all.”
When she turned to Luke, all he got was a cool nod. He should have let it go with that. Like a fool, he didn’t.
“Good to see you, Dayna.”
“Sorry I can’t say the same.”
She walked off without a backward glance, leaving a stone-cold silence in her wake. Dweeb broke it with a low whistle.
“Damn, Harper. What did you do to the woman?”
Parks jumped in with a reply. “You haven’t heard the story? Dayna Duncan and our boy here used to get all hot and heavy.”
“No kidding?” Eyes wide, Dweeb followed her progress as she crossed the cobbled street. “What happened?”
“Woman got smart and dumped him. Best I recall, it happened a few months before the 2004 Olympics. That right, Harper?”
Parks had the year right but the rest of it wrong. Luke didn’t bother to correct him.
Like a radar lock, his gaze stayed fixed on Dayna’s hip-swinging stride, trim rear and long legs. All the while his mind churned up memories of how those legs used to hook around his.
They’d met during the last half of his senior year at the University of Colorado. Luke was in air force ROTC and had been selected for pilot training. Dayna was a junior. A star athlete in both golf and kayaking, she was already a prime contender for the Olympic kayaking team.
They’d dated throughout the spring and into the summer, while Luke waited for an undergraduate pilot training slot to open up. Just the memory of those long, hot days and even hotter nights had him sweating under his leather bomber jacket.
Dayna began her senior year about the time Luke left for pilot training at Columbus AFB, Mississippi. They continued a long-distance love affair throughout the fall and into the winter—until Dayna’s coach contacted Luke and bluntly informed him that she stood to lose both her scholarships and her spot on the Olympic team if she didn’t cut out the cross-country commuting and focus.
Luke knew how desperately she wanted to make the team. He also knew he was about to enter the most intensive phase of