Authors: Darah Lace
several possibilities, making certain Marcus got an
eyeful in the process. A cluster of balls, mostly
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solids, sat semi-close to the left corner. Surely one
would go in if she hit them hard enough. But the
angle of the shot looked tricky with the white ball
surrounded by others. How was she supposed to get
her fingers in between them?
“Orange ball in the left corner,” she said,
twisting to get the best position.
“Solid or stripe?”
Damn. She had hoped he wouldn’t ask that.
Either was possible. “Solid. I’ve never looked good in
stripes.”
She heard him chuckle as she made her shot.
The white ball hopped over the blue one in front of it
and landed smack in the middle of the cluster. A red
solid raced to the left corner and fell in followed by
the orange one.
Charlotte let out a whoop and spun to find
Marcus, arms folded over his chest, frowning at her.
“What?”
“Are you sure you’ve never played.”
Laughing, she held up her right hand. “I swear.”
His expression remained skeptical as he
unfolded his arms and motioned for her to continue.
Anticipation bubbling inside her, she scanned
the table again. The closest solid was on the other
end with a host of stripes between. But hey, hadn’t
she just worked a miracle?
Her excitement dissolved into disappointment
when the end of her stick grazed the side of the
white ball and sent it spinning in place. “Does that
count?”
“Fortunately for me, it does.” Grinning, he
chalked the end of his stick and moved into position
across from her before she could think to distract
him. “Nine—left side pocket.”
Two balls crashed into the hole in front of her.
Damn. She would have to get busy if she wanted
another turn.
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“Excuse me,” he said beside her. “Twelve—right
corner.”
She stepped back, waited until he was ready to
shoot, then moved in and blew in his ear. He
shivered and shook his head, reminding her of a dog
out of the tub with his hair still damp. He turned a
scolding look on her.
She propped a hip against the table inches from
his. “Hey, a girl has to take every advantage.”
“I’d say you’ve got more than your share.” His
gaze drifted to the open bodice of her gown before
returning to the game.
She smiled to herself and meandered to his
other side, trailing a fingernail down the taut
muscles of his back, causing him to shudder. “You’ve
got a few of your own.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look up. She
pressed further, palming his butt through his jeans.
He jolted upright and pointed to the opposite side of
the table. “You—over there.”
Laughing, Charlotte wandered slowly, weaving
her fingernail over the green felt between balls to
stall his play. On the opposite side she leaned her
stick against the table then braced both hands, the
inside of her wrists forward, on the edge and
balanced her weight on them, thrusting her breasts
forward. He liked them so much, let him have a good
look.
But he wasn’t looking at her breasts. Bent over,
his gaze was level with her hips. She wondered if he
could tell she didn’t have on panties. The way his
green eyes darkened before he looked away, she
thought he might. Oh, this was fun.
He made the shot, sinking the purple-striped
ball, and straightened. “Speaking of advantages, I’ve
often wondered how you fill your days.”
Well, that came out of nowhere. Was he trying
to turn the table on her, distracting her to keep her
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from distracting him? Then it hit her. He’d often
wondered? How often was often? And did he wonder
anything about her other than how she spent her
days? She shook herself mentally. Now was not the
time to get lost in wayward thinking.
She lowered her voice to a purr. “As opposed to
how I spend my nights?”
A telling flush stained his face beneath the tan,
making her smile. “I meant, since you have so many
advantages, what do you do besides Friday morning
story time at the hospital?”
Other than fantasize about you
? “Oh, this and
that.”
“Fourteen—same pocket.” He aimed and tapped
the white ball, which sent the green ball rolling
toward its destination with success. “You obviously
don’t have to, but have you thought about finishing
college?”
“Who says I didn’t?” The question sounded
defensive even to her ears. It was a topic dear to her,
but not one she wanted to share. At least not with
him.
“Did you?”
“Not with Chad if that’s what you mean.”
He pointed to the head of the table. She grabbed
her stick and together they rotated, she to the head,
he to the foot. Shadow and light faded in and out of
the valleys and plains of his upper body as he
moved. She envied them, couldn’t wait for her three
minutes.
“Why not?”
“Huh? Oh, I flunked a few classes.” Most of them
her freshman year when she’d wanted to piss off her
dad for forcing her to major in business.
“Too much partying?”
It didn’t surprise Charlotte that Marcus had
jumped to the same conclusion as everyone else. But
tonight his assumption disappointed her, and she
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felt an overwhelming need to explain. She fought it.
It wouldn’t change anything.
“There was that.” She lifted a shoulder and let it
drop.
His gaze darted to the strap of her gown that
hung low on her arm then shifted back to the table.
“Eleven.” He indicated the pocket to her right with
his stick. “What else was there?”
“I changed my major three times.”
The white ball crashed into the red one, which
banked off the left side, sped for the corner pocket
beside her right hand, and clattered on its way
down. Marcus picked up the chalk and sauntered
toward her. Without instruction, she moved in the
opposite direction around the table.
“Ten.” He nodded toward the corner pocket on
her left.
“This one?” She planted one butt cheek above
the designated pocket and swung a leg up to rest a
foot on the edge of the table. With her knee bent, her
gown barely covered the essentials. In case it wasn’t
enough, she smoothed a hand up her calf and down
her thigh then fingered the ruffled hem.
The heat of his gaze as it journeyed from one
end of her to the other, stopping briefly in strategic
areas, was unmistakable and sent her pulse racing.
She wished he would just forget the damn game and
accept the attraction between them as inevitable. All
this foreplay was great, but she was ready to move
on.
“What did you end up with?”
“Huh?”
“What did you finally major in?”
Damn his stubborn hide. Here she was working
herself up into a fine state of need and he wanted to
talk about education. If he didn’t cave soon, she
would be hard-pressed to get any sleep tonight. “I
thought it was obvious. Sexual Behavior Science.”
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He blinked and shook his head. “Why do you do
that?”
“Do what?”
“Hide behind innuendo.”
She arched her back and angled her shoulders
toward him. “Does it look like I’m hiding anything?”
When he didn’t answer but once more raked her
body with hungry eyes, she added, ”Want to play
hide and seek?”
****
green felt plain, Marcus leaned against the table and
waited for her to return with his prize.
Having stood just about all he could, he had
quickly pocketed the thirteen ball and then the eight
to end the game. He’d wanted to get the
consequences of this foolish wager over so he could
take another cold shower. Hell, he doubted anything
short of throwing himself headfirst in a damned
snow bank would relieve the aching erection behind
his increasingly tight jeans.
He struggled not to cover himself, letting his
arms hang at his sides. He’d given up trying to hide
his condition after the third time he’d caught her
blatant stare. To try now would only call attention to
it.
Bare feet crowded his view of the carpet in front
of him, startling him out of his erotic thoughts. He
tried to ignore the length of her slender legs and the
desire that swamped him to have them wrapped
around his waist as he dragged his tortured gaze
upward. It stalled again at the golden flesh peeking
over the top of her gown.
She stepped between his spread feet, and he
jerked his head back. He’d half expected to see a
satisfied smirk at his obvious condition. Instead, her
top teeth chewed the lush fullness of her bottom lip
and her soft blue eyes held uncertainty. It quickly
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vanished, replaced by the same sensual aggression
he’d seen her use a number of times to put him off.
Marcus took the bowl and set it on the corner of
the table. “You have three minutes.”
She leaned closer, placing both hands on the
table behind him. The beaded tips of her breasts
grazed his chest. Her scent swirled around him.
“You want me to go first? Aren’t you afraid your ice
cream will melt?”
Managing to draw a breath, uneven though it
was, he nodded. “You lost the game, so technically
you would get to break first if we played again.” He
wasn’t about to tell her he might need the ice cream
to cool down after she was through with him.
When she straightened, Marcus braced himself
for her touch. Her soft hands flattened on his chest,
and he nearly jumped out of his skin as they
smoothed a path up and along his shoulders. Her
sweet lips followed, pressing hot kisses in their
wake.
“Complete control,” she murmured and looked
up at him. “We shook on it.”
Control
. The key to proving it was keeping it,
and yet he’d promised to give it. He ground his teeth
and nodded. “You have my word.”
She slid her hands down his chest over his ribs
to splay across his stomach. “There’s a clock over the
bar. Let me know when my time is up.” She tilted
him a sultry smile. “If you can.”
He glanced at the black square on the wall with
big red digital numbers. Eleven seventeen. All he
had to do was focus on the time and he could endure
his debt. Especially when she seemed content to
explore his chest. She hadn’t even tried—
The buttons of his jeans gave way, the loosened
denim dragged open. Cool air hit his straining
erection just before her warm fingers wrapped
around it.
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“Ah, shit.” His gaze swung forward. She was on
her knees. “No, don’—”
Her mouth closed over him.
“Oh, God.”
Hot,
wet,
slow
insertion.
Even
slower
withdrawal. Marcus couldn’t imagine any sweeter
torture. Her tongue circled his head, once, twice, and
he discovered otherwise. He closed his eyes against
the pleasure, but that only intensified it.
Opening them, he focused on the clock rather
than Charlotte and what she was doing to him.
Eleven eighteen. He’d never survive another two
minutes. He had to stop her. Now.
He reached blindly for her as she tugged his
jeans lower. His fingers fanned the sides of her head,
felt the cool strands of her silky hair at their tips
and, of their own accord, thrust deep into the tightly
bound thickness. She gave a soft whimper and
something popped. He looked down to see the gadget
holding her hair back flutter to the floor and her
silvery blonde mane spill around his hands to cover
her face and brush his thighs. A fantasy fulfilled, but
one he couldn’t allow to continue.
Then she cupped his balls, her middle finger
applying gentle pressure behind them. His knees
buckled, and he had to let go of her to grab the edge
of the table. His head fell back as shards of heat