By Hook or By Crook

by Linda Morris

  “Hell, yeah. I know it.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have to worry,” she said.

  He shoved his chair back and rose, extending one hand. “Chalk your cue and put on some more of that lip gloss, woman. I want to find out if it tastes as good as it looks.”

  Her blue eyes darkened. “You’re on.”

  ****

  What had she gotten herself into? Ivy waited for Joe to break the rack. The cocky gleam in his eye had gotten to her and she’d allowed him to goad her into a challenge. If she lost—unlikely, but not impossible, Joe and Pock weren’t bad—she would have to kiss him. And with the electricity that had been zinging between them all night, they wouldn’t stop there. One kiss would lead to another, and an embrace, until they ended up in bed together.

  She wasn’t sure she had the power to resist any longer, or that she wanted to. A pull as sure as gravity seemed to be drawing her and Joe together—the only question was when it would happen, not if. Was she ready for it tonight?

  The clatter of the break drew her attention back to the game. She couldn’t be distracted by the sight of his fine butt bending over the pool table, or the slide of the cue through his strong fingers.

  “One ball in the corner,” he called, and sank it with ease.

  He sank another two solids, including a tricky bank shot in the side pocket, before missing on the seven ball in the corner.

  Then Daisy’s turn came. Her sister didn’t let her down, sinking three balls before she missed. Each team had four balls left on the table. Pock sank two, his big body hunched comically over the cue, relying more on luck than skill.

  Then it was Ivy’s turn.

  She studied the spread. None of the shots would be easy. Most of the remaining stripes huddled near the end rail. Ivy sent the cue ball spinning to kiss the right side of the 12 ball, just enough to spin it into the corner pocket. She moved to the other side of the table, gauging the best remaining shot she had. Probably the nine ball in the corner pocket. A stripe lay between it and the pocket, but with the right kind of English on the ball, she could knock it aside and still sink the stripe. She did.

  Daisy hooted. “Joe, you better hope she takes it easy on you when it comes time to collect on the wager!”

  “It’s not over yet,” Joe said, eyes narrowed.

  Ivy said nothing. Her father had trained her well. Never antagonize an opponent with trash-talking. Let your play speak for you. She lined up two more shots and sank them in rapid succession. All the stripes were gone. That left only the eight ball, lined up on a fairly direct shot to the corner pocket, but hiding behind a couple of other solids. She usually won with finesse, not power, but she broke through the clutter cleanly and sent the eight ball zinging into the pocket.

  “Yes!” Daisy shouted, jumping up to give her sister a hug. “Looks like I’m going to be on top tonight!” she taunted Pock.

  If his sheepish grin indicated anything, Pock didn’t mind. Neither of them noticed the stares from other bar patrons who overheard the boast.

  Joe approached Ivy, his hand extended. “Good game.”

  She shook his hand, glad he made no reference to Daisy’s outburst. She didn’t know how to handle the heated atmosphere between them, and Pock and Daisy’s perpetual public lust only made it worse. He didn’t move away after she released his hand.

  “So you’ve won. What’s your prize going to be?”

  His green eyes glittered. Her pulse pounded, intoxicated by his nearness and the possibilities and pitfalls of claiming her prize. She hadn’t even thought about what forfeit she would demand. On the PA, a soulful old song started, one of her favorites, “Tell It Like It Is,” by the Neville Brothers. It was a welcome change from the country tunes the jukebox had been pumping out all night. Near the cluster of pool tables, couples moved together on a tiny dance floor.

  “Dance with me,” she said on impulse.

  “What? Now?”

  “Sure. I like this song.”

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” he hedged.

  “Too bad. That’s your forfeit.”

  His eyes narrowed as he took her hand. “Come on.”

  They staked out a small corner of the dance floor, settling into a slow rhythm to the accompaniment of the pulsing piano line. Ivy first tried to keep him at arms’ length, but Joe pulled her close until their bodies brushed. Sort of a metaphor for how things had gone since they met, Ivy thought with a trace of panic. She tried to keep him at a distance, but he reeled her in relentlessly, using her desire for him to overcome her doubts.

  “So you like this song?” he asked, speaking softly in her ear.

  The timbre of his low tone sent shivers down her neck. Her breasts brushed against the swell of his chest. The fleeting contact heated her body. She slid one hand slowly from his upper arm to drape loosely around his neck. Her fingertips tangled in his hair.

  “Yes. It has beautiful lyrics.”

  “Oh, yeah? I never paid any attention.”

  They both fell silent and listened to Aaron Neville’s sweet voice imploring his woman to forget her foolish pride and tell him how she felt. The words sent awareness straight to her brain. Her eyes met Joe’s and she knew they were thinking the same thing. The song described them perfectly.

  “You should tell it like it is, Ivy.” She could barely hear his hoarse voice over the music, but she understood him loud and clear. “Do you want me?”

  His honest question demanded an honest answer. She swallowed once and decided to be braver than she felt. “You know I do,” she returned, unable to look away.

  “Are you going to be mine tonight? No changing your mind once we get home?”

  “No changing my mind,” she vowed.

  He pulled her tight and spread his hands across her lower back. Closing her eyes, she moved until her cheek nestled against the warm solidity of his throat. She inhaled the scent of aftershave on his warm skin, savoring the masculine fragrance.

  “Good. Because I’m going to hold you to it.”

  “You won’t have to.”

  Chapter 13

  Regardless of her boldness on the dance floor, by the time they returned to the chalet, nervousness had set in. Pock and Daisy deserted them at the first opportunity. Well, it didn’t matter, Ivy thought, gazing at the fire. She had no intention of backing down from her promise to Joe, but she had hoped to stall a bit. The long drive home in the chilled dark had ruptured the sensual dream world their dance had created. Would they be able to rekindle that spark? Given her current level of anxiety, she doubted it.

  “Hey.” Ivy started when Joe sat beside her, surprised out of her reverie. “I made some coffee,” he said, handing her a mug.

  “You cold?” Joe asked when she shivered.

  Before she could answer, he rose and went rummaging in a wooden chest behind them. He reappeared with a throw, which he draped over both of them. She tried surreptitiously to edge away, to put a little distance between them, but he clamped one arm around her shoulder and pulled her tight. She tensed, but after a few minutes of silence, when he didn’t make another move, she relaxed. His body heat under the throw warmed her.

  “So how is your plan to break up Pock and Daisy going?” he asked, taking a deep draw from his mug before putting it on the nearby table.

  “I didn’t say I wanted to break them up,” she said. “I just don’t want her to marry him.”

  “So, what, you want them to date for all eternity? How is that better than getting married?”

  “For one thing, if they don’t get married, he has no legal claim to her wealth.”

  “I thought you were pretty certain your dad would cut her off if she married him.”

  “Yeah, but there’s still the money in trust,” Ivy said. “Our mother left us some money in a trust fund that we’ll each inherit when we turn thirty-five. Our father can’t touch it.”

  She immediately wished she could call the words back. If Joe knew about her money, how would she ever
know whether he wanted her for herself? Her eyes flew to his face. He wore a thoughtful expression.

  “How much money are we talking about here?”

  His casual question made her heart sink. He reminded her of so many others in her life who had only seen dollar signs when they looked at her. She put her coffee mug on the table with a thud.

  “A good bit of money,” she said. “Ten million, plus some other odds and ends. We also stand to inherit some of the artwork she purchased. Nothing too valuable. A couple of Matisse paintings, but they’re minor early works, before he really developed his style.”

  “Matisse?” he echoed.

  “Yes. He was a post-Impressionist. Well, not really, but they heavily influenced him.”

  Okay, time to quit babbling now. Joe looked shell-shocked. It wouldn’t last. Calculation would take the place of surprise as he weighed how much money she likely stood to inherit and whether he could stay in her life for seven more years to collect on it.

  Not bloody likely, she thought, pressing her lips tight together. She had been through this before, and wasn’t about to go through it again.

  “So Pock and Daisy only have to get by for what, twelve years or so, and then they’ll come into her inheritance.”

  “Yes.” No doubt he would do the same sort of math regarding her, as well. “For what it’s worth, I’m twenty-eight.”

  He looked blank for a moment, and then his face hardened. “For God’s sake, I don’t want your money. Get that through your head, will you? Why are you so convinced that no one could want you for anything other than your money?”

  “Because that’s all anyone ever has been interested in,” she shot back.

  A silence fell, weighted with tension, as his eyes never left hers.

  “I’m interested in this, much more than I care about your goddamned money.”

  Before she could think, he leaned forward to take her mouth in a possessive kiss, sliding his hand beneath the blanket as he did. His hand at the juncture of her legs should have been an invasion, but it was a welcome one. Pushing aside her shock, she tilted her head back to give him access to the silky skin of her throat as he worked his way down with kisses.

  His teeth nipped a tiny morsel of skin at the most vulnerable point of her throat, and she leaned into it. He pulled the throw down, baring the bright fabric of her dress.

  “Get this damn blanket off,” he growled.

  “I was cold,” she reminded him breathlessly.

  “You cold now?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then get it off.”

  Without pause, he lowered the strap of her gown, shoved her bra down, and took her breast into his mouth. Pleasure rocked her. She tensed to keep from crying out as he suckled hard, never letting up. In the cabin, when he’d done this, it had been like being doused in ice water, a shock to her system. She’d pushed him away and put an end to their sexual exploration.

  She wasn’t about to do it again. She couldn’t stop something that felt so instinctively right. Against her leg, she felt his erection. She slid one hand down to grip it through his jeans, and was rewarded by his groan.

  “Good God, you’d better stop that.”

  His desperation thrilled her. She’d never felt sexually in charge before. She could get addicted to it.

  She fumbled for his zipper and button, freeing him from his jeans and slipping her hand inside to the silky-smooth warmth of his penis. She tormented him, as he was doing to her. Within moments, the sounds of his harsh breathing filled the room.

  Eager to give him the hint, she tossed the cover to the floor and grabbed the waistband of his jeans, shoving them past his hips. She caressed his buttocks and then took his hardness in her hand, squeezing and stroking him frenetically.

  He pushed her hand away. “Quit it, or this is going to be over right now.”

  “I want you inside me,” she whispered, embarrassed at her bluntness but beyond subtlety. Her body ached for him. The only relief could come from him, deep inside her.

  He grinned, and his roguish smile nearly made her heart stop. “You got it, sweetie.”

  He reached beneath her wispy skirt and slid her underwear off, tossing the scrap of fabric aside. His hands moved to the nexus of her legs, gently exploring, but it wasn’t enough.

  She lifted her hips, seeking more contact and a firmer touch. He complied, sliding one finger inside her while his thumb caressed her. Moisture flooded from her body, and he swirled it around, preparing her for his inevitable invasion.

  “Oh, God,” she cried, unable to keep silent. This out-of-control feeling scared her. He could coax responses from her body that she couldn’t contain. He fumbled in his back pocket and then donned a condom. Thank God he’d remembered. She was too far gone.

  “What do you want?”

  “You,” she gasped.

  “That’s not what you want. What do you want?”

  “You inside me!”

  He thrust deep inside her. She cried out, not from pain, but from the shock of a pleasure she couldn’t contain. She had never felt so out of control, so raw. The feeling frightened her even as it thrilled her. His green eyes wouldn’t let her escape. She squeezed her eyes shut tight to shield her thoughts, afraid of what he might see if she let him.

  He settled into a shallow rhythm that gave pleasure but promised no satiation. She gripped his buttocks and tried to urge him deeper, faster—anything to break the maddening cycle she found herself caught in.

  He ignored her, snatching her hands and moving them over her head, keeping them in his grasp. She could have pulled her hands free if she really wanted, but her body arching helplessly as she received his thrusts unexpectedly thrilled her.

  Finally, after what seemed like an era, he moved deeper, giving her the long, sure thrusts she craved. She arched into them. His breath sawed in and out. Without warning, the crisis hit her, tearing a cry from her against her own volition. The throbs and pulses of pleasure went on and on, until she collapsed, limp and gasping against the sofa.

  Joe slowly lowered her hands, placing tender kisses along her arms as he did so. His gentleness was shot through with tension, and Ivy realized that he wasn’t finished.

  Her eyes slowly opened to meet his gaze. Her breath caught at what she saw there—some indecipherable mix of tenderness, lust, and uncertainty.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Never better,” she said with a slow smile.

  His lips curved in response. “Good. I thought maybe I got a little too rough there for a minute.”

  Without breaking their connection, he levered himself up, taking her with him until he sat upright. He pulled her astride him and ran his hands down her back, caressing her hips and thighs. His tenderness soothed her. Pushing past her lassitude, she began a slow, teasing rhythm intended to torment him as he’d tortured her. Soon his tenderness faded and he gripped her hips, trying to urge her along.

  Delighting in the opportunity to dish him out some of his own medicine, she resisted at first, enjoying the play of frustrated lust on his face. But her own pleasure started, unbelievably, to build again, and she lost the patience for games. Tilting her head back and closing her eyes, she settled in, moving powerfully atop him, taking satisfaction in his harsh breathing. All too soon she plunged into the abyss again, but this time Joe fell with her, gripping her hips and groaning as he poured into her.

  ****

  Ivy didn’t seem to be meeting his eyes, but Joe was so damn happy, he didn’t care. He let her hide her face against his chest, stroking the softness of her hair tumbling around her shoulders. He let his palms drift down her sides, smiling as she flinched when his fingertips grazed her ribs.

  “Ticklish?” he asked.

  “Hmmm.”

  That sounded like assent, and the utterance had such a satisfied lazy quality that he took it as a great compliment. Unwilling to disturb the peace of the moment by tickling her again, he moved his hands to safer territory, l
etting them bracket her hips. His fingers grazed the cleft at the top of her buttocks, and a soft sigh escaped Ivy. His body softened and retreated from hers, but it didn’t affect their other connection—the fragile bond that seemed to have formed between them, at least for the moment.

  The bond snapped when Ivy raised her head, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I guess I’d better get back to my room,” she said in a near-whisper, adjusting the top of her dress as she spoke. He caught a tantalizingly brief glimpse of her lovely breasts, distracting him from her words.

  “Or we could go to mine,” he suggested softly, flicking the strap of her dress. “I’ve got a king-sized bed.”

  “No, I want to go to mine. By myself,” she emphasized.

  “By yourself?” Her cool tone finally penetrated his pleasured-addled brain. “What the hell for?”

  She stiffened, and then moved off him, turning her back to retrieve her underwear.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be together.” She peered over one shoulder and waved her hand around, encompassing the two of them and what they’d just done, he guessed. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m not sure what we’re doing here.”

  “Jesus.” She seemed to have the magic touch when it came to pissing him off. Of course, she also seemed to have the magic touch when it came to making his eyes roll back in his head from pleasure. It was a tradeoff, he supposed. “Here you go again. Can’t you let yourself relax and enjoy yourself for once? You seemed to be doing a pretty good job of that a few minutes ago.”

  “Stop doing that!” Her eyes flashed as she jerked on her underwear. In her haste, she missed the opening and stumbled momentarily before righting herself. “Stop making everything about sex!”

  “Stop making nothing about sex!” he shot back. “You would like to pretend it doesn’t exist, except when you’re doing it, when you seem to like it pretty well. But the rest of the time, a relationship to you is something you balance out on a spreadsheet.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  More or less fully dressed once again, she faced him, arms crossed and face taut with anger, while here he sat like a jerk, with his pants shoved around his hips, still wearing a condom.