“Have you even played this before?” he muttered to her under his breath.
A slow, canary-eating grin spread across her face, and this time, when she peeked up at him, she had a sly, smug look in her eyes.
Huh. The woman was full of surprises. He tilted back his head and studied her for a moment, not quite sure what to make of this new information. She had that same big-eyed innocence about her, but now her golden brown eyes sparked with a bit of devilry and there was self-satisfaction in her grin.
He liked this combination of sweet and sassy, he decided.
“You can take the first shot,” Giles said, holding out a cue to Derrick.
Derrick passed it to Kyra. “Ladies first.”
Kyra was still biting back a grin but now she rearranged her face into something more akin to vacant confusion. “Oh… thanks…”
“You ever play this game before, honey?” Giles asked.
Her lips twitched as if she was having a hard time holding back a laugh. “Nooooo….” she said slowly, as if thinking hard. “I don’t think I ever have. I played croquet once. Is it similar?”
Rat-Face guffawed and covered poorly by faking a cough. Derrick almost laughed, too, but then Kyra was moving to the head of the table, and her look of confusion and distress was so convincing and her grip on the cue so ludicrously loose—as if she expected it to bite her—some of his confidence slipped. Maybe she wasn’t faking it. Oh, dear God, had the woman never played pool before?
Kyra bent over the table, arms akimbo. She couldn’t seem to figure out the stick—she lifted it into position and nearly skewered herself with the far end. She got that end off to the side where it belonged and then the tip was down below the surface of the table. She awkwardly wrestled with the stick, trying to find a comfortable position.
“Here, sweetheart, let me help you,” offered Giles solicitously. He got behind Kyra and reached around to help her—no doubt pressing his crotch against her backside.
Derrick shifted uncomfortably at that thought, a kind of possessive tension winding through him. Of their own accord, his hands tightened into fists, and he straightened up from the counter. Giles glanced at him in alarm and stepped away from Kyra.
Kyra made a valiant attempt to strike the balls with the stick, but her aim was off. The cue struck the ball a glancing blow that set it spiraling off at a right angle to the ball formation in the center of the table.
“Oh, bad luck,” said Giles. He fetched back the white ball and set it on the starting point. “Here… since you’re new at this, why don’t you try again.” He smirked at Derrick and moved behind Kyra again. Unabashedly, he stepped in close and reached around to help her hold the cue, guiding her movements. “Like this, back and forth, nice and steady.” He suggestively helped Kyra make a few practice strokes.
Derrick knew exactly what the asshole was doing—he was trying to distract Kyra by coming on to her and to cause Derrick to lose focus by stoking his jealously. Ha! The joke was on him; Kyra wasn’t his woman.
Why, then, did watching the fat slob rub up against her while simulating long, slow thrusting movements with the stick make him want to snap the bastard’s neck?
This time, with Giles’s hands guiding her, Kyra was able to hit the ball a weak, direct hit that pushed it forward just enough to tap the racked balls. They jiggled slightly but didn’t break.
“Awww, well, that was a good try,” said Giles condescendingly, patting Kyra on the shoulder.
He motioned for Rat-Face to proceed. Rat-Face managed a clean break, pocketing two balls. He missed his next shot and play passed to Derrick.
Derrick sucked in a breath and forced himself to concentrate. It didn’t matter if Kyra was a terrible player; he could still beat the two men by himself. In fact, he told himself, Kyra’s terrible playing was a boon. The worse she played, the better for him. It would lull the other men into a false confidence, and they’d bet more.
Derrick leaned over the table and sank an easy shot. If he played too badly, it would be a dead giveaway to the other men that he was hustling them. He had to make them think he was a middling player who mistook the occasional lucky shot for skill.
He sank another shot and flashed a cocky grin at Giles, who was watching him intently, studying his movements. Derrick missed his next shot, carefully sending the ten ball ricocheting away from the pocket. “Damn!” he swore for show. “I think this table is warped.”
“Awww, bad luck,” said Rat-Face with a sneer.
Play passed to Giles. He leaned over the table, looked at Kyra, wiggled his fanny theatrically, and winked at her. A slow grin of reluctant amusement spread across her face.
“Awww, that’s what I like to see,” Giles said as he effortlessly sank the shot without looking. “A smile on the face of a pretty woman.”
Kyra blushed.
Derrick’s hands clenched into fists. The game was fast losing its entertainment value.
She thought she might pee her pants from trying to hold back her laughter. Derrick’s face… dear God, the man looked like he was about to have a coronary.
Kyra eased back the stick and lined up the shot. They had been playing for hours, dancing around the two rowdies until a small fortune in bets had piled up. Now, it was the final shot of the game. Three difficult shots had been left when her turn came. She’d already sank two of them. She checked her aim and then looked up and locked eyes with Derrick as she made the shot without looking. Derrick’s eyes widened, and she couldn’t hide a self-satisfied grin at how surprised he looked. Then his surprise changed to something else—either exasperation or outrage. She wasn’t quite sure what the dark, piercing stare and set jaw meant.
“Hey, you cheated!” the one called Smith howled.
Giles, who had been nothing but sweetness and compliments all night—lightly touching her on the arm, the small of her back, her ass, cracking jokes to make her smile, helping her to improve her aim—threw his stick aside. His face turned a purplish shade of red. “We don’t take kindly to cheaters around here.” He advanced on Kyra. She backed away, reflexively raising her stick defensively.
She hadn’t seen Derrick move, but in one long stride he stepped protectively in front of her. He grabbed Giles by his shirt front and effortlessly lifted the heavy-set man up. Giles’s feet, off the floor by a good six inches, kicked and waved uselessly as he spluttered in outrage. Derrick tossed him aside, and Giles sailed over the pool table and crashed to the floor on the other side.
The bar erupted in pandemonium. Kyra wasn’t sure what happened next—everything seemed to happen at once. All around her people jumped to their feet, flipping tables in the process. Beer mugs flew through the air and smashed around her. There was yelling and breaking glass and the crack of wood as someone broke a chair across someone else’s back.
Smith hung back against the wall as three big men launched themselves at Derrick. “Look out!” Kyra cried.
The one on Derrick’s left managed a solid punch to Derrick’s ribs as Derrick was distracted by the attack coming from his right. A third man rushed Derrick straight on, though it looked more like he was hugging Derrick than fighting him for all the good the small man’s attempts to push, tackle, or otherwise dislodge Derrick did.
Derrick grunted as one of the assailants landed a blow and then retaliated by delivering a devastating blow to the left attacker’s nose with his elbow. Kyra winced as bone crunched and blood spurted everywhere. The man howled in pain and fell back, clutching at his face.
Derrick then used the same arm to ram his fist into the attacker on the right’s face. Bone crunched there, too, but then things got very confusing because three other people rushed at Derrick, mobbing him and sending him stumbling backwards. Kyra didn’t see much after that because someone threw a beer mug at her, and she just barely ducked out of the way as it sailed past her head. It smashed into the wall above her and sprayed her with broken glass. Then two people rushed at her. She lifted her pool cue and held it
like a bat, elbows bent, feet wide apart, knees soft. She swung hard, hitting one of the attackers a stinging blow to the side of the head. In one fluid motion, she turned slightly and kicked the other in the crotch.
Several more people rushed at Kyra. They were big—very big. She softened her knees and lifted her cue, preparing to swing for all she was worth. It might not be much, but at least she’d go down fighting.
Then Derrick was there, his big arms swinging left, right, left, right, and everyone around him was laid out flat. At the sight of the big man effortlessly flattening his opposition, the rest of the patrons scattered.
Kyra could only stare, awe-struck by the effortless grace with which he moved. Even more amazingly, he’d punched every single one of those men with calm, cool, effortless detachment, as if he’d been moving boxes or polishing his gun. It almost looked like he was having fun. She wasn’t even ashamed of the frisson of arousal coiling tightly inside her—he was a God damn work of art when he moved.
Derrick glanced over his should at her. She must have still been staring at him with a dopey look because he broke into a grin, half arrogant, male self-satisfaction, half amusement. Then his look changed to one of alarm. “Look out!” he shouted.
Chapter Ten
Two rowdies rushed at Kyra from behind. Derrick grabbed her and shoved her out of the way. He threw out a fist and caught one of the men squarely in the jaw, but the other barreled into him, knocking him over. Derrick landed hard on his back, the breath knocked out of him. The rowdie raised a fist, and Derrick raised an arm to block the blow. There was a sharp CRACK! Splinters of wood flew everywhere and then, with a surprised expression, the man toppled over. Kyra stood behind him, the remnants of a shattered pool cue in her hands. Apparently, she’d broken the stick across the back of his head. She grinned at Derrick. He shook his head in amazement. She certainly didn’t seem all that shy anymore.
She held out a hand, and he let her help him up. The fight was dying down. It was time to make their exit before station security arrived. He grabbed Kyra’s arm and steered her toward the exit. “Let’s go.” He paused long enough to collect their winnings from the edge of the pool table, handing half to her. Then, without pause, he stepped over the groaning, prostrate form of Rat-Face and headed for the door. They stepped out onto the busy street and ducked their heads as security officers went racing past.
Kyra giggled, and Derrick frowned in confusion. Most women wouldn’t find being the center of a barroom brawl something to laugh about. But her soft brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and she wore that canary-eating grin again. She looked delighted—like she was having fun.
“You had me worried at first,” he said, half annoyed, half relieved. “Thought you were as bad at pool as you are at walking without tripping over your feet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Give me a little credit—there ain’t nothing to do on New Trinidad but play pool.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know how you managed to keep your face from giving up the jig. It usually broadcasts every little thing you’re thinking.” In fact, there had been one moment during the fray when he was quite sure she’d been staring at him with unrestrained lust. His groin tightened at the thought. He wasn’t quite sure what had turned her on so, but it was a topic he fully intended to revisit as soon as they were no longer in danger of being arrested.
Kyra’s smile widened. “Well, I just had to make sure I wasn’t thinking anything.”
Derrick snorted with amusement. “Well, it worked. You even had me fooled.”
There was shouting behind them and the sound of running feet. Derrick pulled Kyra down a side street and they pressed themselves against the wall as several law officers raced past.
“I think it’s time to head back to the ship,” Derrick said grimly.
Kyra nodded earnestly, her eyes wide. The shy, timid women he knew was back—except now that he knew better, he could see the faint shadow of a smile in her tightly compressed lips. She wasn’t scared—she was trying not to laugh. He smothered a laugh of his own and shook his head in wry amusement.
He jerked his head toward the main street and then set off for the transport hanger. He kept a sharp ear and a sharp eye out for any more security officers as they zig-zagged through the marketplace. They made it back to the hanger without incident and boarded the Mercy. Once inside, Derrick closed the door and sighed in relief. Then, without really thinking, he crossed the cargo bay and headed down the main hall; Kyra followed beside him without a word.
“I take it you aren’t scared of me anymore,” he said, glancing down at her.
“I was never scared,” she muttered with a scowl. “I was nervous. You’re intimidating.”
Without specifically meaning to, he turned down the corridor to the passenger quarters and came to a stop in front of Kyra’s quarters. He turned to face her and then paused awkwardly, waiting for her to say something. She’d been darting side-long assessing glances at him ever since they’d left the alley and headed for the Mercy. Unless he greatly missed the mark, he was pretty sure she was interested in having sex. And he definitely wanted her. That smug look she’d given him as she’d sank the winning shot was one of the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life.
However, rather than inviting him in, she just stood there, looking as awkward as he felt, as if she were waiting for him to say something. He hadn’t really planned this, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
The silence stretched out.
Finally, he blurted out, “Want to fuck?”
“Oh God, yes,” she said, visibly relieved.
He smothered another laugh. That was one of things he was fast coming to like about her—she just blurted out whatever thought she had. No beating around the bush, no playing coy.
He waited for her to open the door, but she appeared a little dazed all of a sudden—she just stared up at him, eyes wide. He gestured for her to open the door.
She whirled around and pressed the thumb pad. Once inside the small room, she turned and faced him. He waited for her to say something, to set the tone and pace, but she just stood there, looking at him with that wide-eyed look of panic that he was fast coming to realize was her attempting to keep her face from betraying what she was thinking.
Torn between amusement and exasperation he reached down and peeled off his shirt. Her eyes opened even wider, and he saw her chest rise and fall rapidly. Her lips parted slightly as her eyes roved over his chest, taking in every inch. The naked hunger on her face sent a bolt of heat straight through him. She definitely wasn’t nervous or unwilling; she was turned on. He grinned and relaxed.
She seemed to realize she was staring because she jerked her eyes to his face, a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Well, hell,” he said bemusedly, reaching for the fastening on his pants, “you haven’t even seen the best part yet.”
He was right; the lower half was even better.
She couldn’t help but stare. God, he was beautiful. Every square inch of him bulged in all the right ways. Her eyes wandered over him, taking him all in. Lust pooled deep and low in her belly, and for a moment, she forgot to breath.
“Well?” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was impatient or amused. Perhaps a bit of both.
Her face flamed in embarrassment at her own stupefaction. Good God, she wasn’t visibly drooling was she?
She reached down and grabbed the hem of her t-shirt, hastily—and clumsily—pulling it over her head. She paused breathlessly to see what he would do. But he just stood there, still as a statue, waiting. When he continued to make no move toward her, she shed the rest of her clothes.
His eyes raked over her but gave no indication of approval or disappointment. She waited, tight with desire, for him to indicate what he wanted. She didn’t imagine he was going to be slow and sweet—which was fine with her. She was already so turned on her arousal was becoming uncomfortable.
He jerked his head toward the bed, again with that same combinatio
n of exasperation and amusement. She moved quickly; she clambered up onto the bed and lay back far enough to prop herself up on her arms so she was half sitting up and could watch him. She half sprawled, her legs apart, her knees slightly bent, and oddly she didn’t feel the least embarrassed at so blatantly displaying herself. She knew he could see the wetness glistening between her thighs. She hoped it encouraged him to move things along swiftly. Her sex throbbed, and she needed him touching or, preferably, in her already.
He moved closer, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. Too late, she realized there wasn’t enough room for him on the tiny bed. Apparently, he wasn’t going to let that stop him, though. He stared down at her with an intense, brooding gaze very different than the one he’d given her when they’d first met. His eyes, focused like lasers, took in every inch of her as she lay before him, sending a wave of heat sizzling through her. Her mind went blank, and everything faded away but him and his dark-eyed stare.
Silently, never taking his eyes from hers, he reached down between her legs. His touch was light, inquisitive, but she felt like she’d been hit with a shock stick. A whimper escaped her lips and her hips arced toward him of their own accord, every nerve in her body craving a deeper touch. He let out a noise that sounded like a snort, but the edges of his eyes crinkled and a corner of his mouth lifted almost with fondness. That sudden softness in his expression made her heart melt despite the fact he was laughing at how desperately turned on she was even though he hadn’t done anything to her yet. And God was she turned on.
He grabbed one ankle and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed so he could remain standing. That simple act of dominance sent a sharp spear of need sizzling through her. Her insides clenched.
He reached down and lightly stroked the sensitive, throbbing nub between her legs. She sucked in a breath, and her hips bucked. He immediately moved his hand away, as if afraid he’d hurt her, and she groaned in protest, wanting more. He moved his hand lower and gently tested her readiness, sending electric sparks through her. His touch grew bolder, and he slid first one finger and then two into her. She gasped as pleasure rippled through her and arched off the bed. God, she was so close to going over. Just a little more, and he’d send her tumbling. “Yes,” she whispered, lifting her hips toward him.
Moonlight Mist: A Limited Edition Collection of Fantasy & Paranormal) Page 91