Shit. He doesn’t even touch me and I’m hot all over. “Your turn,” I murmur.
“Is it?” Smiling a wolfish grin, he pushes off the wall.
Finally taking his eyes off me, he stalks around the table. He quickly, easily sinks four of his stripes — muscles rippling and twitching. I swear he’s flexing and preening to impress me. It’s working.
On the fifth shot, he misses.
“You’re very good, Ben.” I walk around the table.
“You have no idea.” His lips twitch into a smile. He’s not talking about pool.
“You are such a flirt. You’re trying to distract me from the game, aren’t you?” I tease him and study the table. The cue ball is in perfect position for me to hit the three into a side pocket.
“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “I think it’s your heavenly curves doing all the distracting, kitten.”
Blushing, I bend over to find the perfect spot on the cue ball. Before I can draw the cue back, a low whistle comes from the bar behind me.
“Mmmm, mmmm. You got that right, pal. That’s the finest ass I’ve ever seen,” says a slurred, intoxicated male voice. “And I’ve seen a few.”
With wolven agility, Nash is up and closes the distance between himself and the bar. Wrapping his right hand around the guy’s throat, Nash lifts him off the bar stool. Moving just as fast, Ben is next to him, prying Nash’s fingers off the guy.
“Stand down, Nash.” Ben orders.
The flare of Nash’s nostrils, his snarled lip and the savage glare in his eyes, he looks vicious, lethal even. This is what an alpha is — a wolf-man who can kill with one bare hand. No doubt, with a slight squeeze of his thumb and index finger, Nash could kill this guy.
“Nash,” I murmur.
He doesn’t respond. I put my hand on his back. “It’s fine, Nash. Stop.”
Nash’s caramel eyes flick to my face.
“Please.”
Abruptly, Nash lets the guy go. The pudgy man drops to his knees, gasping for air and rubbing his throat.
“You even look at her again, I’ll beat you into next week, pal.” Nash sneers at the man.
“Crazy fucker,” the guy gasps, scooting away.
“Pal, you got that right,” Nash growls.
The bartender’s here. I think he’s going to throw us out, but he grabs the pudgy man by the elbow and leads him to the door.
My hands shake. “I’m sorry.” I was flirting with Ben, not thinking that we’re in public. Shit. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, again.
“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Nash barks at me.
I blink and step back from his anger.
“Nash.” Ben chastises him.
I take another couple of steps back.
“Hey.” Ben comes closer. With a hand on my hip, he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear with his other. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Nash is the one who needs to apologize.” Ben glares at him.
Nash grimaces. “He’s right. I didn’t mean to scare you, baby.” Nash closes his eyes and pinches his nose. “Or yell at you.”
“It’s okay.” I deserve it. “I forfeit.” I put the cue on the table and pull at the hem of the dress that feels way too short all of a sudden. I quit both pool and this flirting game with Ben.
“No, you’re not.” Nash says. “You’ll play and you’ll play to win.” Why do I get the feeling he isn’t referring to pool?
Embarrassed and uncertain, I can’t look at either of them. I glance at Cherie. She smiles encouragingly. I look around at everyone else in the bar carefully keeping their eyes averted, afraid that Nash will pounce on them next.
“This just isn’t the proper attire for playing pool,” I murmur.
While Ben saunters back to the booth, Nash leans in to whisper. “I’m sorry, Shav. Don’t let that asshole, or me, ruin your evening.” Nash gives me a rare encouraging smile. “I haven’t heard you laugh like this in a while. You deserve to have some fun.”
Though I was enjoying Ben’s attention, I wasn’t doing it for fun, precisely. I was doing it to manipulate him, to get information about Val. I want to leave, go home and sit in my circle. I need the ancestors. I need calm.
Find Val. The mantra exerts itself in Mom’s voice. Help Val.
I close my eyes for a moment. When I reopen them, Ben stands before me with a hoodie.
“Cover up?” His observant eyes somehow feel like an assessment, like he’s gauging my character while at the same time urging me to be brave and continue.
Ironically, Nash is right. I can’t let fear and a pudgy drunk keep me from finding my sister. I nod with a duty-bound grimace. “Okay.”
“Good girl,” Ben breathes. Is he relieved? Sure sounded like it.
With a satisfied nod, Nash goes back to our table. I reach for the hoodie.
“Nope. Lift your arms,” Ben says.
I do so. He ties the jacket sleeves around my waist.
“Such a gentleman,” I say as he ties a tight knot.
“Let’s be clear right now, kitten. I am not a gentleman.”
“Why do you say that?”
Our faces close, he stares into my eyes.
“I just know myself.” He sweeps a hand down my back, over the hoodie, stopping on the top curve of my behind — as though to prove he’s a lout. However, in a moment of regret, he glides the hand back up to between my shoulders. A self reflective expression crosses his face.
A wolf with self-doubt? Is that even possible? They’re supposed to ooze ego and confidence from every pore, no matter the situation. I like Ben. I like him a lot. And, yes, of course I’m attracted to him. Look at him — muscles, male swagger, easy smile. And a touch of self-doubt. It’s endearing in an odd sort of way.
I stroke the stubble along his chiseled jaw, wanting to give him some reassurance. He sucks in a breath and leans into my hand.
“I think you’re very gallant, Sir Benjamin.”
“Sir?” He smirks. He’s got such a sexy smirk. His fingers slide up my back further into my hair at my nape. Gently pulling, he tilts my head back further.
Oh, his touch feels good.
I grin back. “Yeah, like a knight, you know, Sir Lancelot, Sir Galahad.”
Our mouths mere inches apart, his breathing stops and he stares longingly at my lips. Slowly, I lean forward and kiss his chin — because, even in heels, it’s as high as I can reach.
Eyes wide, his whole body tenses under my touch.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step out of his personal space. I must have misread him.
Ben catches my hands with his, preventing me from stepping away. “No, don’t be.” One at a time, he raises my hands to his lips and kisses my fingers. “It’s unusual” — he frowns — “I’m not used to — it’s been a while since” — he stammers, and his voice trails off. A few seconds later he grins and accentuates his southern drawl. “Well, I’ll be damned, Miss Shavone. You’ve got me all tongue tied.”
Pleased, I beam up at him. “Oh, come now. A man as hot as you? Surely you get kissed by all sorts of women on a daily basis.” I tease.
Another patron calls from across the bar to us. “You two either play or get a room.”
Ben spins on the person and Nash stands.
“Hey. Hey. Hey.” A graying fellow holds his hands up in surrender. “Don’t want no trouble with you boys.” He nods toward another older man sitting with him. “We just want to play, is all.”
“We’ll finish up,” I say and step away from Ben. I pick up my cue and chalk it.
Ben watches my every move. “What were you saying before we were so rudely interrupted? Something about you thinking I’m hot?” He smirks.
“Hmmm,” I say. “A knight fishing for compliments? Whatever would King Arthur say?” I smile and line up to hit the three, putting it in the pocket easily now that I’m focused on playing rather than showing Ben my behind.
From there, I run the table, making all my shots perfectly. Hand
s pressed together, Ben taps his index fingers, aghast.
“Bottom left.” I call the eight ball and with a slight tap, sink it easily.
“Well, that was a surprise.” Ben shakes his head.
At the table, Nash grins and C snickers. Ben narrows his eyes at them. “You two knew about this didn’t you?”
Both nod gleefully.
With a grin, Ben moves his gaze to me. “How’d you get to be such a pool shark, Shavone?”
“An old boyfriend taught me.” I smile, fondly thinking of the many hours Dillon took to set up difficult shots for me to practice on. For each shot I made, he rewarded me with a sweet kiss.
Ben snorts. “I’ve been had. I want my hoodie back.”
I shrug. The game’s over. I begin to untie the sleeves.
“No, kitten. I was joking.” He stills my hands.
chapter ten
MY HANDS OVER Shavone’s, I tighten my hoodie around her. She needs to keep it on — cover that beautiful, tempting ass of hers.
I indicate the dart board with a nod. “Are you an ace at that, too?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve never played darts before.”
“Hallelujah.” I throw my head back. “Maybe I can win a portion of my pride back.” I run my hands up her waist and around to her back. “Will you let me teach you?”
Yes, kitten, that was an innuendo. I want to teach you a lot of things.
The increase in feminine pheromone and blushing smile means she got my drift. Fuck. My dick twitches. I don’t know how much more of her I can take.
“Okay,” she’s says, eyes on my mouth.
I lick my lips. You want some of this?
Dilated eyes say yes just before they glance away.
“Sir?” She calls across the bar and once she has the old man’s attention, motions that the pool table is all his. He waves his thanks.
Touching her back, I usher her to the dart board.
“I love this song.” She rocks her shoulders.
There’s music? I pause to listen. Sade softly sings something about giving the kiss of life.
“You like this old shit?” I tease her, pulling the darts from the board.
“Hey.” She giggles. “Yes. I like soul — old and new.” She throws out that bottom lip, again. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“Never, kitten. You have excellent taste in music.”
The broad grin that spreads across her sweet face wraps another string around my heart. And her swaying hips? Those put another quart of blood in my dick.
She is something. Beautiful and sweet and sensual. I wonder how she’ll react when she finds out I’m lying to her just as Nash is. And she’ll find out. No doubt. She’s digging in the right place. She’ll be angry. I have no doubt about that either. That we’re doing this to keep her out of the clutches of the hunters won’t make a bit of difference. How strange to feel remorse before the fact. The only chance I’ll have is to get under her skin and fast.
“Why the sad look?” She asks me.
I affect an exaggerated shocked expression. “You gotta ask, lady who handed me my ass in pool?”
“Sorry.” She exaggerates a giggle into her hand. She isn’t sorry at all. “Well, now you can trounce me.”
Fuck. Was that a euphemism, kitten?
“At darts,” she quickly adds.
“I wouldn’t be very gallant, using your word, if I did that.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She gives me her coquettish smile.
“You think batting those lashes at me will save you?” I laugh.
“A girl can hope.”
“You showed no mercy. I show no mercy.” I grin. “That’s the way the game works.”
I move behind her, and, with a hand at her hip, begin to murmur the rules into her ear. Jesus. Her scent. I inhale a lung full of it.
“This” — I toe a length of tape on the floor — “is the throw line. You cannot step over it when you throw.”
“What about my arm?”
“Good question.” I playfully squeeze her bicep, again. “Yes, your buffed arm can cross it.”
I feel her smile. “I prefer the word ‘toned’.”
“Kitten, you are so toned.” I nuzzle her hair. “Now, stop distracting me.”
She giggles and I grin. This is fun. She’s fun.
The rest of the rules, what there are of them, are fairly simple. I run through them quickly. “Let’s do a few practice throws.” I motion her aside and, when she’s safely out of the way, throw my darts. One lands dead center of the bullseye and the other two in the interior ring, quarter inch from the bullseye.
She laughs. “This is going to be bad.”
“Aw, c’mon. Positive thinking.” I move out of the way and bow for her to take my place at the line.
Lifting her chin, she shakes her hair out of the way and narrows her eyes at the board in concentration.
Hot and sexy, smart and sharp. No man can resist that. Sorry, Nash. I glance over at him. His eyes pierce me with an anger he normally saves for enemies and rival packs. Cherie grins at me.
Shavone’s first throw lands on the board, but in the number ring. No score. The second lands in the fat single score ring and the third misses the board completely.
The music clicks over to a sexy strong drum beat that Shavone seems to like, too. I walk to the board to extract our darts. Ah, it’s John Mayer. I almost laugh out loud at the lyrics. I’m not the man I used to be either, John.
Shavone smiles at me as I walk back to her. Rocking her hips, she sings along to the music.
“Not bad.” I hand her her darts. “You’ve got pretty good form for a newbie. Can I show you a better way?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”
I lay my darts on a nearby table.
“Let’s work on your stance, first.”
Stop writhing that body, kitten.
“Okay.” She stands still.
Taking my sweet ass time and with a caressing touch, I position her body — feet there, hips like this, shoulders like that, hands like this. I’m disappointed when I’m done arranging her.
She looks up at me through her lashes, a flirty smile on her lips. I stifle a growl.
Moving back behind her, I drag my hand down her arm to her hand. “Holding the dart is an art,” I whisper in her ear — trying hard not to imagine her soft hand gripping my dick. “Two fingers forward on the stem, like this.” I manipulate her slender fingers. “And your thumb here near the back of the dart.”
Understanding, she nods. Her brow furrowed, she concentrates so hard.
“You want to extend your arm, pointing the tip of the dart where you’d like it to stick.” Placing my cheek directly on her temple, my hand over hers, I raise the dart in front of her face. “Stare down the tip and bring the dart straight back in front of your face,” I say. “Don’t hold it here, by your ear. You can’t see where it’s going if it’s beside your head.” I let go of her hand and hold her at the waist. “Do it now, but don’t throw it yet.”
While she lines up the dart, I dip my nose into her hair and inhale deeply — not caring if she hears it. My voice is thick when I speak again. “We’ll do a couple of practice movements. Don’t let go of the dart, though.”
“Okay,” she says softly.
My left hand glides from her hip to ribs while my right hand wraps around hers and the dart.
My wolf wants you so bad.
I try to keep my swollen dick off her, but, damn, I just want to press into her. “You want to release here.” I extend her arm, but not completely. “The follow through when you throw a dart is forward extension.” I do short pumps with our hands. “Not down.”
“Makes sense.” She nods.
Dipping my nose in her hair once more, I drop both my hands and step aside, hiding my boner the best I can. “Okay, try.” Fuck. That sounded needy as hell. I smile. I don’t care.
She narrows her sparkling eyes at me. “Is your ove
r-the-top flirting to put me off my game?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “This heat has nothing to do with darts,” I murmur.
“Oh,” she mouths. She licks then sucks her bottom lip into her mouth.
Her kicked up essence slams my senses. I close my eyes. Fuck me. When I open to look at her, she’s still staring at me. “Darts, Shavone.”
We’ll play bed games later.
Shaking her head, she turns her attention back to the board.
With a deep breath, she practices her throw. On a movement forward, she releases the dart. It goes almost nowhere. Half way to the board, it falls from the air and drops to the floor.
She laughs at herself. “Okay, that was weak. I was concentrating on when to let go.”
“Try, again.” I smile and study her profile — nose, lips, tits, oh and that ass. She’s perfect.
This time she puts some force behind the dart and makes a solid hit an inch from the bullseye. Her jaw drops open with joy. Pleased with herself, she grins triumphantly at me.
“Excellent.” I nod, proud of her.
Pulling her shoulders back, she lines up the third and final dart. She stares down the sharp tip to the red dot on the board. With a perfect throw, she sticks it into the bullseye. She squeals like a child and does a little dance, unbelievably happy about hitting a tiny red dot.
Cherie and Nash clap for her. Using my hoodie as a skirt, she curtsies.
“You’re a quick study.” I grin, walking to stand next to her.
“You’re an excellent teacher.” She smiles and quickly hugs me, planting a sweet kiss on my cheek.
“Mmmm,” I murmur, loving her affectionate nature. “Move away, kitten.”
She does and I toe the throw line.
“You know to be fair, you should have to stand back farther,” she says.
“What?” I chuckle and scowl. “Why?”
“Your arm is much longer than mine. That puts your release — oh, I don’t know — five or six inches closer.” She bites her lip. The twinkle in her eye says she’s fucking with me.
I’m calling her bluff. “Let’s see. Come here.” I wave her over. We put our arms side by side. Sure enough, the tip of her fingers just graze my wrists.
Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1) Page 7