Who's on Top?

by Karen Kendall

  “You want to break ’em?” Jane prompted.

  “Oh, ladies first, I insist.”

  She shrugged, ignoring the disturbing silk in his voice, and made her move. The balls scattered over the table, but not a single one found its way into a pocket. Embarrassing. And uncharacteristic for her.

  “I knew you’d be a powerful ball-breaker,” Dom said. This time there was no mistaking the double entendre.

  She glared at him. “Yeah, well. It remains to be seen whether yours are solid or striped.”

  He grinned and raised his beer to her. “Touché.”

  She tried hard, really she did. But she couldn’t not look at those positively sculptural buns of his. Especially when he cocked one hip to shoot. She should have been analyzing his technique. But no, her eyes remained glued to his glutes, at least until the thunk of him dropping ball into pocket snapped her attention back to the table. Solid or striped? Little ball or big? She did a quick analysis of the numbers left on the table.

  “Striped,” he said softly. “Big,” he added with a devilish quirk of his lips. And then, after a thirsty swallow of beer, he said, “Long.”

  Jane reminded herself that these terms all technically referred to playing pool. Not to anything else. Her right hand tightened around her cue stick. With her left she drained her beer. Whew, that was fast.

  “Nice…grip, by the way.”

  She almost dropped the stick.

  “Experienced,” he said inexorably. “Delicate but firm. Just what I like to see.”

  “You know what I’d like to see?” Jane asked.

  He cocked a brow.

  “Another beer, thanks.” She dropped her empty glass into his hand and studied the table. Sure enough, he’d sunk the fourteen ball. It was a stripe, it was a big number and, to put it in that particular pocket, he had indeed shot long. Still. Surely she hadn’t imagined that teasing, sex-drenched tone of voice. She wasn’t stupid. She was trained to pick up on such things.

  The man was flirting with her. Flirting with intent. The question was, why? Jane didn’t kid herself that she was the sexiest woman on the planet.

  The next question she had to ask herself niggled at her: why was she tolerating the flirting? Even responding to it?

  Obviously he had decided to use his looks and his masculinity as a weapon against her. Obviously he thought her that gullible. She walked around the table, sizing up various shots, and Shannon’s words came back to her. Let him think he can use you for his own purposes.

  So…did that mean she should pretend to enjoy his attentions? Giggle like a schoolgirl and melt into a puddle at his feet? Sorry—it went against her character. But…

  A slow smirk spread across her face; she could feel it. Better wipe it off before he-man comes back with my beer. She modulated it into seductive, subtracting the smug element that would alert him to what she was up to.

  So Dominic Sayers thought he could play her, did he? Use her for his own purposes. Fine. Jane would play him. And if she got a…a…vigorous sexual experience out of the process, then more power to her!

  Hussy, said her conscience.

  Oh, shut up. It is the twenty-first century.

  Ssssssslllllllluuuuuut.

  Hey! It’s not as if I’m dating anyone. And I haven’t had any sex for, uh… Had it really been seventeen months now? Surely she was due some.

  Nice. Your mother would be so proud.

  She had no answer for this one—just pushed the thought away.

  “Your beer,” said Dominic behind her, the timbre of his voice tickling her eardrum. “By the way, that was a very effective dismissal. You neatly sidestepped the innuendo and reduced me from wolf to waiter.”

  She flashed him a sunny smile.

  “Your gamble wouldn’t have paid off, though, if I weren’t a gentleman.”

  She widened her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You damned well do.”

  “Surely a gentleman doesn’t curse at a lady.”

  He laughed softly. “I’m not always a gentleman.” His eyes roved over her body. “And I’m willing to bet you’re not always a lady.”

  Her mouth fell open and her pulse kicked up despite herself. “Take your next shot.”

  He set his beer down and did so unhurriedly. Elegantly. With a little English. He sent the cue ball high into the seven, which thwacked the ten into the side pocket and then spun the six into the corner hole. “See,” he told her. “I’m an excellent…kisser.”

  Jane knew kiss was a pool term for contact between balls. She lifted her eyes coolly to his. “Yeah, maybe. But how’s your follow-through?”

  “Without equal.” The words slipped from between very white teeth.

  “We’ll have to see about that.”

  Dom sank three more balls before he finally scratched.

  She plucked the heavy white ball from the foot end and hefted it a couple of times in her palm while she contemplated where to set it on the table.

  The subtext under the surface of their match wasn’t subtle: the move was literally called ball-in-hand. She squeezed it deliberately and watched him inhale. After a long moment, she placed the cue ball exactly where she wanted it.

  “The center spot.” His teeth gleamed again, even in the low lighting. “So you like—” she watched him moisten his lips “—playing from the center.”

  Speaking of her center, did it have to throb like that? Tingle? She ran her tongue over her own lips and nodded. She positioned the shaft of her cue stick and stroked, successfully pocketing two balls. She walked around the table, brushing past him (he closed his eyes) and sank another ball from the head. Then another. And another.

  “You’re gonna kill me,” he said, taking a swig of beer.

  “Oh, I hope so.”

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “You bet. I’m no virgin at this game.”

  “Little hustler.”

  “Oh, no—I never play for money.”

  “Just power.”

  Jane flashed him her best inscrutable smile, positioned her shot and scratched. Dom emitted a low growl of satisfaction, and Jane reluctantly ate her smile, inscrutability and all. Darn it.

  In less time than it normally took her to tie her shoe, he’d sunk all of his remaining stripes and then called his shot on the eight ball.

  Tough shot, thought Jane as she downed some more of her beer. He’d be lucky to make it. Without warning, two ounces of the lager unexpectedly poured down her windpipe instead of her gullet. Her lungs went haywire and forced the liquid back up with a vengeance—right as Dom stroked through.

  The cue ball hurtled completely off the table as his stick hit it low down and center. It made a single dull bounce and then rolled under a couple of tables and all the way to the bar, where it hit a contractor on his paint-spattered heel.

  The man and his two buddies turned and sent Dom a scathing glance, even engaged as he was in slapping Jane on the back. Their opinion was clear: what kind of moron sent a billiard ball sailing across the room?

  Dominic scowled and thwacked her with a little too much gusto. “Are you okay?”

  Jane nodded and panted, then resumed coughing.

  “Did you—” whack “—do that—” whack “—on purpose?” Whack.

  “No!” Jane was pretty sure she’d already coughed up one lung, but she tried valiantly to keep the other one down.

  “Are you sure? Because you realize that you just won the game.”

  “I don’t—” cough, hack “—play that dirty!” Cough, cough.

  “But you admit to playing a little dirty, then.”

  Cough, hack, cough, hack, hack, cough. “Look, will you just get me some water?”

  “Sure, if you’ll promise to drink it and not breathe it.”

  “Bite me—” hack, hack “—Sayers.”

  He brought her the water, which she accepted gratefully. Once she was breathing normally again, she cleared her throat and worked up
a good glare for him. “I can’t believe you think I did that deliberately.”

  He pursed his lips.

  “I suppose you’re going to demand that we play that shot over? That’s just soooooo convenient for you.”

  “Excuse me?” His eyes glinted dangerously.

  She cleared her throat one final time. “How do I know,” she asked, “that you’re not taking advantage of me?”

  He loomed over her, coming so close that she was forced to back up against the pool table. For punctuation, he slapped one hand on either side of her. She almost squeaked, feeling like a ball in a pocket of Dominic.

  His jaw angled, his mouth swooped closer and he seemed to inhale her. God! What was the man going to do? Bite off her nose? Sink his teeth into her neck, vampire-style? Kiss her? Oh, yes, please.

  His voice stroked her spine and tickled her ears again. “I don’t need,” he growled, “to take advantage of women. Understand?”

  Um. Yeah. Message received, loud and clear. But…would he change his mind about that if the woman in question were to, say, beg? Again she restrained an unseemly squeak.

  Dominic, satisfied that he had made his point, flashed her a wolfish grin and stepped away, leaving her bereft of his heat. Hoo, boy. Her heartbeat spiked in a musical crescendo and took off again in some sort of crazy Dixieland swing. If she were indeed a ball, one stroke from Dom’s shaft would send her caroming all over the bed and into the rails.

  Really, Jane—you shouldn’t be thinking about strokes from Dom’s shaft. The whole concept left her a little breathless, even in terms of pool. Mind over matter. Especially when the matter is on the verge of delicious, decadent mutiny.

  “I’ll give you that game,” Dom said, “if we play best of three.”

  “Hey, hey, hey! You’re not giving me anything, thank you very much. You screwed up and I won.”

  Dom shot her a look that said clearly, I know what I’d like to give you. And it starts with a big O.

  She squirmed.

  “Fine,” he said. “Let’s see who wins the next two. And I think we should each bet on the outcome, just to raise the stakes.”

  “I don’t play for money.”

  “You mentioned that. So what will you put on the line if not your wallet?”

  She took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, Jane. You know what I want.”

  “That’s not a game to me.”

  He raised a brow. “You sure have been playing something. What is it if not a game?”

  You. I’ve been playing you. But she wasn’t going to say it aloud. And you’ve been playing me. And God only knows where it’ll land us, but I intend to win.

  “No answer for me, Jane?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll play for, Sayers. If I win, you’ve gotta talk to me. You open up. You stop being hostile and resistant. Because no matter what you think, I haven’t already judged and condemned you. I promise.”

  “Mmm. Okay—if you win, I talk. If I win, on the other hand, you have to kiss me.”

  8

  KISS DOMINIC SAYERS? THE concept rattled around her brain like a pinball.

  Oh, hey. I’ll do that for free.No, no, no, Jane! Be a professional. No sucking face with the clients. Bad idea!

  “K-kiss you?”

  He nodded. “And not just some little peck, either,” he added. “You want me to open up to you? Well, I want you to open up to me.” He shot her a grin that bordered on the lascivious.

  She stared at him. They were getting into dangerous waters here. It was one thing to exchange a little banter, a few words rife with double entendres. It was quite another thing to… Jane gulped the rest of her beer just thinking about it. Nope. No way. Not even.

  “Okay,” her mouth said. “It’s a deal. And since there’s some question about how the game ended, I’ll let you break.” Aaaack! What was wrong with her lips? Had they really just agreed to this crazy bet? She needed to twist them right off and keep them in a jar or something. Under control!

  With a satisfied smile he rounded up all the balls and placed them into the rack. His touch on them was confident, sure, expert. He almost caressed them, as if they were—

  Jane looked away and swallowed, crossing her arms over her breasts. Stop it!

  Dominic dispensed with the rack, lined up his shot and scattered the balls over the table like her runaway hormones. He sank the four and the five into a corner pocket.

  Little balls, she told herself.

  He shifted to the left a bit and sank two more. “I’m on a mission,” he said with a disarming grin.

  Jane shifted her weight from foot to foot. Was she crazy? How had she agreed to this? Unconsciously she pulled at her lips.

  Clack, kerplunk. Clack, kerplunk. Did the man never miss? She was getting a tension cramp in her toes. Don’t miss. Please don’t miss….

  He didn’t. Two blinks later he was lining up his shot on the eight ball and casting her a mock-stern glance. “No choking, no sneezing, no cell phone rings. Promise?”

  She nodded, forgetting to even be annoyed at his implication.

  He shot. Game over. She’d never even had a chance.

  Oohhhh-kaaaay. Now she had to fight for her life. Or at least her pride. Because Jane always won. As a teenager, she’d been neighborhood champion.

  She smoothed her hair back from her face and dug in her trouser pocket for the rubber band she knew was there. Slowly, under his gaze, she bound her hair with it. Yep, she knew she could win. So why this sudden shameless desire to throw the game? She became furious at herself for allowing the thought into her head.

  “I’ll return the favor and let you break,” Dom said magnanimously.

  She nodded curtly.

  “Just to allow you some shred of hope.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him. Then she set up and slammed the cue ball into the heap, watching with satisfaction as the victim orbs scattered to all corners of the table. Not a single ball found a pocket, however, and she almost screamed in frustration.

  Dominic cut his gaze from the game to her hot cheeks, and his mouth curved.

  Odious, arrogant man. He’d put some kind of hex on her, it was obvious. That was the only explanation for her lame showing today. Because she certainly didn’t want to kiss him. Imagine! He probably let his tongue loll out like a dog’s. Or the thing was forked. Or he was one of those men who drooled on a girl’s chin. Repulsive! Just because a guy was decent looking—okay, hot—did not mean that he had any technique, not to mention talent.

  Clack, kerplunk. Clack, kerplunk. Clack, clack, kerplunk, kerplunk. No, he couldn’t be doing this again! He just couldn’t be allowed to take the whole game in this humiliating fashion. He’d miss eventually. He’d…game over? No!

  He shot her a look full of intent, and she laughed uneasily. “Heh, heh. Surely you’re too much of a gentleman to hold me to our bet.”

  His grin was all shark. “You don’t know me very well, do you, Jane?”

  She swallowed and looked away.

  “Perhaps I’m such a gentleman that I won’t let you dishonor yourself by welshing.”

  “Heh, heh.”

  “I’ll ask you one question before I claim my prize. Would you let me off the hook?”

  “Heh.” But honesty demanded that she shake her head. Honesty was just hell on a girl sometimes.

  Dom propped his stick in the corner and advanced upon her. He grasped her stick, gently tugging at it, but she held on to it as if it were a spear and she were a Zulu warrior. She’d…she’d…stick it up his nose if he came any closer.

  “Give me your weapon, Jane.”

  She cleared her throat. “No.” Why did it come out sounding like a question?

  “Yes,” he said inexorably. “I think you owe me something, darlin’.”

  She stared at his mouth, and her grip on the cue stick grew tighter. Somehow she knew that there would be no drool issues with Dominic.

  “Jane,” he said, laughter in
his voice. “If you wrapped your toes around that stick, too, I could carry you off like a nice goat or suckling pig. Stick an apple in your mouth and hang you over an open fire to roast for some pagan feast.”

  She choked. The darnedest things came out of this guy’s mouth!

  He bent over her, around the cue stick, and that mouth came inches from her ear. “I won’t bite, Jane.”

  She shivered. Turned her head just a fraction, toward his stubbly male jaw.

  “At least, not hard,” he whispered. And his mouth found hers.

  This time, to her shame, she did squeak. And worse, the squeak lowered into a whimper and the whimper into a bona fide moan. Because Dominic’s lips were hot and firm and insistent…and parted her own all too easily.

  The cue stick clattered to the floor unnoticed, and she gripped his shoulders to stand, because literally her knees had buckled on her, going defective for the first time in her life. Perhaps it had something to do with the way one of his arms wrapped around her rib cage and the other moved to the back of her neck, coaxing and massaging liquid heat through every nerve she had.

  Vaguely she registered clapping and cheering in the background. Huh? And when Dom lifted his head and she could turn hers, they discovered the barkeep and all the contractors egging them on with whoops and hollers.

  A hot flush spread over her neck and cheeks, and she closed her eyes. Mentally she threatened to return her knees to the manufacturer if they ever did that to her again. As for her idiotic larynx, she resolved to have it removed tomorrow. Her throat had never made such…such…politically incorrect sounds! Whimpering had long ago been expunged from the twenty-first-century woman’s vocabulary. Oh, she wanted to die.

  “Come on,” Dom said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  JANE HELD HER HEAD HIGH AS they moved past the leering contractors, who’d had a few too many and were urging them to get a room. Apparently they’d won a blue ribbon for Best in Show.

  Normally she wouldn’t have held Dom’s hand, but under the circumstances she grasped it quite gratefully and clutched it even when the door shut behind them. Night had fallen while they’d been inside the bar, which seemed apropos, since he’d lured her to the dark side.Jane was very aware of his body as they walked across the cracked asphalt parking lot to his car, where she let go of his hand. Immediately she missed the rough warmth of it; the texture of his skin. He must have seen the regret in her eyes, because though he disarmed and unlocked the car with his remote key, he didn’t open the door for her.