Turn the lights back on. Race over.
She had him beat. There was only one shot left, and an easy one at that.
She had pulled back the stick and was just about to make the shot when Rocco had an impulse to hit the accelerator.
“Aren’t you going to call it?” he asked.
Only her eyes shot up. “Hardly necessary.”
She shifted her glance to the lone eight ball sitting squarely in line with both the cue ball and the corner pocket.
A rank novice could hit that shot, and Rocco had seen enough to know she wasn’t a beginner. Although she had faltered here and there when he stood too close and intentionally brushed up against her—supposedly, by accident.
“And hardly interesting,” he said as he sauntered over to her end of the table.
She stood up, and he placed himself directly behind her. What was that scent? It wasn’t sugary or flowery, and it wasn’t crisp like citrus. He liked it. His groin definitely liked it. It was practically viscous—the kind of scent that belonged in the tropics where the sky hung low, pressing on one’s shoulders and against one’s chest; the air so thick and heavy, everything it touched turned lush and green as luxuriant foliage pushed up from earth black as mud.
He placed his lips near her ear. “We could make it interesting,” he said, low enough so that no one else could hear.
Her lip curled as she glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, but what interests you may not be what interests me.”
He grinned. She was a bit of a challenge. And that did interest him.
“All right, then,” he said, “you name it.”
“How much money do you have on you?”
He reared back. He’d thought the conversation was moving in a different direction.
“I’m not sure. I guess—”
“Don’t guess, show me.”
He reached in his jacket pocket, took out a wad of bills, and tossed it on the table.
“Is that all?”
He smirked. “You want to search me?”
She placed the cue stick on the table and turned around. He hadn’t taken a step back, so she couldn’t do so without brushing up against him. As she did, a delicious warm fluidity carrying that pungent scent meandered through his body at its own leisure until it felt as though there wasn’t one inch of flesh she hadn’t invaded.
She looked him up and down dismissively. “All right.”
She reached into his other jacket pocket. Finding nothing, he held out his arms, inviting her to search further.
Not taking her eyes off his, she leaned in and reached around him, slipping both hands into the back pockets of his pants.
“Did you just squeeze my ass?” he muttered in a voice that sounded part whisper and part groan.
“No,” she murmured, still searching those pockets. “Would you like me to?”
This is just an act, he thought. Her voice might sound cool, but her body definitely wasn’t.
Her heart had sped up, and she was breathing more deeply. He could feel both as her breasts swelled against the immovable force that was his chest. He could even feel her nipples, hard as pistons, just begging to be pinched, he thought as he rubbed his fingertips. And he knew what she could feel down below, pressing into him like she was. That pungent and exotic scent had slithered to the crankshaft between his thighs and was now weaving its way around it like the vines of some lecherous plant.
He glanced at her lips, slightly parted and barely more than an inch away from his own. She was close enough. If they were alone, he would have.
Again, her hands came up empty. She moved on to the front pockets. He noticed she took her time. He didn’t mind. He was hard as a rock, especially when he felt her fingers brush up against himthere.
