Is she doing that on purpose?
His heart was pounding so hard it was beating in his ears.
I want to bend you over that pool table. Now.
He fisted his hands, trying to quiet the urge to do just that.
“Your search is very … thorough.” His voice was guttural because the only part of him that had any say now lay south of the equator.
“Anything worth doing,” she said, “is worth doing—”
“Well,” he murmured as he felt her fingers slide the entire length of his shaft.
Something sparked in her eyes like a match just before it caught fire.
He grinned. “Are you measuring me?”
Her hands suddenly stopped.
“That is all you’ve got,” she said, her tone flippant as she pulled her hand from his pocket.
That’s when he caught sight of Dario, arms folded, shaking his head. Rocco knew what he was thinking.We should have been back at the hotel in bed—hours ago.
He turned his attention away from his cousin and back to the woman. “And now for me.”
She was wearing an elegant black pantsuit. He couldn’t tell if there were any pockets but a methodical search would tell him.
He was about to begin when she stopped him, placing one hand gently on his chest. That simple, delicate gesture, her hand over his heart sent his blood surging like high-octane fuel as he felt his entire body accelerate.
“I thought I just took care of you,” she said.
That calm and cool tone of hers sounded practiced.
“I need to see if you can match what I put on the table.”
“I can.”
“You haven’t even counted it.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I think we both know I’m not missing that shot.”
“And what if that”—he glanced at the money on the table—“isn’t what interests me?”
“All right, then, name it. Although you don’t need to. I know what interests you.”
He arched his left eyebrow. “You do, do you?”
Her eyes told him—yes.
He grinned. “All right, then.”
She made a move to turn around, but he stopped her, placing his hands in that niche that was her waist. How perfectly they fit. His fingers snug in that bend in the road. Her hips were ample. The arc from her waist, a dramatic curve like the women in old Hollywood movies.
“Don’t you think the wager warrants something a little more difficult?” he asked.
The cue ball and eight ball were perfectly lined up; the eight ball only a couple of inches from the corner pocket.
“What do you suggest?”
