But damn it, temptation of women or not, Connor wanted a couple of hours of listening to music, drinking a beer and talking to his friends.
“I can do this,” he assured himself as he opened the car door and stepped out into the sultry summer air. Music, loud but muffled, floated to him on the way-too-slight breeze and the scent of jasmine, coming from the bushes growing at the edge of the parking lot, was thick and sweet.
Connor slammed the car door, punched the alarm button until the car horn beeped, then headed for the front door. As he walked closer, a couple left the building, the man’s arm wrapped tightly around his woman’s shoulders as he dropped a kiss on her hair.
Connor groaned and seriously considered turning back while there was still time. But the lure of air-conditioning, cold beer and some conversation was just too strong. He grabbed the silver bar in the center of the door and gave it a yank. The door flew open, music slapped at him, and the scent of perfume, beer and cigarette smoke welcomed him.
He stepped into the dimly lit room and nodded greetings as he made his way to the bar. Signaling the bartender, Connor said, “Beer. Draft.” He slapped a bill on the bar top and when his drink was ready, he lifted it and took a long pull.
The icy froth soothed him as it slid down his throat, and he shifted his gaze to take in the room. The bar itself was old. Probably fifty years at least. The walls were painted battleship gray and the furniture was scarred. From the open, beamed ceiling, hung memorabilia of the corps. Vintage helmets, bayonets in frayed scabbards, and even a ceremonial sword, belonging to the current owner, a retired Sergeant Major. The whole place was designed to make a military man feel welcome. A Marine, most of all.
There were pool tables at one end of the main room, and on the opposite end, a dozen round tables were lined up in a wide circle, so that the middle of the ring could be used for dancing. The jukebox, which looked older than Connor, blasted out current rock along with some of the classics.
Most of the regulars at the Off Duty were Marines. Winding down after a day of work or just stopping in for a cold one before going home. Of course, there were also a few civilians and more than a few women.
Not that Connor was noticing.
Then the crowd shifted. His hand tightened on the glass of beer. Through the gap in the people milling around the bar, he had an all-too-clear view of a tall blonde in a skirt short enough to be just barely legal.
She was bending over the pool table, lining up a shot.
Connor’s mouth went dry.
Her long, blond hair hung in a honey-colored curtain down to the middle of her back. As she tipped her head to one side, that fall of hair shifted, off her shoulders and his gaze was caught by the way the overhead light picked out streaks of sun-kissed hair, brighter than the rest. She wore a pale-blue tank top that looked as if it had been glued onto her body, and the tiny denim skirt, just covering her behind, hitched even higher as she leaned farther over the pool table. Her shapely legs looked smooth and tanned and about three miles long. She wore black, sky-high heels on her small feet, and her ankles looked as fragile as her thighs looked sexy.
Sexy?
The woman oozed sex.
His fingers squeezed the glass of beer until he wouldn’t have been surprised to feel it shatter like spun sugar in his grasp. Scraping one hand across his face, he inhaled sharply and watched, spellbound, as she lifted her right foot and rubbed it slowly against her left calf.
Need spiked.
His body went instantly hard.
His breath shuddered and his heartbeat staggered.
He watched one of the guys closest to her, lean in and whisper something, and Connor wanted to grab the guy and pitch him through a window.
Okay, breathe.
He sucked in air and told himself that he was only reacting like this because of his recent dry spell.
But it was more.
There was something about her.
Something that called to him from all the way across the room. Something that made a man want to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to a cave where he could have her, over and over again. Where he could listen to her moan and taste her sighs.
He took another gulp of beer, hoping the icy drink would put out some of the fire. But he knew better. Damn it, he never should have come in here.
The blonde straightened up slowly, then hitched one hip higher than the other as she laughed. That tight, short skirt of hers hugged her behind. She shook her long blond hair back from her face, and Connor was captivated, watching the thick, wavy fall of blond shift and dance around her.
He swallowed hard.
Then she tipped her head back and playfully patted the other guy’s chest.
Connor dropped his beer.
The glass shattered at his feet, splashing ice cold beer on everyone close by.
He didn’t notice.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the blond with the body made for sex.
“Emma?”
CHAPTER THREE
EVEN OVER THE POUNDING rhythm of the jukebox, Emma heard the glass shatter.
But then, her ears were attuned to everything. She’d seen Connor walk into the bar—which was exactly why she’d maneuvered herself to the end of the pool table. She’d even opted to take a lousy shot, because she knew exactly what kind of picture she’d make, leaning over the pool table.
Nerves hit her hard and fast. Her stomach spun, and the edges of her vision got a little foggy, but she could deal with that. Had to deal with it. Too late now to change her plan.
Smiling up at the guy she’d just beaten at pool, she ignored the sensation of Connor’s gaze boring into her back. “That’s twenty bucks you owe me, Mike. Want to go double or nothing?”
The tall Marine smiled down at her as he handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “How about you let me buy you a drink instead?”
“How about you take off?” Connor’s voice was nothing more than a low growl.
Emma shifted a look at him and had to force herself not to smile at the stunned-to-his-toes expression on his face. Good. She definitely had his attention.
“Connor,” she said, in mock surprise. “I didn’t see you come in.”
Viciously he rubbed the back of his neck, then let his hand drop to his side. “Yeah, well. I sure as hell saw you.”
“Friend of yours?”
Emma glanced back at the man she’d just beaten twice at pool. Tall and good-looking, any other night she just might be interested. Tonight, though, every thought was centered on Connor. But Mike didn’t look too pleased at the idea of sharing.
They were attracting a small crowd, drawn no doubt by the bristling testosterone in the air. Emma wanted to shake her head at the ridiculousness of it, but there was a small part of her enjoying the whole show.
After all, she spent most of her time being just what Connor had called her. One of the guys. A pal. Well, she’d been underestimated most of her life. True, she’d probably played into it by never bothering to dress the part of “female.” But she’d always figured she shouldn’t have to. A woman who was a successful business owner should be accepted on her own terms without having to stand in killer high heels and skirts so short she felt a breeze way too high up.
“Emma,” Mike said, bringing her up out of her thoughts with a jerk. “You know this guy?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, sending another look to Connor and really enjoying seeing him watch the other guy through narrowed eyes. “Connor and I are old friends.”
“And we need to talk,” Connor said, not bothering to take the warning out of his voice as he faced the other Marine. “So why don’t you get lost?”
“Yeah?” Mike snarled. “I don’t remember inviting you over.”
Connor’s chin went up, Mike stiffened and curled his hands into fists, and Emma suddenly felt as though she were in the middle of a special on that cable channel about animals. The men were like two bull elephants about to butt heads.
An
d in spite of the anger she still felt toward Connor, a purely female spurt of delight shot through her—which she quickly shot down. Seriously, two men go caveman and woman reverts right along with them. Must be contagious.
Stepping in between them, Emma smiled up at Mike Whatever-his-last-name-was and said, “It’s okay. I do need to talk to Connor so…” She let her sentence trail off and shrugged an apology.
He didn’t like it, but he moved away, rejoining his friends at the bar. Connor glared after him, then shifted his gaze back to Emma.
With a calm she wasn’t quite feeling, she folded the twenty-dollar bill she’d just won and tucked it into her bra—the push-up kind that gave her more cleavage than God had ever gifted her with. And she didn’t miss Connor’s gaze following the action.
A swirl of something hot and thick simmered within, and she told herself it was purely a female reaction to a male stare of appreciation. Although, she hadn’t exactly been panting when Mike was giving her the once-over.
Doesn’t matter.
All that mattered was that her plan was working.
She smiled to herself and rubbed the tip of her cue stick with a square of chalk. Then, setting it aside, she pursed her lips and blew gently on the tip. Connor swallowed hard.
This is just fun, Emma thought.
“So,” she said, tipping her head to one side so that her hair fell around her like a gold curtain, “what’d you want to talk about?”
He snorted and swept his gaze up and down her. “You’re kidding, right?”
She leaned one hip against the pool table, while she idly stroked her fingers up and down the cue stick. “Is there a problem?”
“A problem?” Connor’s eyes bugged out and his mouth worked a time or two, as if he was trying to speak but just couldn’t convince the words to cooperate. Finally he got a grip on himself, leaned in toward her and said in a strained hush, “Damn it, Emma, look at you. When you were bent over that pool table, I could see clear to—”
She raised one eyebrow and hid the delighted smile she felt inside. “Clear to where, Connor?”
He straightened up. “Doesn’t matter.” He inhaled sharply. “What does matter is that every guy in here is looking, too.”
Okay, there was just a tiny stirring of uneasiness. She’d wanted Connor to get an eyeful, and she’d known going in that she might attract some attention from other guys. But the thought of a roomful of Marines scoping her out gave her a chill that wasn’t quite the thrill she might have guessed. If anything, she felt a little…outnumbered.
But she wasn’t going to let Connor know it.
“And how is this any of your business?” she asked.
“Well,” he started, then stammered to a stop. He glanced around, giving the evil eye to one guy sidling a little too close for his comfort, then shifted a glare back at her. “We’re friends, Em,” he said. “I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all.”
“That’s the only reason you came over here, then?” She didn’t believe him for a minute. There was a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes and it didn’t have a thing to do with feelings for his pal.
“Why else?”
Okay, fine. They’d play this out. She could go along. In fact, this worked out better for her. The longer he tried to hold out against her, the harder she’d make it for him.
Pushing away from the pool table, she picked up her cue stick, then ran the tips of her fingers along the top edge of her tank top, as if she were hot. She didn’t miss Connor’s gaze snapping right to where she wanted him to be looking.
“Well, thanks, Connor,” she said, licking her lips slowly, provocatively. “I appreciate the concern.”
He gritted his teeth, and she watched a muscle in his jaw tick.
“No problem. In fact,” he added, “if you’re ready to leave, I’ll just take you home. Make sure you’re okay.”
Emma smiled up at him despite the urge to smack him over the head with her cue stick. Instead she laid one hand on his chest and felt the drumbeat of his heart beneath her palm. “That’s so sweet,” she said softly. “But no, thanks, I’m not ready to leave yet.”
“You’re not—”
“Tell you what,” she said, sliding past him in a move that put her between his rock-hard body and the edge of the pool table. As she moved, she heard him hiss in a breath. Good. “Now that you’ve scared off my playing partner, you ready to take me on instead?”
He scowled. “Take you on?”
She snapped her fingers in front of his glassy eyes. “Pool, Reilly. You want to play me a game of pool?”
“Right. Pool. Sure.” He scrubbed both hands over his face, then looked at her again and blinked as if trying to clear blurry vision. “It’d be better if we just left and—”
“Oh, you go ahead,” she said, letting her gaze slide around the room, as if she were considering picking a different challenger from the men in the bar. “I can find someone else to play.”
“I’ll bet,” he muttered darkly. “Look, Emma, I just don’t think you should be hanging out here—not tonight. Not the way you look—”
One blond eyebrow lifted again, and slowly she hitched one hip higher than the other and tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor. Around them, people laughed and talked and a handful of couples danced on a small square of unoccupied floor. She paid no attention to any of it.
“What?” she asked. “I look what, exactly? Good? Bad?”
He scowled at her. “Different.”
She turned to hide her smile and offered herself a small internal whoop of congratulation. Mission accomplished. Connor Reilly had taken notice. In fact, if he’d noticed any harder, he’d be standing in a puddle of drool. A sense of power swept through her, and Emma hugged it close.
A heady sensation for a pal.
She picked up the triangle-shaped rack hanging on the side of the pool table, then set it down in position on the green felt. Not even looking at him, she said, “I wasn’t born in coveralls, you know.”
“Sure. I know that,” he said, and reached into the corner pocket to pull out a handful of the striped and solid balls. “It’s just…”
Emma sighed and muttered under her breath. Okay, she’d thought to surprise him, but this was ridiculous. It was as if he were staring at a dog who’d suddenly learned to talk. How was she going to seduce the man—make him lose that stupid bet—if she couldn’t get him to move past stunned into hunger?
She straightened up and moved closer to him. His gaze went right to the top of her scoop-necked tank top and stayed there. Her breasts looked high and full, thanks to the “miracle” bra that was currently strangling her. And Connor was certainly appreciating the view.
And that’s what she’d wanted, right?
“Look,” she said, “I want to play pool. If you don’t want to, I’ll just ask Mike, or one of these other guys, if he wants to go another round and—”
“Leave him and anybody else out of this,” Connor muttered thickly, lifting his gaze to hers. “I’ll play.”
Now, a girl could take that one of two ways. Play what exactly? Pool? Or something else, entirely? For the moment, she’d go with pool. “Twenty bucks a round. Eight ball.”
“You’re on.”
“Then,” she said, walking past him to circle the table and head for the opposite end, “as the challenger, you rack ’em.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
CONNOR COULDN’T TAKE his eyes off her.
Damn it, who would have guessed that little Emma Jacobsen was packing concealed weapons?
And man, she had weapons to spare.
The tops of her breasts pushed teasingly against the edge of her tiny tank top. Her hips swayed when she walked and the hem of that incredibly short skirt just barely managed to cover the gateway to paradise. And her legs. God, her legs.
He dropped one of the billiard balls and had to bend down to snatch it up off the floor. Which gave him much too good a view of those ama
zing legs as she walked away from him. And why had he never noticed the sweet curve of her behind?
How could he have missed it?
His whole body was stiff as a board. He felt hot and eager and pushed to the very edge of self-control. Damn it, it had been a mistake to come here. He’d known it before and he was sure of it now. But if he hadn’t, he might never have seen this side of Emma.
The very side that was making it an effort to walk. He suddenly wished that his jeans were a hell of a lot baggier.
And even as he thought it, he straightened up, his grip on the fallen billiard ball tight enough to crush it to dust. This is Emma, he reminded himself. Good old Emma.
Pal.
Buddy.
He shifted his gaze to her and felt his throat close up. Her blue eyes looked wider tonight. Her mouth looked edible. Her tanned, smooth skin was the color of warm honey and looked just as lickable.
Oh, man.
She was watching him with a curious expression on her face and he really couldn’t blame her. Hell, they’d been hanging out together for a couple of years now and he’d never stuttered around her before. Just like he’d never taken the time to notice that her breasts were just the right size to fill a man’s palm.
Damn it.
She held her cue stick in her left hand. Idly, she slid her fingers up and down the slim, polished wood, trailing her touch delicately enough to drive him insane by wondering how those fingers would feel on him.
“Man, get a grip, Reilly.” His voice was thick and his muttered whisper was soft enough to be buried beneath the onslaught of rock music pouring into the room. At least, he hoped it had been.
He really didn’t want Emma knowing that he was getting hard just watching her.
It’s just the bet.
That’s all it was.
He was hard up.
Frustrated.
Walking the fine edge of sanity.
But man, she looked good.
“How long’s it take to rack some balls?” she asked.
Connor winced and shot her a quick look. “A little patience goes a long way.”
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