Vincent laid his pool cue down carefully on the table and set about putting the balls back on top of the table.
“You didn’t keep the money.” Vincent’s hands slowed at the sound of her voice. He’d known she was there, scented her the minute she walked in. And it had been fucking difficult to concentrate on the game when she was sitting only a few yards away. Now… she was much closer, and the power of the pheromones she was giving off was almost overwhelming.
Vincent cleared his throat, smiling softly. “Didn’t need to win… Just wanted to play.”
Sam returned his smile. “But you did win.” She walked around the table, running the fingers of her free hand along the edge of the felt top, pausing to drain the remnants from the Stella chalice in her other hand. “You’re very good. How did you get so good?”
“It’s… a solitary sport in many ways.” He shrugged. “It suited me under the circumstances.”
Sam nodded, motioning to a passing waitress. “Another please…” she said. After handing off her empty chalice to the waitress, Sam turned back to the pool table. “Solitary sport… Because you don’t play well with others?”
“Something like that.”
“Hmmm…” Sam reached onto the table, picking up the pool cue laying there. “What about me, Vincent? You think we could… play well together?”
Vincent’s fingers stilled, and he looked up slowly, his eyes darkening as he looked at Sam. “Playing with me could be dangerous, darlin’. What if you lose?”
Sam met his gaze, and smiled. “I think that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I think…” Sam’s smile widened to a grin. “I think that you’re afraid… that I won’t lose.”
Vincent’s brow furrowed, his puzzlement clear. “Why would I be afraid of that?”
“Well, if I lose, then… I’ll walk out of this club and you’ll never see me again. I’ll never bother you again, just like you asked.” Vincent started to reply, but Sam held up her hand to stop him. “But… if I win, then you and I are going to continue what we started the other night in the park…”
“And why would I be afraid of that?”
“Because you think you’re supposed to be alone…that you’re not supposed to be happy… and deep down inside, somewhere buried under that leather duster and furrowed brow and lost soul persona you’re cultivating… you know that you would be happy… with me.”
Her voice had gotten husky, and coupled with the intensity of the pheromones she was giving off, Vincent could feel his resolve weakening. It was really too dangerous for her to be near him… he wasn’t any good for anyone right now. She was right… he was afraid… because the last thing on Earth he wanted was for her to be hurt, to be damaged by him. No, he couldn’t let that happen… not again… But he’d never been a man to walk away from a dare… his greatest weakness, his dad used to say, though his mum would always argue that his greatest weakness was his heart… “Sam…”
Sam shook her head slowly. “Chicken. Bawk…bawk…bawk…” She smirked, her eyes twinkling.
That did it. Vincent reached out, taking the cue stick from her. “Alright, darlin’… Best out of three?”
“Five.”
Vincent frowned. “Five?”
Sam walked over to the pool cue rack on the wall nearby, her fingers dancing over the sticks until she finally grabbed one and took it down. She balanced it carefully in her hand, checking that it felt comfortable. “It takes me a little while to get going… darlin’.” She winked at him, batting her eyelashes.
“8-ball?”
Sam nodded. “Solids.”
Vincent chuckled. “Alright. Do you want to break?”
“No. You.”
Vincent grabbed the rack and set it down over the grouping of pool balls, shifting them around slightly, moving this ball here, that ball there, positioning the 8-ball in the middle, until they were all properly arranged to suit the pool gods. He carefully removed the rack so as not to disturb the balls, setting the rack aside and grabbing up the cue chalk sitting on the corner of the table. He slowly circled the table as he chalked the tip of his pool cue, a frown of concentration on his face as he studied the table and contemplated how he wanted to set up the break. He grabbed the cue ball, positioning it on the table. Bending over the end of the table, he carefully set up the shot, the pool cue sliding gently along the top of his thumb under the arch of his index finger. Sliding… sliding… Vincent glanced up at Sam briefly, his eyes traveling over her face, then drifting lower… He looked back at the table, and took a breath, focusing his attention back on the opening shot he was about to take.
He pulled back the cue and sent it sliding forward one final time, the tip impacting the cue ball. It barreled forward into the grouping of balls, sending them rolling quickly in multiple directions. As he walked around the table again assessing his limited shots, Vincent briefly brushed past Sam and, as he felt the rush of response wash over his body, he had to admit this would likely be the toughest night of pool he ever played in his life.
Chapter 17
Vincent was right.
The first game was easily his. He ran the table twice, with a series of three shots for Sam in the middle. The whole time he was hitting shot after shot, though, she was watching him… Completely and totally watching him with an intensity that Vincent found at once exciting and nerve-wracking. Her physical moves were obvious… brushing past him on the way to take her shot, lining up the shot so her body was rather perfectly positioned for his viewing. Pheromones aside, Sam Karolyi was completely captivating him… and in contrast to even the most conservatively dressed woman in here, she didn’t have a bit of skin exposed.
While Vincent was assessing her landscape, however, Sam was very much learning his game, a fact made evident halfway through the second game. It started off in Vincent’s favor as he took the first three striped balls, sinking them with ease. The fourth striped ball overshot the hole and Sam prepared for her turn. She took a long slow sip of her current beer (her third, maybe?) and proceeded to survey the table. She wasn’t worried about having too much to drink… even before the LV, she could always “hold her liquor” as her grandmother used to say. Now, that tolerance had only increased. Sometimes, it made her a bit mad… enjoying a nice beer buzz took a lot more beer now.
That’s when she saw it… And Sam had to bite her bottom lip hard to keep from grinning broadly when she did. He’d left one hell of a run on that table. If she didn’t know better, she’d have said he did it deliberately. At least, she thought she knew better. Or maybe she was really distracting him that much. But whatever… There it was… Sam carefully chalked the end of her cue stick, her eyes fixed on the table, a slight furrow between her dark brows. She could feel Vincent’s eyes on her, watching her. Sam allowed herself a small smile as she bent over, lining up her first shot and taking it.
The cue ball hit a sequence of three balls… sending the 3-ball and 4-ball into the side and corner pockets, respectively, and sending the 6-ball to the far end of the table, and perfect position for a later shot. Sam stood up, chalking the end of the cue again as she circled the table, looking for the best angle on the 5-ball. The 5-ball was nestled next to the 8-ball, poised on the edge of the lower half of the table, and Sam knew that hitting it at the wrong angle, at the wrong speed, would send the 8-ball barreling into a pocket and she would lose the match. The cue ball was directly lined up with the 5-ball, but hitting it without moving the 8-ball too significantly would be difficult to say the least. She leaned over the table her eyes flickering up to take in the shot before her, then down at the cue ball and the point where the cue stick would impact. Up… down…up…down… Sam took the shot, sending the cue stick smoothly forward, hitting the target area on the cue ball.
The ball propelled into the 5-ball and sent it swiftly down the table. It hit the far end at a slight angle, and the 5-ball immediately changed direction, rolling back down toward Sam…
and right into the corner pocket to her left. Sam smiled at Vincent as she walked around the table, stopping right next to him. He squinted at the table, the corners of his mouth turning up as he spoke.
“That seven is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”
Sam cocked her head as she looked at the table. “Is it? Hmmm…” She straightened her head, looking a moment longer before she quickly bent over the table, positioning the cue stick and getting the 6-ball in her sights. Crack… the cue ball hit the 6-ball at a sharp angle, sending the numbered ball hammering into the side pocket nearly behind it.
The cue ball rolled to a stop, perfectly lined up with the 7-ball and distant corner pocket. A magic shot… except for the striped 9-ball sitting directly in the way. Sam sighed, the whoosh of air lifting her bangs slightly. This one would be tricky… She could feel Vincent’s eyes burning into her as she bent over the table, carefully positioning her fingers and angling the cue stick, the tip pointing toward the base of the cue ball.
Thunk… Sam hit the cue ball, the angle of the impact sending the ball up off the table and over the striped 9-ball. It returned to the table and, propelled by the force of the hit, cracked into the 7-ball, sending it rolling off to the left corner pocket. It rolled in easily.
Meanwhile, the 8-ball remained in its spot… directly aligned with both side pockets. The cue ball rolled to a stop right beside the 9-ball. It was too perfect… Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she leaned in and took the final shot. A nice easy tap on the cue ball lead to a nice easy tap on the 8-ball, nudging it easily forward and into the side pocket. Sam exhaled, and looked up at Vincent.
Vincent wasn’t looking at her, though.
His beer glass suspended in front of his mouth, his smiling mouth, Vincent was looking at the young blonde woman who was talking to him. Sam took in the girl’s dress, or lack thereof… her flirtatious posture… Sam could feel her body starting to tense as she watched this girl rather blatantly flirting with Vincent, and he certainly wasn’t pushing her away.
Then suddenly Vincent turned his eyes to Sam, the smile fading slightly, his eyes darkening, and Sam realized she could hear a sound… strange rumbling sort of sound. A split-second later, she knew what it was… Growling… And she knew where it was coming from… Sam closed her eyes, turning away and grabbing up her chalice of beer. The growling stopped as soon as she started drinking and Sam mentally chastised herself for being so weak and careless. It was lucky the small jazz combo that was playing, and the crowd in here was loud enough, and she hoped no one had heard.
“Well played, darlin’.”
Sam opened her eyes, and looked directly into Vincent’s. He took the beer from her hand and set it on a nearby table, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Thank you.”
Vincent’s mouth twitched into a cheeky smile. “Ready for round three? Or are you getting tired?”
Sam’s chin jerked up defiantly at that, though she smiled back. “Not tired at all. In fact…” She stepped as far into Vincent’s personal space as one could decently step in public… If she’d chosen that moment to take a deep breath, they would have touched, chest-to-chest, and the thought of it was sending her blood racing. If the flush flowing up Vincent’s neck and into his face was any indicator, he was having the same physical reaction to her.
“In fact?”
Sam lowered her eyes briefly, then looked up at Vincent again, and took that deep breath, relishing the brief touch between the two of them before she spoke. “In fact, I think I could play all night if necessary… how about you?”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint there as he smiled. “Let’s play, then.”
**************
Play they did, and by the end of the third game they were starting to generate a crowd of observers. It wasn’t their peerless technique or trick moves drawing the attention, though… It was the atmosphere, for it was clear to any observer watching the tall, dark and handsome Irishman and the petite blue-eyed woman that a very public mating dance was being performed.
The third game started much the same as the others, but, by halfway through, it had become more physical. Though there was ample room to get around the table in the clear, one would brush by the other on the way to their next shot… an arm brush there… a hip brush here… the electric energy in the room was crackling, almost generating actual heat. Sam noticed several of the people who were watching their game with interest had doffed their jackets and sweaters, and Vincent had also taken off his coat, tossing it over a nearby chair. Sam tried not to look at his arms, tried not to picture them around her as they…
“Your shot, darlin’.” Sam blinked, bringing her mind back to the game, and Vincent’s smirk. She couldn’t help feeling he knew what she was thinking… She needed to distract him.
And her winning game three did the job.
Vincent stepped it up for game four and won easily, and game five started with Sam aggressively breaking the racked pool balls. The two played back and forth, hitting shots, missing shots, until at last only the 8-ball remained. They sat on the table, just off-center, side-by-side, with the cue ball positioned at the apex of the little triangle the three balls formed.
Sam glanced at Vincent. He was staring at the pool table, and his face… well, it was hard to describe his expression. This was it… the final shot of the final game and they were tied, 2-and-2… if Sam sank the 8-ball… At that moment, Vincent looked up at her, almost as if he had heard her thoughts and had fully realized what was about to (maybe) happen. His eyes were dark and calm and soft, and Sam didn’t detect any major shift in the pheromone and adrenalin levels of his scent. He was calm, but why he was calm remained a mystery. Maybe he doubted her ability to clear the table, even after they’d done battle for the evening… Or perhaps he had just resigned himself to his fate… Sam felt something turn in her at the thought… Perhaps, despite the “signals” and biological responses she was so tuned into now, he didn’t… She shook herself slightly, trying to refocus on the shots before her.
Sam lined up the cue ball with the 8-ball. It was going to be a tough shot. Sam circled the table once, leaning down to look at the ball positions and possible trajectories when she hit at specific angles. Again she circled the table before finally settling in at the end and bending over. The cue ball appeared to line up perfectly with the 8-ball and the far corner pocket and, as she positioned the cue stick behind it, the tip barely a quarter of an inch away, Sam felt her first bit of apprehension, the first she’d experienced all evening. She wasn’t going to make this shot.
Sam pulled back carefully and took the shot. The cue stick hit the cue ball and it zoomed forward, hitting the 8-ball with a clack and sending it down the table toward the corner pocket. But Sam could see as the 8-ball neared the hole that it was not going to go in, and it didn’t. Instead, the 8-ball hit the very edge of the corner pocket and ricocheted backwards towards a dead zone on the table.
Sam barely heard the groans of the others watching. She was staring at Vincent, who now had every chance of winning the final game and claiming victory in their impromptu tournament. He was staring at the table, a furrow growing between his eyebrows and threatening to turn into an out-and-out frown. He didn’t look happy, but that may have been because she’d basically managed to leave him absolute shit on the table. To even sink the 8-ball, he might need to do a yoga pose on the edge of the pool table. Sam stifled a chuckle at that mental picture. Vincent glanced over at her, his frown remaining even as he winked at her as if to say, “Yes, I know the table layout is shit, thank you very much.”
Vincent sighed and reached for the cue chalk… This was not going to be easy. Oh, he could sink it easily enough… the trick was going to be playing this shot without Sam seeing that he –
A commotion by the entrance distracted him. He glanced at Sam and saw she was looking in the same direction. It would have been difficult for the average person to hear the disruption, but their enhanced
hearing was picking up the volume change and the tone of the speakers. Something was going on out front. Something bad.
Moments later, the waitress who had been keeping them supplied with drinks since the first break hurried back. She was visibly distressed and Vincent could smell the blood on her apron. He watched Sam hurry to her side, no doubt to check her for injuries. She quickly showed the waitress the small badge she wore on a chain around her neck – Jesus, did she ever take that off? – and begin speaking to the woman in low, calming tones. “Is someone hurt? Where are they?”
The waitress sniffed and sputtered and swallowed hard. “Outside… in the alley. I went out to smoke… and I found him there.” She dissolved into tears and Sam quickly passed her off to another waitress before heading for the entrance. Fuck, fuck, fuck… Vincent grabbed his coat, slipping into it as he followed her through the club, knowing tonight would likely not be the night he got to find out the answer to that badge question.
Chapter 18
Vincent managed to catch up to Sam, emerging from the club a few steps behind her. They pushed through the crowd beginning to gather at the end of the alleyway, Sam flashing her badge here and there to clear the way. Suddenly they emerged into the open, and he heard Sam gasp before she knelt down quickly beside the body.
Vincent quickly took in the figure lying supine on the ground, the suit bloodied and disheveled, the body bent as if it had been tossed aside. Vincent’s eyes quickly scanned the wall and dumpster a few feet away. There, on the wall at about shoulder level, were the tell-tale marks of impact. Yes, this man was definitely thrown, probably how he landed here in this crumpled heap. His gaze returned to Sam and the man. She was down close, speaking to him, soothing words as if she knew him.
Vincent could hear the sirens getting closer… He needed to get Sam out of there before the police arrived. Finding her at the scene of what was most certainly about to be a murder would not help her retain what was left of her career. He knew the demotion back to uniform had hurt her deeply, and ridiculous as it might sound, he blamed himself. Vincent crouched down beside her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. “Sam, we have to get out of here.”
Quicksilver (The Bloodline Series Book 2) Page 10
