by Kiersten Fay
She was already mentally packing when Cortez said. “What about that wager?”
“Huh?”
“I proposed a wager earlier. You seemed interested.”
“And what would that be?”
“Another game of pool. If you win, I’ll give you a job.”
The whole reason she’d sought him out! She faced him, steeling herself for the catch. “And if you win?” She almost didn’t need to ask.
“You’ll blow off your date and stay the night with me instead.”
She bit her lip, seeing that money land back in her future. The hustler in her bellied up, while logic danced like a prizefighter ready to box. Cortez was good at billiards. As good as her, if not better. Playing him was a risk. If she agreed to this ridiculous wager and she lost, he’d expect her to pay up. She’d have to stay the night with him. As in with him with him? It wasn’t like he was asking for a pajama party and Parcheesi. He wanted her body at his disposal. And would that really be a hardship? Part of her knew a night with him would be mind-blowing. She was using all her willpower not to picture it.
A successful club owner such as he could have his pick, of both vein and body. Literally. Toss his room key into the crowd and women would be throwing elbows to get to it. So why was he so focused on her?
“I suppose it’s my blood you’re after.”
He shook his head. “I have plenty of donors ready and willing. Biting is off the table if you’d prefer.”
“I would.” Had she just said that? Was she seriously considering this?
And why not? It was practically a win/win scenario?
She was smart enough to admit to herself she wanted him too. That small taste on the roof had parts of her brain still fogged with lust.
Now that she thought about it, her mission had nothing to do with her landing a job, per say. Sure, as an employee, she could snoop around, but as a lover, what sort of doors might open to her?
Of course, that was only if she lost. If she wiped the floor with him again, would he keep his word and hire her? She glanced back at the shiny stage, imagining herself up there singing her favorite tunes, Cole’s debt paid, no more worries for either of them.
She studied Cortez, and her thoughts turned to those talented lips, those hard muscles...at her disposal.
It seemed no matter how she viewed the situation, she was looking at a win/win.
Grinning up at him, she said blithely, “I’ll break.”
Chapter 7
“I’ll go ahead and assume you’ve played nine ball,” he said, racking the table.
She dusted the top of her cue stick with chalk. “Of course.” Only nine balls were used in nine ball, hence the name, numbered in order from one to nine. Aside from the break, the balls must be pocketed in numerical order, or the cue ball must at least contact the lowest-numbered ball first, after which any numbered ball could be legally scored, meaning the one ball could be struck and then the nine by either the one or the cue ball, and if sunk, the game is won. It was a fast-paced game with fewer balls in play. Is that why he’d chosen it? Eager for his prize?
Not if she had anything to say about it.
The pool room had been abandoned. She didn’t know where his friends had gone, or if they would return. A new waitress was attending them now, only sparing Naia a cursory glance of curiosity before dropping off their drinks. Knowing she no longer had to bother with an interview, Naia had ordered her favorite drink: Hurricane. It was sweet and strong, and synonymous to its name, too many of them and you’d wake in the morning thinking you’d been hit by a storm.
Cortez ordered a whiskey sour. He sipped as she inspected his prowess at racking. Not a ball out of place.
“Are you ready for this?” she taunted. “In a few moments, you’re about to welcome a new employee into the fold.”
Grinning devilishly, he said, “Or you’ll welcome me into yours.”
She turned away to hide her flush. Bastard. “Not going to happen.” She chalked her cue stick, planted her stance, and aimed for the apex of the triangle. Inhaling a deep breath, she raised her elbow, drew the stick back and then plowed forward through the cue ball.
Crack.
The sound rang out like gunfire, balls smashing around like chaotic bumper cars. And though her break was impressive, it was exceedingly unlucky. No balls were pocketed. Damn. She may have already lost this game before it had begun.
Cortez strolled up to the table. “I thought you were going to provide me with a challenge.”
She glared at him and then turned to nurse her drink.
He had a straight shot at the start, and the one ball bit the dust. The two ball quickly followed, then the three. He was going to sweep the table. Her heart sank when he lined up the four. He was going for a bank to sink the nine. Game over. But then something interesting happened. The cue ball knocked the four into the pocket no problem, but then came to rest just inside the corner, behind the nine and flanked by several others. The five ball was at the complete opposite end of the table, near the adjacent corner. He had to go for the five, but couldn’t hit the nine first. If he hit the nine or didn’t manage to sink five, it was her turn.
She sat up in her chair, curious how he was going to get out of this.
Before plotting his move, he sent her a cocky smirk. He raised his cue stick at a forty-five degree, aiming the tip just below the cue ball’s center point. A trick shot? He was going to jump the nine.
You have got to be kidding me.
The cue ball sailed over the nine, rolled along the bank, and then kissed the five. The five took its time edging to the pocket and then dove in.
“Impressive.” The hustler was being hustled. Naia drew a long swig from her glass.
To his credit, Cortez didn’t gloat. He just focused on the next ball in line. The six was back at the opposite end, taunting him with its position, guarded heavily by the eight ball. Naia saw what she would do: bank the cue off the railing, tap the six, driving it into the eight at just the right angle to send it to a side pocket. Legal but risky.
Cortez was lining up a different shot entirely. By his angle, she wondered if he was playing a safety, planning to forfeit his turn but leave her in a position where her only shot would be impossible to make.
Yet he seemed to be aiming straight for the eight ball. The only way to make his shot that way would be to—
He struck the cue ball. As it traveled down the table, it spun like a ballerina on speed, curving the line, skirting the eight ball, and smacking the six into the corner pocket.
Naia remained remarkably calm. “You’ve got some skill.”
“Thank you,” he said, devising his next shot. This one was straightforward. A wham bam thank you ma’am. Just what he plans to do with me.
Time for something drastic.
Bringing her drink with her, she hopped off her seat and sidled up to the table across from him, near where he’d have to aim so that she’d be in his line of sight. Time for a little handicapping. She leaned forward with her elbows on the pool table, pretending to gauge the shot with him, but really, she was giving him a bullseye view of her cleavage.
He grinned. “Resorting to diversion tactics? Displaying my prize is only going to make me focus harder on winning it.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She stood, discouraged, but not showing it.
“Please, try all you like. I appreciate the effort.”
You asked for it. As he drew back on his cue stick, she sipped from her drink, tilting it a touch too much. Liquid ran down her front. She moaned, “Oh, I’ve got myself all wet.”
His gaze snapped to her dampened breasts just as he made contact with the cue ball. It struck its mark, but was a fraction off. The seven ball was caught like a ping pong, bouncing back and forth within the edge of the pocket. It didn’t go in.
Her grin was Grinch-worthy.
He stood, glowering at her. “Dirty trick.”
Still smiling, she plucked
a napkin off the table and dabbed her chest. She’ll have to get the dress dry-cleaned before returning it to Goldie, but it was worth it.
Better still, she was left with a perfect shot. “All’s fair,” she chirped, lining up her shot, and sinking the seven. Her set up was a dream. A straight shot for the eight.
Cortez took a seat directly behind her, and suddenly she could think of nothing but how short the hem of her dress was and his eyes on her ass. She glanced back. Yup. He was staring right at it.
She quirked an indignant brow.
He took a long leisurely pull from his whiskey, his penetrating gaze never straying from her backside.
She cleared her throat.
“Feel free to take your time,” he said. “I’ve got the best seat in the house and the view is impeccable.”
She rolled her eyes. Determined to ignore him, she focused on the eight ball. She only needed to kiss it for it to go in, except the position of the cue ball meant she’d have to lean quite far over the table...
She faced Cortez. “Would you mind moving.”
“Why?”
“You’re obscuring my shot.”
He indicated the space between them. “You have plenty of room. And I’m just sitting here, quiet as a mouse.” His expression was pure mischief.
“You’re distracting me on purpose.”
“All’s fair.”
She piped her lip and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Fine. Look all you want, because you’re never going to get to touch.” To add insult, she hiked up her skirt an inch, turned, and eyed the seven ball like it was a bullseye on his crotch.
As she bent, she let out a husky sound.
She tapped the cue ball with just the right pressure to knock the eight in, but her act of rebellion backfired. Now she was really damp, and it had nothing to do with spilled drinks.
When she turned back to Cortez in triumph, she was floored by his heated expression.
“I think you want to stay the night with me, even if you do win.”
“Hm. A one night stand with you or land a nice cushy job? The scales aren’t balanced in your favor, are they? You’d really have to step up your game.”
He stood, and in one, step invaded her personal space. His big, callused, ninja palm gripped her backside and jerked her against him. Forced off balance, she planted her hand on his toned shoulder for leverage.
“Ah-ah, the rules are clear.” She sounded too breathy. Her traitorous body soaked up his heat like a thirsty sponge.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. The furious beat of her heart made her light headed as his mouth trailed along her jaw at a mind-numbingly slow pace, coming to feather along her lips. All she could do was breathe, wait, want. But he pulled away and released her.
“You’re right, I’ll work on my game.”
She was left speechless, breathless, aroused, and...longing.
“You should take your last shot.”
Woodenly, she faced table and struggled to restart her brain.
Nine ball. Right. Last shot.
Her line of aim was perfect. Her follow through was off. The cue ball trailed the nine into the pocket.
She scratched.
She lost.
Chapter 8
Cortez’s suite was more like an apartment. A very lavish apartment. He wasn’t hurting for funds, that was for sure. It had an open layout, three bedrooms that she could see, probably more, and there was an office slash study with an impressive desk and bookshelves filled to the brim. One entire wall was made up of floor to ceiling windows that carried out into the living room, through which she luxuriated in a magnificent view of the city.
A soft breeze drew her attention to a set of French doors that led to a balcony decorated with lush exotic plants.
Playing her hunch, she said, “Your decorator did a lovely job.”
“She’s the best,” he replied from behind the bar where he was mixing her another hurricane. She wasn’t feeling too buzzed yet, only the sting of defeat.
When he came around and handed her the drink, she was reminded of their first meeting. “You’re the owner of the club, so why were you bartending yesterday?”
“You think I should remain up here? Surveying all that I command?”
She sipped her drink, waiting for his answer.
“The work is simple and mindless. I enjoy it on occasion.”
“But there were hardly any people to serve.”
“That’s why I was there.” At her curious look, he added, “I’m needed elsewhere during the rush. During the day, I clean or take inventory so I know what to stock. And it gives me time to invent new drinks to add to the menu. I enjoy that.”
“You invent drinks? Cole...uh...cool.” Cole liked to experiment as well. “Can you make me something you created?”
“Sure.” His eyes lit on the glass in her hand. “You like sweet drinks, so I’ll make you a gyrator. It’s similar to a hurricane with its alcohol content, except I use a different juice for the sweet, and add mint, cinnamon and a touch of lime.” He’d returned to the bar and started mixing. It was a pleasure to watch his nimble fingers at work, deftly pouring from an array of bottles. The mint and cinnamon seemed an odd choice in combination with everything else, but she didn’t comment. Finally he squeezed in a wedge of lime and began shaking everything together before dumping it out into a large glass. Final touch was a tiny straw to sip from. He slid the concoction toward her and waited expectantly.
His expression was so earnest, like he was actually interested in her opinion.
Taking a long sip, she let the liquid swish in her mouth before swallowing it. “Delicious!”
He dipped his head in thanks. “It’s going on the menu next week.”
“You can’t even taste the alcohol.” After taking another sip, she pointed to the glass and laughingly said, “This is dangerous. Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“I’m trying to get you to like me.”
She smiled, “I do like you. You’re nothing like what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
Another Dante, maybe even crueler, more frightening. “I don’t know,” she settled on.
Holding her gaze, he approached with obvious intent. Was he expecting to get started already?
“Um...”
He ran his thumb along her jawline with a tenderness that shocked her. “Join me for a dip in the hot tub?”
“Huh?”
“It’s a beautiful night.” He shrugged out of his shirt, revealing an expertly cut upper body packed with toned muscle and beautifully tanned skin.
“Uh...” She was riveted, unable to look away, and, apparently, unable to form a proper sentence.
When he started undoing his belt, she finally tore her gaze away, turning her back.
“You are modest,” he observed. The thud of his belt hitting the carpet made her jump. Then she heard him walking away, out onto the balcony. At the sound of sloshing water she followed him outside. His arms were spread out along the lip of the hot tub, his expression teasing. She wondered if he was even wearing underwear, but didn’t see a pair lying around.
“I...um, don’t have a bathing suit,” she said.
One challenging eyebrow rose. “Neither do I.”
Okay, he was definitely naked in there. She shivered at the thought. He mistook that as her being cold.
“It’s much warmer in here. A lot less lonely too.”
She bit her lower lip. His eyes zeroed in on the action, going hooded. When he spoke, his tone was guttural. “I’ll turn my back if you need to preserve your modesty...for the time being.”
It wasn’t her modesty that needed saving. Hell, she was surprised she had any left after changing in front of the girls at Dante’s—along with Boomer and, on occasion, some of the other lecherous bouncers.
No, modesty wasn’t the issue. It was the choice she was about to make.
If she went in there wi
th him now, she’d basically be telling him yes to the rest of the night. Their wager had brought her up here, but she could still change her mind, take her ass back to Dante’s and continue her life without knowing the power of this man’s magnificent body, who was now staring at her as if he wanted to eat her up, and it had nothing to do with his vampiric nature.
He’d told her he wouldn’t bite her, and she believed him. Why? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but this man did not seem like the type that needed to lie to get what he wanted. And he wanted her.
Oh, oh, how she wanted him too.
As he gazed at her with a desire that she felt deep in her bones, she reached up and undid the clasp at her nape that held up the top half of her dress. The fabric slipped down her chest, falling to her waist and baring her breasts.
His brows shot up. Apparently he hadn’t been expecting that.
He cleared his throat. “Getting impatient for you in here.”
She shimmied out of the skirt, leaving her panties on, and allowed him to drink her in. His gaze was intense, carnivorous, consuming. Seeing him look at her the way he was now could lead to a serious addiction. And if she didn’t get in there soon, there was a good chance he was coming out to get her.
She piled her dress next to his clothes before sauntering to the tub. The water was a pleasant temperature, churning from the jets. “Mm. This is nice.”
“I’m resisting the urge to snatch you up and plant you on my lap,” he told her in a roughened tone.
She grinned coyly and then eased across the tub to slip into his lap, her legs to one side. Again her actions seemed to surprise him. “There,” she said brightly. “Better?”
“Much.” His arms came around her as though it were the most natural thing in the world, yet she inadvertently stiffened. Definitely naked, she mentally confirmed, turning red. He’d adjusted himself so that he wasn’t poking her awkwardly, but he was still hard as granite underneath her.
