Chapter 8 C8

"To put your balls in your pockets?" When he laughed heartily, Brea realized her blunder. Her face seemed to heat to a thousand degrees. "I meant to shoot the balls you've chosen into their assigned-"

"I know what you meant. And you're mostly right." He grabbed the blue cube on the rim of the pool table and chalked the tip of the cue. "I'll explain along the way. Take this."

She wrapped her fingers around the stick he proffered in her direction. "Now what?"

"Bend over the table, behind the cue ball..."

Brea did, more than vaguely aware of her shorts creeping up her thighs, dangerously close to the under curve of her derrière, then glanced over her shoulder. "Like this?"

He tore his gaze away from her backside, then frowned. "Damn, you really are a little thing. You might have to stand on the tips of your toes to get your arms on the table for a good shot."

She did, feeling the muscles in her legs tighten and her butt lift in the air.

"Yeah." Pierce's voice sounded rough. "Like that."

Brea glanced back. She didn't want to notice that the bulge behind his jeans had grown...but she'd be lying if she said she didn't. The notion that a man like him found her attractive made her feel a little feverish and giddy.

The man is only after you for a piece of ass, Cutter had warned.

She straightened and turned-only to find him suddenly plastered against her body. She gasped, automatically setting her hands on his chest to put space between them. But he was like solid stone under her touch.

Pierce's hands dropped to her hips. "Would you rather do something besides play pool?"

Yes, please. "No. This is fine."

His fingers tightened on her. The heat of his touch penetrated the khaki twill of her shorts. Suddenly, she found it hard to breathe.

"Then turn and bend over the table again." He waited until she complied, and Brea was achingly aware of his body heat bracketing the backs of her thighs, of the sexual stirrings his closeness roused. "You're right-handed?"

"Um, yes."

"With that hand, hold the cue about five inches from the bottom. Now place it near your hip. Don't hold it so tight. You want to be relaxed but controlled. Good. Align your body with the cue ball. This will help your aim. Exactly. With your left hand, make a V with your thumb and index finger, like this." He demonstrated. "You'll balance the tip of the cue in that crevice."

Brea watched, acutely aware of the veins bulging in his forearms, the size of his hands, the length of his fingers, the hair dusting his knuckles.

Then he took hold of her hips again. "Spread your legs, pretty girl."

Her stomach tightened. "Why?"

"Your feet are too close together. You'll find it hard to stabilize when you take your shot. Go on. Yeah, just like that. Now lay the rest of the fingers of your left hand on the table and make a bridge for the V to rest on. You got it."

"Now what?" she asked.

Brea only half listened to his answer. She was excruciatingly aware of his body heat blistering her, of his hips packed against her backside as he leaned over and utterly surrounded her with his big body.

"That means you need to bend over a bit more."

"Oh," she breathed as she rushed to comply.

"Good. Now hold the cue steady and eye the ball. Like that." He sounded hoarse as his fingers gripped her tighter. Then he pressed his entire chest over her back and breathed against her neck. A shiver wracked her. "Hold still. Yeah. Now take your shot."

How the devil was she supposed to concentrate when he was all over her? When his musky scent swam in her head and she kept closing her eyes to drink him in? It was hard to concentrate on balancing the cue when her body kept urging her to press back into him with a moan.

But Brea did her best.

The tip of her stick barely poked the cue ball. The white orb rolled lazily across the table, made a polite clap with the first of the balls in the triangle, barely jostling them before rolling away.

"Not a bad first effort. Next time, put a little more force into it." He eased away, seemingly reluctant to put space between them.

"It was horrible." She straightened, and her hungry stare climbed him again. "Show me what I should have done?"

He hesitated, then set his pool cue aside. "You didn't come to play pool. Cutter made you promise not to talk to me, so why are you here?"

"To thank you."

"You could have left cookies for me at the office. But you came to my house. On a Friday night. With your hair curled and your makeup done, wearing pretty white lace." Pierce fingered the scooped neck of her top before he wrapped his hand around her neck and tilted her face up to meet his stare. "Look me in the eye and tell me why you're here."

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You're afraid to admit it."

Goodness, Pierce could see right through her.

She swallowed. "Terrified."

His fingers on the back of her neck tightened. "I'm more than happy to give you what you want, but you have to look me in the eye and say it out loud."

Brea dug her nails into his forearms, her heart pounding. "I don't understand."

"I won't settle for less than your enthusiastic consent when I take you to bed."

She gaped. "Don't you mean if?"

Abruptly, he released her. "If you really think it's still a question, you're bullshitting yourself. And we don't have a whole lot more to say."

"Wait. This is happening too fast." Brea looked up at him, not even sure what she was silently begging for.

But he knew. "I'm cutting to the chase, pretty girl. Let me tell you what isn't going to happen. I'm not going to seduce you. I'm not going to push or pressure or force you. You're coming to me because you want it. From me. And no one else."

"C-can't we get to know each other?"

Brea was grasping at straws. Pierce wasn't the sort of man who formed cute, benign friendships with girls. He had sex with women. Which meant he had no use for her.

As she'd feared, she was in way over her head.

"I'm sorry. That was a stupid question. I'll go." She looked away, humiliation blazing her cheeks as she charged for his front door.

Now if she could just manage to make it outside before her composure disintegrated...

Pierce grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. "It wasn't stupid. I want to know more about you than your body. But I know exactly where this attraction is heading. Whether you want to admit it or not, we'll wind up in bed. I'm just saying that I want your full consent when we get there. If you can't give me that when the time comes, say goodbye now."

Brea dragged in a deep breath. As far as he knew, she belonged to another man. Of course he would want her consent before anything happened between them. And she respected that he wanted a completely willing sexual partner.

That wasn't her.

She shook her head and backed away. "I shouldn't have come."

Brea whirled around and darted for the door again. She'd embarrassed herself enough.

Behind her, she heard Pierce give chase, his footsteps heavy as he spun her to face him. Brea expected him to pull her close, but she gasped when he shoved her back. Her spine made contact with the foyer wall. His hands spread on either side of her head. He pressed every inch of his body against her. Then he dipped his head as if he intended to kiss her here and now.

Brea's belly flipped with excitement. She gripped his bare shoulders, thrilled by his satiny skin over hard, steely muscle. Anticipation rolled through her as she tilted her head up to him and closed her eyes in surrender.

She wanted Pierce Walker's kiss so badly...

It never came.

Seconds later, Brea blinked, her lashes fluttering up until she focused on him. He studied her with a dissecting stare even as he pressed the hard length of his manhood against her belly. "I know you want me."

She looked away. "Let me go."

Pierce merely thrust his fingers in her hair and tugged until she had no choice but to look at him. "I want you, too, pretty girl. So fucking bad I can almost taste you. That's why I waited for you outside your church a week ago last Sunday. That's why I followed you to Lafayette. That's why it's taking every bit of my restraint now not to kiss you."

"Why don't you?" She really wished he would.

"Because you have to be willing to admit what you want between us. Until that day..." He eased away with a shake of his head, then opened the door. "Unless it's an emergency, don't come back. If you do, Brea, you better be ready to confess that you want me-and me alone-to strip you down, get deep inside you, and give you every bit of pleasure I'm dying to."

Every cell in her body flashed hot. She gaped at him. Some wayward, wanton part of her ached to give in. She was a grown woman. She wasn't saving herself for marriage, just until sex meant something. If she spent the next hour with him, who would know? Or care? And why should it matter to anyone but them?

Before she could make up her mind, Pierce nudged her onto the porch. He cradled her face in his hands and lifted her face to him. Hope leaped. Please God, let him have changed his mind. But he merely pressed his lips to her forehead before shutting and locking the door between them with a final click.

"It's okay, Bre-bee. Don't be upset."